Page 20 of A Very Titan Christmas (Titan #14)

Rachel had gotten no work done after Bryce kissed her into another universe.

She stuck with the plan for a cereal dinner and streamed Christmas movies.

It seemed as if every one of them centered on a love story until she found Home Alone.

When she was through watching those hijinks, her mind returned to Bryce, so Rachel had dove into Die Hard.

Die Hard was a Christmas movie. That was a hill she was willing to die on.

No writing last night meant that for most of today, she needed to stay at her cabin—with plenty of space between herself and Bryce—and write.

She lost herself in the words and actually impressed herself with the photographs she’d taken on her trip thus far.

The little town that she’d grown up in, that she had grown accustomed to, was coming alive with an energy that made her believe in Christmas magic.

The alarm on her phone buzzed. She’d allowed herself only a minimum amount of time to get ready for dinner with Bryce at her parents’ house so she did not go into a lovestruck—crush-struck—tailspin.

Reigniting love wasn’t as simple as adding a kiss.

That would be ridiculous.

Then again, much around her was ridiculous. Her mother. That kiss.

Seriously. That kiss. On what planet was a first kiss, more or less, like that allowed? Because he’d scorched her to pieces, left her panting, and wanting so much more.

The knock sounded on her cabin door. “Shit.” Stealing a last look in the bathroom mirror, she fluffed her half-straight, half-wavy mess of hair and hustled to answer the door.

Bryce wore a thick wool jacket, a change from the parka he’d been wearing all week.

Under that was a cashmere sweater and dark jeans.

His boots also weren’t the ones he’d been wearing all week.

He looked like he’d stepped out of a fashion catalog that had been birthed of an orgy among J.

Crew, L.L. Bean, and GQ. Rugged. Handsome. Sexy without trying.

She needed to change. Needed lipstick, at the very least.

Holy snow gods.

“Give me a minute.” She left the door open and rushed into her loft.

As quickly as she could, Rachel ditched her flats and switched the stylish-but-not-date-appropriate wide-leg jeans, opting for ones that matched his level of dress. She abandoned the oversized cardigan and reemerged in dateworthy attire.

Even though this was dinner with her parents.

The tall brown boots that zipped their way up her calves and a scarf she’d purchased at the marketplace completed the look.

“I didn’t know a woman could get dressed that fast.” He crossed his arms as though to keep them away from her and leaned against the exposed wood wall. “I should have called before I was on my way.”

He didn’t realize that she had already dressed for dinner and this was round two.

At least she was good at pretending about some things.

“Yup. Just let me go swipe on some lipstick.” She popped into the bathroom, added the color, and fluffed her hair for good measure.

All the fussing wouldn’t change a thing if she didn’t bother with hair products.

The smell bothered her, so this was the hair she was left with.

Bryce strode to her. “You look great.”

Her heart hammered in her chest. He wouldn’t kiss a woman wearing fresh lipstick, would he? Did she want him to?

He brushed her hair back then tilted his head toward the scarf she’d thrown on the table. “Is that the one you got the other day?”

She nodded.

Bryce wrapped it around her neck. “The green brings out your eyes.”

Her stomach rolled. “I’ll grab my jacket.” She twisted the scarf around her neck and pulled it through, pulling her hair over it as he helped her into her coat.

She locked the door behind them and hustled through the biting wind to his car.

Snow blew off the nearby trees and danced over the windshield, not sticking as they rolled away.

He pulled away from her cabin and turned toward her parents’ house.

She didn’t have to give him directions. He’d driven there so many times before.

He paused at a stop sign. “You want to talk about last night?”

“Nope.”

Bryce laughed. “All right then.”

The air crackled between them. They didn’t have far to drive. Every part of her wished the time on the road would hurry by, but she also wanted to stop time. Thankfully, they finally arrived, and she could escape their close confines.

He took her hand as they walked up the ramp. She didn’t let go as she opened the front door. “Hey, we’re here.”

The buttery, savory scent of dinner rolled over them. Rachel had never been so grateful for food. The distraction was strong enough to break the sizzling tension between her and Bryce.

“In the kitchen,” her dad called.

They stepped in. Dad kissed her on the cheek and shook hands with Bryce.

Eloise set down the bottle of wine she’d been inspecting and beamed. “Perfect timing. I’m putting you to work. Bryce, open that to let it breathe, and—” She removed her apron. “Wow, I love that scarf.”

Rachel took their coats and hung them on the pegs by the kitchen door that opened into the backyard. “Looks good, doesn’t it? Bryce and I went to the co-op, and I took pictures of the weavers’ space, along with some others.”

Dad snorted and said to Bryce, “Bet that was a lot of fun.”

“Saw a lot of textiles.” He removed the cork and set the bottle on the dinner table. “Not random scraps of fabric.”

They gathered around the table filled with a steamy meal.

The roast chicken was perfectly golden alongside the basket of flaky rolls.

The green beans topped with almonds brightened the table.

The potatoes had been crisped along their edges as though Eloise had personally inspected each one for its delicious, pan-fried texture.

The sides were savory, and Rachel knew there would be sweets from the Cozy Cookie after dinner.

Rachel hoped and prayed for apple and cheddar pie with a scoop of ice cream. “I should have brought my camera to take photographs of this.”

Eloise smiled. “Aren’t you sweet?”

Rachel caught Bryce giving Eloise a quick double take when she put on the southern accent.

She should have warned him that Eloise did so every so often.

Rachel passed the green beans to him with a look that promised they would dish about all this later that night.

His fingers brushed hers, and she was transported to the dinners they’d all had together before.

At that time, they’d rush through meals, shoveling food from their plates into their mouths as fast as possible.

They were teenagers, and her parents were adults and incredibly uninteresting to be around.

Dinners had been forced upon them, while she and Bryce had things they would have rather liked to be doing.

Like each other.

He took a bite of potatoes and fell into conversation with her parents. Years ago, he’d called them Mr. and Mrs. Porter. Tonight, it was Will and Eloise. Bryce was perfectly at ease with dinner, her parents, and the conversation.

She, on the other hand, was not. Mostly because she still hadn’t figured out how to unlive the kiss from last night. A kiss that wasn’t supposed to happen. Not really. Not during their fake dating situation. But that kiss had felt eons from fake dating and more like this needs to happen again.

“Rachel.” Eloise’s bright and a little-too-cheerful voice cut through her thoughts. “Pass the rolls, sweetheart.”

She blinked. Bryce already had the basket in hand, offering it to her like he didn’t recall pinning her to the door last night. “Uh, thanks.” She handed the rolls to her mother. “Dad?”

“None for me.” He wistfully stared at the basket. “I had one—”

Eloise cleared her throat.

“Two,” he corrected, “before you arrived. And the doc says to trim it all back.”

“So…” Eloise buttered her roll. “This new little thing you two have going on. Still going strong?”

Rachel choked on a green bean.

Bryce paused, fork midair, before pulling himself together. “Still going.”

“I heard you were slow dancing in front of the Christmas tree,” Eloise supplied. “I wasn’t even around to see it.”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed. The small-town gossip train must have been working overtime overnight to morph what Rachel and Bryce had been doing into what Eloise had heard. “We weren’t slow dancing.”

“More like swaying,” Bryce said and speared another bite of chicken. “This is really great.”

“Don’t blow smoke while I’m interrogating you.” Eloise sliced the chicken with her knife. “Though it is really perfect.”

“It’s crispy, moist,” Bryce continued and glanced at Rachel. “You remember that chicken place we used to get dinner from—”

“And don’t change the subject,” Eloise added.

Bryce was superb at managing her mother. Rachel wanted to throw down her napkin and stomp off. But then they would have to endure her interrogation later, and having it here instead of in front of the fireplace with others around was ideal.

She glanced at her dad, who sipped wine as if he had nothing to do with the conversation and was wise enough to stay out of his wife’s way for the time being. “Mom, what do you want us to say? We’re dating. It’s new.”

“Not really new.”

“New,” Rachel insisted.

“Do you want children?” Eloise asked Bryce.

To his credit, he didn’t choke on his dinner roll, but he did take a hefty sip of wine. “Hadn’t thought about it.”

“Then think about it.”

Bryce dabbed his mouth with the napkin. “I’m thirty-six years old and—until now—haven’t been in a relationship that I would call serious.”

“So, a playboy?”

“Mom.”

Her dad snorted.

Bryce took another long drink of wine. He stared at the glass after he set it down, pursed his lips, and met Eloise’s eye.

“I don’t know how much of this you knew when we were younger, but my life was nothing like Rachel’s.

Nothing was long-term or stable or…” He gestured at her parents.

“You both, for the two years I was here, were a constant presence. You were always there, always together, kind, and considerate of each other and your community. And you were that during, probably, one of the most formative parts of my life. So, hell, I don’t know if I’ve ever been the type to settle down, to have kids, but if it happened, you two would be the prime examples of people to emulate. ”

Rachel could have heard a pin drop.

Bryce threw a bite of roll into his mouth and chewed, continuing, “Maybe except for the obsessively trying to set your kid up part.”

Her dad made a muffled sound of agreement.

Forget the fake dating. The lies to her parents. She was certain that was the most truthful thing she’d ever heard him say. An ache squeezed deep in her chest. She didn’t know if it was because of the family he’d grown up with or the honesty he’d shared.

“All right,” Eloise said, ignoring the glitter bomb of awkwardness she’d launched onto the table.

“Noted and understood.” She flashed a watery smile before quickly pulling herself together.

“Have you two come up with a theme for the cookie decorating party? If not, I was thinking of elegance on ice or—”

“Ugly Christmas sweater theme,” Rachel said. “It’s perfect for kids and in-it-to-win-it adults.”

Eloise’s nose scrunched.

Her dad grinned. “I love that. Great idea.”

“Ugly sweater?” Eloise repeated.

“Ugly Christmas sweater,” Dad corrected.

“We did that for our DC office holiday party. The kid who won had made hers completely out of those shiny plastic bows you stick on top of gifts. And, ha, Mallery—my chief of staff—made one with a giant gingerbread cookie on the front and Bite Me written under her neck.”

“Ugly Christmas sweater…” Eloise pinched her lips together as if mulling over the idea.

“The detail work on the cookies would be a lot,” Bryce offered. “And then kids could just make ugly cookies.”

“The cookies were supposed to be different shapes, but,” Eloise mused, “we have enough time to adjust the order.” She smiled. “Thank you.”

And just like that, Eloise was convinced.