this, a simple kiss in the front seat of a truck, she seemed to hold herself back ever so slightly. He ended the kiss before his body revealed just what she was doing to him.
When Grace opened her eyes, he could see the dazed look of them in the lights of the parking lot.
“I needed to do that here,” he told her. “Because if I do that at your front door I’d be tempted to stay.”
Her eyes opened wider.
“And I don’t think you’re ready for that.”
“Dameon . . .” She said his name with a sigh.
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to wait a little longer.”
She was smiling now. “I’d like that, too.”
And because that was settled, he reached for her again. This time, she kissed him a little harder, a little longer, and she said his name in a throaty whisper that he could get used to hearing over and over again.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Christmas morning, Grace took advantage of the crisp, dry weather and took a walk in an effort to work off the calories the day was going to bestow upon her. She listened to her soundtrack of fast-paced tunes that kept her moving quicker than she normally would.
By the time she walked back in her front door, her phone buzzed with a text from Dameon. She smiled instantly.
Merry Christmas and good morning.
She pulled a water bottle from her fridge and sat at her kitchen counter while texting him back. Good morning and Merry Christmas to you, too.
When will you go to your parents?
I help my mom cook, so I’ll leave here in about an hour. The masses start showing up after eleven. What about you?
I’m leaving at noon and bringing the wine. My contribution to cooking is carving the turkey.
She smiled. A noble task.
I think that was sarcastic.
Would I do that? Grace asked.
The dots on her screen took some time flashing before his reply arrived.
Yes.
A keen observation on your part. I guess that’s why you’re the CEO.
Dameon replied with a laughing emoji.
I’m getting in the shower. Have a wonderful time with your family. Grace held on to her phone and waited for his reply.
You, too.
You would think the short distance from downtown LA to Glendale would take less than thirty minutes.
But the key word is LA. And Los Angeles was known worldwide for its traffic problems. Add a holiday with no typical pattern from which to gauge a timeline and it was a crapshoot as to when you’d arrive.
Dameon arrived thirty minutes later than he’d told his mom he’d be there. Expecting a little bit of flak, he was surprised to walk through the door and hear her laughing.
“Hello?” he called out.
“In the kitchen,” his mom replied.
That’s when he heard a male voice.
Not just any voice.
Tristan.
Dameon wasn’t prepared to spend the holiday with his brother, or any day for that matter. In the last conversation he’d had with his mother, she’d told him Tristan couldn’t make it. Dameon took a fortifying breath and walked around the corner with a smile. “Merry Christmas.”
“Dameon!” his mom exclaimed as if she were surprised to see him.
He placed his armful of bags on the end of the kitchen counter and accepted his mother’s hug. “Sorry I’m late.”
His mom hugged him tight. “Are you late?”
“Traffic.”
She brushed off his comment with a second hug. When she moved away, she turned toward his brother. “Look who’s here!”
Dameon moved forward and reached out his hand.
Tristan grasped it in the handshake their father had taught them both. “Good to see you,” Tristan said.
“You, too.” The words were polite, and honestly not felt. “I thought you couldn’t make it.”
Tristan let go and shrugged. “Plans changed.”
Their mom placed a hand on both their arms. “The perfect Christmas present for me is to see both my boys in the same room getting along.”
Dameon gave it an hour before someone was pissed off.
Grace started with eggnog. The homemade kind that took a full day to set in the refrigerator after it was mixed. The turkey was in the oven, and she and her mom moved around the kitchen in complete sync with each other as they prepared all the side dishes that they only cooked once or twice a year.
“Colin tells me you’re having trouble at work,” Nora said while shedding tears from cutting onions.
Grace had her hands full of bread crumbs and sage sausage she was mixing together to create stuffing. “I wouldn’t call it trouble, I’d call it the norm.”
“Richard’s always been an ass,” her father called from