Page 28 of All Snowed Gin

“He is…” Pierce’s eyes go wide as I wave him in closer, panic fluttering in his pupils. I nod, trying to assure him that she won’t bite him via an Internet call. Slowly, he comes into the frame, still looking nervous. “Mama, this is Pierce Adams. The, err, nice gentleman who helped rescue me.”

Pierce scoffs under his breath, quickly trying to disguise it as a cough. Mama doesn’t seem to notice though, her bright smile growing on her face.

“Oh, he’s handsome, Rosie.”

“Real person, Mama. He can hear you…”

“Hi Mrs. Adler. Nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you, Pierce. Thank you so much for hosting our Rosie. I’m sure it wasn’t what you had planned this holiday, but knowing she’s safe makes this Mama’s heart so happy.”

“My pleasure.”

He coughs again, but this time it’s different. I look at him closely, noticing the new shine in his eyes. Biting his lip, he nods awkwardly. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was—oh shit, he is. Pierce is fighting back tears.

My heart aches, realization hitting me. He might be a stoic grump, but there’s a reason behind it. He doesn’t have a family. During a time of year that does nothing but rub that in your face. And here he is, helping me connect with mine. I need to make this up to him. Show him just how much I appreciate what he did.

Turning back to my mother, I continue the conversation, steering it away from Pierce, which allows him to exit quietly. We continue on for a while, every member of my family taking a turn, showing off what Santa brought and sharing a story from the time I’ve missed with them. It does my soul good to do this. It’s not the same as being there, but it’s the next best thing.

When we finally hang up, I turn to find Pierce, but he’s not in the room. I switch the monitors off, then tiptoe into the den, looking for him. He’s sitting in front of the fire, holding a silver frame containing a photo of an older couple. I don’t have to ask to know who it is.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

He looks up at me, his eyes still shiny and slightly red. My body wants to rush to him, to hold him and comfort him. That’s not what Pierce needs though. That’s not who he is. So, I offer up one of the few things I have at my disposal.

“Was there something Gram used to make every Christmas?”

He doesn’t even have to think about the answer. “Meatballs.”

I smile, loving how quickly he responded. As if the memory is still so alive for him that he half expects to find her in the kitchen right now making them. Actually, he probably does, and that’s what stings the most.

Holding out my hands, I give him a wink. “Then I think it’s time we made meatballs.”

12

PIERCE

I smile and bite back a laugh, admiring the brunette beauty currently taking over my kitchen, one hand on her jutted-out hip, the other in the air, doing a math problem.

I could just eat her right up, Gram would have said. And she would have been right. Her pretty pink mouth pursed together and quirked to one side as she thinks, her brows tucked inward, is the kind of look that could bring any man to his knees. Heaven knows, she’s already brought me to mine. Literally.

Sliding up behind her, I place a kiss right where her neck and shoulder meet, inhaling her sweet scent. How she still smells so intoxicating after three days with nothing but my unscented bar soap, I have no idea. But I’m not complaining.

Rose squirms, her backside rubbing against the semi I’m already sporting, a jolt rushing through me. “You made me lose count.”

“Ooops.”

Except I’m not sorry. Not sorry at all.

I peer over her, eyes scanning over the recipe card decorated with pale purple flowers, strategically placed in the card holder in the middle of the island. I’ve read it a million times and could probably recite it if needed, however, tonight it seems brand-new. The woman currently wiggling her hips against my dick probably has a lot to do with that.

“We don’t have everything we need,” Rose continues. “Or at least not enough of it, so I need to halve the recipe. And I get a little weird with fractions.”

I bite back another laugh, not wanting her to think that I’m laughing at her. At least not in a mean way. She’s just so damn cute.

I step back, giving her the space she needs to “get weird with fractions.” I try to think about what we need, other than the ingredients Rose has already pulled out. Gram had this down to a science, and didn’t even have to think about where she kept things. If we were back in their old house in town, then this probably wouldn't require as much thought on my part, but I’m still learning where she stored the non-everyday items. Like the purple ceramic mixing bowl with Cheshire Cat’s tail painted on it that she used for just this occasion.