56. Alice

ALICE

S weet scents pull me out of sleep, and it’s the most pleasant way I’ve ever woken up.

I stretch out, finding Michael’s side of the bed warm but empty.

Michael.

I smile as I blink my eyes open.

It’s Christmas morning, quite possibly my favorite day of the year, and I get to spend it with Michael Kesso.

Then I blink my eyes again.

The sight beyond the open curtains is nothing short of breathtaking.

I sit up and turn toward the view.

The backyard is small, surrounded by towering evergreens, and every inch of it is covered in snow.

Lots of snow.

And it’s still falling.

The floor quietly creaks as I cross to the window, and my smile turns into a grin when I see that not every inch is covered.

A path has been shoveled to the hot tub, proving that Michael has been busy this morning.

No swimsuits and a hot tub in the snow. Merry Christmas to me.

Not wanting to miss a moment of today, I rush through my routine in the bathroom, emerging with freshly brushed teeth and my hair up in a frizzy bun. I’m still in my pajamas, a super short sleep dress with thin straps and a low-cut front—courtesy of my cousins, who slipped it into my suitcase with a Post-it that said wear me .

I don’t know if they had already gotten it for me as a gift or if it belonged to one of them already, but if ever there was a day to wear something provocative…

And if I get cold in this skimpy outfit, I’m sure I can convince Michael to warm me up.

Following my nose, I pad down the short hall into the kitchen. And then I stop.

Before me, in the flesh, is Michael, in the flesh .

Literally.

His back is to me, and I can’t stop staring at his ass. His clad only in bright red boxer briefs ass.

It’s an ass I’d write to Santa for, if it wasn’t already mine.

I step closer, smug satisfaction filling every inch of me.

“Looks delicious,” I say in greeting.

Michael glances at me over his shoulder, smirk already in place. “Merry Christmas.” His eyes travel up and down my body. “My little snow elf.”

Then he turns the rest of the way to face me, and, jingle my bells, I have to swallow.

I’ve never seen a hotter image in my life.

Michael has put on a green apron that covers his boxer briefs, making him look naked. In an apron. In a kitchen that smells like heaven.

“Everything okay?” His tone is knowing, even as he stares at my chest.

I step forward and dip my fingers into the open bag of flour on the counter.

“I’m sorry,” I say, then I gently slap my hand on his bare shoulder.

Michael lowers his gaze to the dusty print on his skin, then looks back up at me. “You don’t seem very sorry.”

I grin. “I’m not. You just looked too perfect.”

“And now?” He raises a brow.

I purse my lips as I consider, then I dip my fingers back in the flour. “Still too perfect.”

He lets my hand connect with his other shoulder, then he snags my wrist and pulls me to him. “Naughty girl.”

I’m laughing when our lips connect, but Michael quickly swallows that laughter.

Chocolate and spices swirl around us as Michael deepens the kiss.

He slides his hands around my sides to my back, holding me close.

I lean into him and drag my own hands up his back, enjoying the feel of his muscles flexing under my touch.

His lips part and I slide my tongue across his, eliciting a groan from deep in his throat.

Michael lets me taste him, for one more heartbeat, before he pulls away.

“That’s enough of that, Sweetness.” He takes a step back. “I promised myself I’d feed you before I fucked you again.”

I cross my arms. “What a grinch.”

“Go sit down.” He reaches for the whisk sitting on the counter, and I jump out of the way before he can pretend to swat me with it.

After circling around the island, I pull out one of the stools and settle in to watch him work.

“What are you making?” I ask.

He turns back to the stove. “Raspberry pancakes.”

“Ooo.”

“With a white chocolate sauce.”

“Well, stuff my stocking, that sounds amazing.”

Michael chuckles.

“Is that your usual Christmas morning food?” I ask as my mouth starts watering.

Michael shakes his head. “Can’t say I have a usual. Normally, I’m on the road filming for the holidays.”

I drum my fingers against the counter. “Technically, you are this year too.”

He turns and sets a steaming mug in front of me. “This year is different.”

I lift the milky drink and inhale the rich coffee steam. “Different good, right?”

“Different perfect. Though you should hardly have to ask.”

Michael turns back to the stove, hovering his hand above the large flat griddle on top of the burners, checking to see if it’s ready for the batter, while I go back to staring at his ass.

He reaches for the bowl of batter to his right. “Now tell me about baking with your grandmother.”

I blink.

Something about admiring someone’s butt cheeks while they mention your deceased relative feels a little weird.

I clear my throat. “Um…”

“You were supposed to tell me about her on the plane.” He glances back at me. “But you decided to sleep instead.”

I snort. “I still can’t believe I did that.”

Then, after taking a sip of coffee, I tell him.

I tell Michael about my grandma. How she always had these little silver dollar chocolate chip cookies in her freezer. How she gave me the actual silver dollar as a token of luck—and to remind me of her. How she passed her love for baking on to me.

I tell him about Christmas Eves always spent at her house. How we’d eat until we couldn’t eat anymore. How the focus was always on the feast and how presents were the last thing we cared about.

“The little candle chime thing was always my favorite part of the table setting.” I sigh. “I don’t know what happened to it.”

Michael slides another trio of pancakes into the warm oven. “The what?”

“It’s a… I don’t know how to describe it.” I look around and spot a notebook on one of the counters. I slide off the stool and collect it, then go back to my seat. “I’m not very good at drawing.” I state the obvious as I start to sketch. “I think maybe it was made of brass, but it was shiny gold and kinda looked like a skinny carousel. It had candles circling the bottom and a trio of angels on the top part. And when you lit the candles, the heat made the angels go around in a circle, causing them to chime bells on every turn.” I bite my lip as I frown at my drawing. “I’m doing a terrible job describing this.”

I startle when Michael’s heat presses against my back.

He reaches past me to pull the notebook to the side so he can see it. “You’re a better artist than you give yourself credit for.”

I sigh. “And you’re being kind.”

Michael kisses the top of my head. “We’ll find one of these chime things before next Christmas.”

Next Christmas.

The sigh I let out this time is different.

Contented.

And as Michael walks back around the island, his glutes looking like holiday hams in those boxer briefs, I wonder again how I got so damn lucky.