A Toast to the Good Times (21 page)

Her hands clasp around my neck and her fingers brush over my hair lightly. I’m expecting something slow and sweet, but Mila kisses like I’m going off to war and this is the last kiss we’re ever going to have.

I love it.

When I hear the persistent knock on the door, we’re not exactly naked, but it would take a pretty open mind to call us decent.

Mila takes her hands out of my pants and twists her shirt back over her amazing tits while I keep one hand on the doorknob and watch until she gives me the okay. When she nods, I pull her closer and kiss along her neck, firing everything up again.

“Landry!” she whisper yells, and knocks my hand away so she can open the door.

Henry’s smirk fades fast.

“You’re down here,” he says dumbly.

“Where did you think she’d be, dumbass?” I gripe.

“I thought she was staying with Paisley,” Henry shoots back.

“Um, I’m going to run to the bathroom,” Mila says, pointing down the hall and darting away, fast.

“What the hell is up with you?” I snap. “She came to see
me
, okay? What makes you think she’d stay anywhere else?”

Henry’s mouth is compressed in a flat, angry line. “I guess I wasn’t thinking. I was hoping that she’d be smart enough to not fall for your asshole lines like every other girl you fucked over. You treat them all like shit, but they can’t get enough.”

“That’s bullshit, Henry,” I seethe. “And, even if, let’s say, it’s actually true, what the fuck do you care?”

“She was just...Mila seems different, and I hate to think about her ending up as one more notch on your damn bedpost.” Henry’s twisted mouth can’t hide the disgust the entire idea of me and her brings up in him.

“Mila is different. She’s totally different, and I intend to...Hey! What’s up?”

Henry looks over his shoulder at Mila, standing a few feet away from us, her lips pinched together.

“Um, can I talk to you a minute, Landry?” Her smile for Henry is warm and sweet, and I hear her wish him a merry Christmas as she walks past.

I’m waiting in the corner of the bedroom, the farthest from Henry, not like he won’t hear every word.

“I heard,” she whispers. “I need to go. I should never have flirted with your brother
—
”

“He needs to grow a set and understand that a girl being nice to him doesn’t mean she’s
gonna
date him forever
—
”

“Stop. Listen to me. He’s your
brother
. This is
Christmas
. It took you a year to get out here and make peace after your last family shakeup. If you think I’m going to be in the middle of the next Murphy brawl, you’re out of your skull.” She kisses me on the mouth, just a gentle press of her lips to mine, and then stoops down and pulls her boots on.

Her hand is on her coat when I pull her back to me. I’m shaking from the thought of her leaving, not being here with me on this day after all we had last night.

“Don’t...don’t go. Okay? Don’t go. Stay with me. I’ll...I promise, I’ll make things okay with Henry. He’s just worried about you
—
”

“Me? Why?” she interrupts, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Don’t make me say it. Not now, not after last night. You know what my reputation was.” I rub a hand over my face hard, like I can rub away all the shitty frustration that’s pouring through me.

“I do.” She closes her eyes and sighs. “Just...you’re just reuniting with your family. You’re just making peace. Maybe you and me...maybe it’s just a case of bad timing?” She stares at the furry tips of her boots.

“No.” I make sure she can hear by the tone of my voice exactly how adamant I am when I say that word. “No. Do you hear me? This isn’t bad timing. Or, if it is, it’s bad because it’s coming around too late. I waited too long. Other than that, you and me? Everything is falling together for us for a reason. I believe that. You need to stick around. Please.”

She puts her hand up to my cheek and rubs my face with her thumb. “Why is it so hard for me to say no to you?”

I take a long second to wallow in my relief.

“I have no fucking clue.” I pick her up by the waist and spin her around while she yelps. “But I’m glad that’s the way it is.”

Because I’m committed to keeping her here and happy, I make nice with Henry. Which means we don’t get into an actual fist fight and when we talk, we attempt to use words instead of growls.

When we arrive in the living room Mom and Paisley are sitting next to the tree and Dad is bringing in a tray of mimosas.

“These are handmade by me this morning with fresh-squeezed clementine juice,” he announces, handing the glasses out with kisses. “Drink up and be merry, gang.”

He hands Henry a glass, passes one to Mila and gives her a kiss like she’s
one
of the family, and stops when he sees me.

I guess old habits die hard, because it’s like the minute he lays eyes on me, he feels a pulse of annoyance and it manifests as a frown on his face.

My return frown doesn’t go quite the way I anticipate, though. Maybe it triggered thoughts of last night and the peace we made, because my dad flips his face and hands me a mimosa with a smile. We stand while everyone else crowds the tree and my dad raises his glass to mine.

“To our beautiful women. I don’t know how we got so lucky, but thank god we did.”

We clink glasses, and Mila looks over her shoulder as I’m about to take the first sip, saluting me with her glass and making the sweetest, sexiest eyes at me.

The champagne and juice is the perfect sweet and bubbling celebration mix for this morning, and it’s fun. It’s finally back to being easy, calm fun.

Mom and Dad get us a bunch of gag gifts, so we’re all wearing fake mustaches and playing with our Wooly Willys when Mom’s screech makes us all look up from the magnetic hairy men we’re working on.

“Tommy, what the hell is this?” Mom’s hands are shaky.

Paisley comes by and glances over my mother’s shoulder. “Isn’t that gram’s ruby?”

Mom’s wiping tears away from under her eyes. “We don’t have enough for this, Tommy,” she chokes.

My dad, looking pleased as hell with himself, gestures for my mother to come to him. She’s still holding the box, the shiny silver wrapping paper attached with leftover tape. She sits on my dad’s lap, and he puts his arm around her.

“You didn’t need to pawn that, Gillian.” He raises his eyebrows at her horrified face.

“I put the money into savings, just in case we needed it. I didn’t want you to know.” Her voice is quiet, sad.

My dad runs a hand over Mom’s hair, tucking it behind her ears and smiling at her.

“Sweetheart, I own the town bar. Everyone knows me, and everyone spills. You know that.” He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles, closing his eyes for a long second. “It was a beautiful gesture, and I love you for it. But I know how to squeeze a penny, babe. And you don’t have to worry about a thing. That ring your mom gave you? It belongs on your gorgeous hand, end of story.”

He takes the ring out of the box and slides it onto Mom’s finger. Everyone in the room is silent, like we’re all holding our breath, and Mom just stares at her outstretched hand for a minute before the tears choke her up and she buries her face in my dad’s neck.

“Tommy!” she wails. “You’re too good to me!”

“I’m not good enough,” Dad says with a chuckle, patting her on the back.

I don’t know anything about jewelry, but I know Gram’s ring was old and precious. And I bet Mom got a nice chunk for it.

Even if everything is doing okay at the bar, Dad must have had to scrimp to get the ring back and still help Rusty out.

My ears burn when I realize that the tattered look of the place isn’t my dad’s negligence.

It’s his ability to put the woman he loves first, even before his pride in the place he loves most.

I get up and stalk out the front door, suddenly needing some fresh air.

I’m standing in the front yard, shivering a little in just a t-shirt while my body gets shocked over and over by the whipping wind and swirling blasts of snow flurries. The door opens, and when I look back, Mila is walking toward me.

“Baby, it’s cold outside,” she announces, and for a single, heart-stopping second, I’m pumped to hear her call me ‘baby’ like we’re a real couple.

Then I realize she’s quoting a Christmas song.

“Cold as a witch’s tit in a brass bra,” I say, and she smiles, recognizing her crazy description of the blizzard that blew us together that first night. “You need to get back inside.”

“Why are you out here all alone?” She stands close enough that the sharp smell of winter is replaced by the warm, comforting smell of her.

“Did the full extent of your own idiocy ever just...” I punch my fist into my palm. “Smack you upside the head? All at once?”

“Is this about your dad?” She pulls the dark hair that whipped into her face back away from her eyes. “His gift to your mother was really sweet.”

I shake my head. “Yeah. He was saving up to make my mom happy, and I was judging the fact that his bar wasn’t in perfect condition. I’m...God, I’m such an asshole.”

She links hands with mine, and her skin is ice-cold. “But you’re getting better
every day
. That’s a good thing, right?”

I turn to face her and pull her close, blocking the wind from whipping at her as best I can. “What’s it gonna be like, with me and you, when we go back to Boston?”

She tries to pull back, but my arms are locked.

“I don’t know, Landry.”

“Why did you come out here to me if this wasn’t what you wanted?” I ask her.

She looks up at me, her eyes filled with tears. “I came out here to see the real Landry. To see you being a player, telling everyone to screw off, being selfish. I came here to prove to
myself, finally, that the sensitive, smart, sexy guy I’d built up in my head for months was just a figment of my imagination. Just some romantic story hero I’d dreamed up. I needed to move on. I was so humiliated by you, and I wanted it all over, done, out of my head and my heart for good. But, when I got here, you’d become my dream guy. And, honestly, I didn’t expect it. So, joke’s on me.”

Her announcement is a little shocking.

“You came here because you wanted to end it?”

Her nod is slow and resigned.

“Now what?” I ask.

She averts her eyes and laughs a humorless little laugh. “I have to get up the guts to believe that maybe, possibly, what I wanted so badly is...real? And it’s time to accept that.”

I pull her tight and kiss her with fierce determination, because I’m afraid to say anything that may screw this up.

I have to make this work. I have to let Mila know she can trust me.

I’ve never been more nervous in my entire damn life.

Chapter 15

“So, you add the whole bottle of ginger ale?” Mom peers over her glasses and asks Mila.

Mila smiles, tightens the apron around her waist, and walks over to assist. She and Mom have been trading recipes all morning, and it’s equal parts creepy and everything I’ve ever wanted out of a holiday.

“Absolutely.” Mila nods and gathers her dark hair in a loose bun, securing it with two holiday pencils from a jar on the counter. “And don’t forget the strawberries.”

“Right, strawberries,” Mom repeats. She smacks her forehead dramatically and then grabs them from the bowl in the sink where they’d been rinsed earlier.

“Are you schooling a Murphy on how to make drinks?” I ask with a chuckle.
 

I wrap my arms around Mila’s waist from behind and bury my face into her neck, letting her hair nearly suffocate me. Mom looks over and gives me a wink. She’s playing along for Mila’s sake.

You can’t teach my mom anything that she doesn’t already know about drinks.
And
sickeningly sweet alcoholic punches are like the H
orcrux of our family, but Mom is acting interested for Mila, and I couldn’t love her more for it.

“It’s called
ho-ho-ho
punch.” Mila crosses the room, uncorks a bottle of champagne like a champ, and empties it into the huge punch bowl, already full of sherbet and gingerale and whatever other hellacious ingredients Mila insisted on.
 

Because even though, as a bartender, this punch is everything that I’m totally against, this is Mila and
that
makes it cute as hell. So, I’m going to drink a big ass glass of that ridiculous ho-ho-ho punch and be goddamn jolly about it.

“It’s a tradition in my family,” Mila says, her voice low and tight.

She gives a slight, embarrassed shrug of one shoulder, and my oversized sweatshirt that she borrowed slips down a bit, exposing a sliver of soft, bare Mila skin. I swallow the growl that I feel bubble up in my throat, remembering the taste of that little spot of skin from last night.