Page 95 of Theirs for the Holidays

But he’s already pulling his coat and boots on and heading for the back door. “I thought Sawyer told you to make use of us.”

“He did, but?—”

“No buts,” Lennox says, following his brother’s lead.

“Can I at least help you?”

“Nah, we’ve got it. You stay in here where it’s warm.”

I make a face at him, but then brighten. “Well, I’ll help by making a treat for you all. I’ll make those scones we started last night before we all got distracted.”

There’s an immediate reaction from all three of them at the memory of just how last night ended. Heat pools in their eyes, and all of a sudden there are three men looking at me like they might want a repeat performance.

I shiver and smile, and the moment breaks.

“Scones and hot cocoa sound pretty damned good after all this,” Sawyer says.

“Then I’ll make it happen.”

The three of them head outside, and I go into the kitchen, grabbing an apron and getting started on the scones. It’s easier to do this without them flicking flour on each other and bickering, but they’re all still on my mind anyway.

Last night was such a turning point in so many ways.

They patched things up between them, or at least made strides toward burying that years old hatchet, and then we all… got closer.

I can remember the feeling of their hands on me, their mouths on mine. I can still feel the effects of what they did to me in my body, in the slight soreness that lingers and the way I shiver every time I think too hard about it all.

I might never be able to look at my own kitchen the same way again after that.

Just standing at the counter reminds me of how it all started, and I definitely have to force my thoughts not to go too far down the path of memory lane. I have to actually bake in here and not just fantasize about the three of them.

I can do that later.

Once I have everything I need in front of me, it’s easy to fall into the rhythm of baking again. It’s always been that way for me, and I’m glad that one sexy encounter in the kitchen hasn’t ruined that forever. I sift and cut butter into the flour, humming along to the Christmas music still playing in the other room.

I’m about to start patting the dough out when the front door opens, startling me out of my groove.

“Please don’t tell me one of you fell off the ladder,” I call to the front room, thinking it’s one of the guys coming in for something.

But it’s my sister’s voice that answers back, with a confused, “What?”

She steps into the kitchen, looking windblown and pink cheeked from the cold, but still as beautiful as she always does. She unwinds her scarf from around her neck, and I wince internally.

Truthfully, the last thing I want to do after having such a nice day with the guys is play host to Isabelle and whatever wedding related crisis she’s here to bitch about, but I force a smile onto my face either way.

“Sorry, I thought you were one of the guys,” I tell her.

“I saw them out there, messing around on the roof. If one of them hurts themselves, you might be in trouble for it,” she says, flipping her hair over one shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a liability, isn’t it? Letting them up there on your slippery roof for your lights.”

“Oh. Well, I mean, they wanted to do it, and I don’t think they’d sue me if one of them fell, Isabelle.”

She raises one eyebrow, looking me up and down quickly. I can see her visually dismissing me in my flour covered apron. “Right. Because they’re your boyfriends and they wouldn’t do that,” she says, but it’s dripping with… something. Something that makes irritation prickle inside me.

“Right. Anyway, what’s up? Wedding stuff going okay?” Maybe if I can steer the conversation to where I know she wants it, she’ll ease up and leave me alone.