Page 23 of Over and Above (Mount Hope #4)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Magnus

December twenty-fifth meant The Heist was closed all day for Christmas, and I could sleep as long as I wanted. Well, at least until a pounding at my door woke me up when it wasn’t yet eight.

“Come on, come on.” Diesel’s voice carried through the door as I stumbled down from the loft, not bothering to stop for a robe, which meant answering the door in boxers and praying Diesel was alone.

“Everything okay?” I asked, my brain immediately going to thoughts of Maren and the baby. The dogs poked their heads around my bare legs to greet Diesel.

“It’s Christmas morning!” Diesel stamped his feet on my narrow doormat. He threw his arms wide, catching more of the frigid wind whipping through the white powder coating the lawn and driveway. A fresh flurry landed on Ben’s snout. “And it snowed!”

“I see.” I rubbed my arms together. The cold worked wonders to wake me in a hurry, and I had to smile at Diesel’s childlike enthusiasm. “I thought the days of you waking me up at the crack of dawn on Christmas were long past.”

“The rest of the household is up and wants to open presents.” He gestured back at the main house. “You should be there.”

“Okay, okay. Come in while I find clothes.” In deference to the early hour and freezing temperatures, I pulled on a pair of thick flannel pants before debating between a thermal shirt and a sweatshirt.

Diesel made an impatient noise. “Ugh. Next year, you should just sleep in the main house. That would be easier.”

For whom, I wasn’t sure, and I had to smile to myself at Diesel’s utter cluelessness.

“I think Eric might object,” I said mildly. More like Eric might have kittens at the idea of a sleepover where everyone knew whose bed I’d slept in. And even me sleeping on the couch would likely be a dicey proposition.

“What? Why? You guys are buds.” Diesel shrugged. And why not? Maybe I was overthinking this. We were friends. Everyone, apparently, knew this. Was it such a big leap to being open about other things? “And he’s the one who said to fetch you. Something about needing help with potatoes.”

“Well, in that case.” I hurriedly put on a sweatshirt and slip-on shoes and followed Diesel to the kitchen, where Eric was in the middle of a big breakfast.

“My sous chef! Merry Christmas.” He was in a jolly mood, the rare wide smile as he waved me over to where he was assembling a large tray of bacon for the oven. “Want to man the hashbrowns?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” I matched Eric’s happy, almost silly tone as I fetched a large skillet and the oil from the pantry. I knew my way around this kitchen as well as any I’d worked in over the years. Cooking here felt like sliding into my favorite pair of jeans. Comfortable. Easy. Natural. I fit in here, and after a lifetime of traveling, I knew full well how rare that homey, settled feeling could be.

Indeed, I’d owned my prior house for several years and had never felt this deep sense of peace working in that kitchen. Probably because said kitchen had lacked an Eric, humming next to me, working in quiet concert.

“Why do we have to eat food then presents?” Wren kept glancing over toward the dining room and living area beyond. At some point after Thanksgiving, a small tree had appeared and been duly decorated by the kids. More seasonal decor graced the mantel and numerous other spots, including the snowman oven mitts Eric used to pull the bacon from the oven.

“Because we’re civilized like that,” he said mildly as he dished up the food. “And some of us are hungry.”

“The dogs didn’t have to wait for their presents.” Wren motioned at the dogs, who had found new toys waiting on their beds in the breakfast nook and were now chomping away.

“Coffee.” Rowan swept down the back stairs in flannel pants and a black silk robe, a combo that would be comical on anyone else. I poured him a cup before he reached the kitchen island. “Bless.” He offered a grateful grin, eyes widening like he was only now registering my presence. “Magnus. Did you sleep over?”

“Uh. No.” The skin at the back of my neck heated. “Diesel fetched me.”

“Well, flannel suits you.” Rowan’s gaze turned decidedly appreciative, and Eric made a strangled noise, looking up from arranging biscuits on a platter.

“ Rowan .”

“And you look good too, Dad. Don’t get jealous.” Rowan laughed lightly, clearly out to rile Eric. “I’ve got compliments for everyone. And gifts.”

“Do they all have your show logo on them?” Wren used a suspicious tone.

“Not all.” Rowan waved a hand before snagging a biscuit. “How many of your gifts are alive?”

“Define alive.” Wren turned cagey, looking back at the living room again.

“Wren.” John paused in piling a plate high with food. “Please tell me there’s no ant farm this year.”

“You liked that gift.”

“Until it shattered and Dad had to pay for an exterminator,” John countered as several of the others groaned in sympathy.

“I was willing to test a new deterrent compound.” Wren shook their head with another guilty glance toward the tree. Uh-oh. I hoped John’s gift wasn’t a spider or worse.

Not surprisingly, a short time later, after we had devoured the mountain of breakfast food, Wren was first to lead the charge toward the living room.

“Everyone’s done with food. Presents!”

Eric cast a longing glance at the sink full of dishes.

“I’ll help later,” I said, giving his shoulder a fast pat on our way to the living room where Maren had Diesel distributing fuzzy stockings.

“And a stocking for you.” Diesel passed one to me.

“For me?” Although I’d snuck my own presents under the tree a few days earlier, I hadn’t expected much, if anything, in return.

“You’re part of the household.” Eric nodded like this was a simple fact. “Maren insisted.”

“It’s mainly candy,” Wren shared, looking up from their own haul. “Don’t be too impressed.”

I slipped most of my candy onto Wren and Diesel’s piles but kept a few fancy pieces for later, along with a bag of gourmet popcorn kernels that had to be Eric’s doing. After stockings, Diesel continued his unofficial Santa role, handing out presents and ensuring that Maren was the first to open hers from him.

“I love it.” Maren held up the ring, which the jeweler had done a wonderful job restoring and resizing. The center stone gleamed in the light from the front window. Outside, snow continued to gust, the white Christmas vibes continuing.

“Put it on,” Rowan urged, phone camera ready.

“ Oh . This makes it seem so much more real.” Maren slid the ring on her slim finger. “Well, not that the baby dancing on my bladder isn’t real, but…”

“I get it,” I said softly. Sharing yet another holiday with this family made things real for me as well. I saw Maren and her growing belly on the regular, but the baby and all the associated changes seemed that much more real and overwhelming this morning. And whatever I had going on with Eric felt that much harder to ignore as well. What we had was real in a way past connections had never been.

I belonged here. We belonged together—cooking and laughing and simply sharing space.

“Here. Open a present.” Eric nudged me with a suspiciously familiar gift bag.

“Isn’t this yours?” I could have sworn I’d done a red foil bag for him, wrapping not being my forte.

“It’s from me if that’s what you mean.” Eric frowned, flipping the tag over.

“Oh, it’s just similar to mine to you.” I fetched the other red foil bag, a slightly different shape but similar weight. “Here.”

“Um.” We opened our bags at the same time and hoots of laughter burst out around the room.

“Did you guys seriously gift each other the same shirt and bottle of brandy?” Diesel could barely speak from laughing so hard.

“Uh…” I looked down at my lap. We had, in fact, gifted each other near-identical presents of a T-shirt with a quote from a nineties comedy we both loved and a bottle of liquor. I’d picked mine because it was impersonal enough to be opened in front of others while hopefully conveying to Eric that our time together was meaningful. Hilariously, he’d done almost the same thing, gifting me the shirt and an artisanal brandy that looked perfect for next year’s Thanksgiving pies. “I got him tequila.”

“I’m not surprised,” Wren said archly, motioning between Eric and me. “They finish each other’s sentences all the time.”

“Go put your matching shirts on.” Maren made a shooing gesture from her spot on the couch. “I need a picture.”

“We’re not changing here.” Eric stood, tone decisive, as he headed toward the hall that led toward his room. “Come on, Magnus. Let’s give Maren her photo opportunity.”

As soon as we were alone in his room, he shut the door and slumped against it. “I’m not sure what is more awkward—being ordered to go undress together or the accidental matching presents.”

“Well, at least it bought us enough privacy for me to do this.” I leaned in for a fast kiss. “Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you.” Eric rubbed his mouth like the kiss had left him more befuddled. “And for the gift. Even if I do feel silly.”

“Don’t feel silly.” Since the first kiss hadn’t worked, I went for a second, lingering longer before pulling out my phone and swiping to a recent screenshot. “And I got you something else.”

“What’s this?” He peered down at my phone like he wasn’t a medical professional intimately acquainted with what lab work looked like.

Now I was the one to feel silly, cheeks heating. “I managed to get in for my annual physical before the end of the year for once. Asked for fresh test results just in case you were feeling like skipping the condoms since we’re already exclusive. No pressure.”

“Ah.” Eric made a thoughtful noise that was nowhere close to the reaction I’d hoped for.

Before I could assure him again that I was fine with the status quo, Maren’s voice carried in from the living room. “Dad! Come show us!”

“Okay, okay,” Eric called back, stepping away from me to hurriedly change. I did the same, and we duly posed for all the pictures Maren and Rowan wanted.

“Send me one,” I said to Maren, chest tight even as I kept my voice light. It might be our first picture together, and I hoped it wouldn’t be the last. “Might have to frame it.”