Ross chuckled. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” Aunt Maggie waved a hand at him as she shuffled across the floor. She threaded her arm through his, tugging him toward the kitchen and out of my grasp. “Tell me something, any of those football friends of yours into older women? Cougars, as all the kids say.”
I slapped my hand over my mouth and shook my head. Only Aunt Maggie.
By the time dinner was served, everyone was getting along easily. My mom had enough booze in her system to forgive Aunt Maggie’s increasing levels of inappropriateness. My dad and Ross proved they could talk football forever. And I was feeling warm and sleepy after having had a few too many glasses of wine while preparing the meal.
Ross pulled my chair out for me, and I glanced up at him with a smile. “Thanks.”
“Such a gentleman,” Aunt Maggie said, flashing a tipsy grin. “You hold onto this one, Shelbs. Tall, broad-shouldered, manners. Obviously, comes from good stock. Plus,” her smile went from warm to devious in the blink of an eye as she leaned forward, “he’s probably hung like a—”
“Margaret!” my father boomed, nearly jumping out of his skin.
Aunt Maggie snorted and then dissolved into giggles as she reached for her wineglass. My mom swooped in and dragged it out of her path with a scowl. Aunt Maggie shrugged. “Look at his big ol’ hands! You know what they say...”
“No, we don’t, Maggie,” my dad told her sternly.
My cheeks felt like they were on fire, and I didn’t dare glance at Ross as he took his seat beside me. “Sorry,” I muttered out of the corner of my mouth.
“Please, everyone, let’s pray,” my mother said, shooting another deadly glare at Aunt Maggie.
We all joined hands around the table, and my dad led us in the traditional holiday prayer. I couldn’t really pick out the words as I was distracted by the way Ross’s thumb was brushing against the inside of my palm. With everyone’s heads bowed and eyes closed, I peeked over at him, and he lifted my hand to plant a slow kiss on the ridge of my knuckles.
Holy. Hot. Damn. Shit. Fuck. Me.
“Amen!”
I jolted to attention and added an Amen of my own. Beside me, Ross chuckled under his breath.
Dinner went on, the conversation flowing as we all passed dishes back and forth. It was surprising how easy and natural it felt. I’d never brought a guy home before. Certainly not for Christmas. He fit in seamlessly, even gracefully handling Aunt Maggie’s open ogling and muttered comments about how he should have been a tight end.
“Where are your folks, son?” Aunt Maggie asked, her words slightly slurring together.
I sucked in a breath as Ross cleared his throat. “Umm. My mom lives in Arizona. She’s remarried. My dad isn’t in the picture.” The tightness of his voice cut through me like a hot knife. He’d been the same way on our date the other night. His family was obviously a pain point, one that I was still curious about, but I didn’t want to press on. And I especially didn’t want Aunt Maggie pushing it either.
“Well, I’m delighted you were able to join us,” Mom said, cutting off Aunt Maggie before she could dig any deeper.
Thank God for Mom.
Maggie’s diner was a gossip haven for the city, and she prided herself on always having the goods on the locals. I wasn’t going to let her spread gossip about Ross. She wouldn’t mean it maliciously, but there was no telling what damage it could do. Besides that, it really wasn’t anyone’s business.
“Yes, we all are, Ross,” my dad said, smiling cheesily across the table while swiftly elbowing Aunt Maggie beside him.
“Thank you,” Ross said, though his smile seemed forced.
An awkward silence settled over the table, accentuating the sounds of utensils on the fancy china my mom only busted out for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I searched my mind for a way to start a new conversation but came up short.
“Anyone ready for dessert?” my mom asked, pushing away from the table.
“I’m always ready for dessert,” my dad said.conversation,
My mom placed a hand on his shoulder as she leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. “Pumpkin pie or chocolate torte?”
“Both?”
She scoffed at his reply, but then turned her eye to Aunt Maggie. “Margaret?” She only called her that when she was pissed off.
“I think it’s time to trot out the eggnog.”
My mom sighed and marched into the kitchen.
“I’ll help,” I said, hopping up from my own chair. “Ross? Are football players allowed a slice of Christmas pie?”
He smiled up at me. “Chocolate sounds good. Thanks.”
I followed my mom into the kitchen and found her pouring herself another glass of wine. “I’m sorry about her,” she said, catching my eye as I went to the fridge where the two desserts were stashed.