How My Brother's Best Friend Stole Christmas - Molly O'Keefe Page 0,20

some of the PTSD, and I was trying my hardest.

“Wrap some up,” I said to my mom, who was no doubt expecting me to make this offer. “I’ll take it to her.”

Ten minutes later I was in my old truck, taking half a chicken potpie and a green salad with the dressing in a little mason jar over to Sophie’s place. Determined—determined—not to touch her again.

And to try and make things right.

Sophie

Well, crap. I had nothing to do. My place was clean; I kept it that way. My brother’s phone went right to voice mail. My gym was closed so I couldn’t even work out to eat up some time and burn off this energy. So I sat down in my beanbag chair, fired up my PlayStation, and got lost in my video game.

So lost I didn’t hear the knock on the door until it was an absolute pound that shook the walls.

“Jesus,” I muttered, tossing the controller down. “I have neighbors.”

There was only a handful of people who would be knocking on my door on Christmas Day and one of them was on a honeymoon, the other finger-banged me and then told me he didn’t want me, and the other one was my mother. So I schooled my face into something polite, expecting the worst, and yanked open the door only to find Sam standing there.

Snow fell down on his black hat and the shoulders of his Carhartt coveralls, and he carried a cardboard box.

Say something smart. Clever. Say something cool.

“Hi.”

Nice one.

“Hi. You want this?” he asked and then shoved the box toward me. “It’s dinner. Mom wanted you to stay.”

“Oh.” I took the box. “She didn’t have to do that.”

“You know Mom.”

“You want to come in?” I asked, baffled and slightly tortured by his being here. His eyes took in my body, one long sweeping gaze like he was checking for enemies, and I’d never been so aware of my tiny sleep shorts and my just-over-the-knee cozy socks. A Kane Co. sweatshirt rounded out the whole look.

“I’m going to shovel,” he said, jerking a thumb back at the parking area where all my neighbors’ cars were buried under snow and ice.

“It’s still snowing,” I said.

“Better to get ahead of it,” he said, and that, it seemed, was that. He turned around, took the stairs down to where his truck was parked and pulled out his shovel.

Oh my God, I thought. How Fucking Sam Porter could Sam Porter be?

The wind was freezing against my bare thighs, so I shut the door and set the box down on the island in my kitchen. There was a tinfoil-wrapped pie tin that smelled like Betty’s famous chicken potpie, and I was plenty grateful for that, as well as for the salad in a plastic container and the separate jar of dressing.

But also in the box was a bright blue wrapped package with a silver ribbon.

A Christmas present.

A long time ago I’d established with Betty that the cake, the coffee, and the safe and lovely place to go on Christmas was gift enough from her, so that present could only be from Sam.

I touched the silver ribbon, stretching a curly strand of it straight and then letting go. In my bedroom I had a present for Sam, too. A new headset for when we gamed together. His piece of crap had been left overseas when he’d gotten hurt and I’d gotten him the model he’d had his eye on forever.

Of course, I’d gotten it for him before the whole warehouse incident.

I’d been trying to—if not forget, at least stop remembering—what had happened between us. What he’d done to me. How his hands had felt on my skin, his mouth on my body…

Fuck.

Nope. No. I was not going to sit around getting turned on by memories of him. I wasn’t going to sit in my own house and be agitated by this gift. As a rule I wasn’t a big drinker. Hangovers were the worst. But if there was a day for a few cocktails it was my All Alone on Christmas Day day. I had a bottle of good gin, some tonic, and a few hard limes. I fixed myself a strong one and sat back down to my game.

Ignoring the gift.

But then I couldn’t ignore the gift.

I paused my game and contemplated the pretty wrapped box on my island. Two choices. I could just throw it away. That seemed like a waste of a good gift. Or I could open it. But