Page 83 of The Hot Shot

“I actually prefer this,” I tell her. “Putting up ornaments makes me tense. I’m never satisfied with where I place them.”

“Glenn is the same.”

My expression must convey my surprise because she gives me a wry smile. “He’s a landscaper. Everything has to be just so, the visual balance just right, or he’s twitchy. Whereas, I teach fifth grade students, so I’ve learned to go with the flow.”

I glance at Finn’s older brother, who is currently trying to get Finn in a headlock. I take a picture of that. “You’ve been with Glenn for a while.”

“How can you tell?”

“The way you two interact with each other. It’s fluid. Like you’ve been together so long that you know which way the other will go before one of you even moves.”

Emily beams. “That’s lovely.”

“Just an observation.”

Finn walks up with a glass of nog for me, and a glass of what smells like hot cider for Emily. “Sorry, Em. Meg’s special sauce is not good for the baby.”

Emily laughs. “It isn’t good for anyone.” She glances at me. “Watch yourself. That stuff is lethal.”

When she heads toward the tree, I lean closer to Finn. “I like your family.”

“Good. They like you, too.”

We’re alone now, off to the side of the action, but I keep my voice low. “I like them too much to lie to them.”

Finn does a double take at that. “You aren’t.”

“I am.”

He doesn’t roll his eyes, but his tone implies he wants to. “Have you said to them, I’m in love with your son and we are having wild monkey sex?”

“Who says crazy crap like that to someone’s family?”

The corners of his lips twitch. “Well, it would be kind of awkward, I’ll give you that.”

“You are annoying me. Stop being purposely obtuse. I came here playing the role of your girlfriend.”

This time he actually does roll his eyes. “I’m trying to make it simple. Stop thinking of it as playing a role.”

“But itisa role.” I take a drink of nog to keep from yelling at him and immediately regret it. “Holy lighter fluid, what the hell is in this drink?”

“Fireball cinnamon whiskey.” Finn calmly pats my back. “You’re here because you’re my girl. Sex doesn’t change that fact.”

Throat burning, heart threatening to turn to mush, I can only look at him and sigh. “Finn, what am I going to do with you?”

His smile is an easy glide, but his eyes hold mine a beat too long. “Keep me. I’m pretty sure I’m good for no one else.”

Before I can answer, he’s off again, helping with the tree, joking with Emily and Glenn. I take pictures, eat the stuffed mushroom caps that Meg sets out on the sideboard, and gingerly sip my nog from hell.

My tongue turns pleasantly numb and my limbs nice and warm. I’m taking a close-up of the little elf man who lives on the shelf—why kids want an elf who’s supposed to come alive at night, hanging out in their house is beyond me—when Finn peeks over my shoulder to look at the camera screen.

I nearly yelp but settle down, trying my best not to lean into him. He smells like cinnamon and spiked eggnog, which I find exceedingly delicious at present.

His breath tickles the sensitive skin on my neck. “Can you do selfies with that thing?”

“With a bit of awkward juggling,” I concede.

“That’s what I thought.” The warm wall of his chest presses against my back as he swings his arm in front of us, holding his phone. “Say, hey!” He snaps a picture. “And the humble iPhone triumphs over the fancy Nikon.”