Rebel Without A Claus

That’s right, Nicholas. Take a good look at what you once abandoned in bed, bitch.

Boy. I really needed that coffee. My brain was feisty this morning.

“Good morning,” he said after a moment too long.

“Not really,” I replied.

Mom looked at me and sighed. “Honestly, Quinn. Couldn’t you put some clothes on?”

“I was trying to. Hence the bra hanging over my shoulder. Is there any coffee left?”

“You should put on some clothes.”

“I’m here now.” I walked over to the coffee pot, and there was coffee. Rejoice! This day was looking up!

Not really, but you know.

“We have a guest,” Mom pointed out in her most disapproving tone.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I turned and held up the coffee pot. “Nicholas, would you like another coffee?”

My mother sighed.

What? I thought that was the polite thing to do. Was that not what she meant?

Nicholas’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“All right, then. More for me.” I grabbed the biggest cup I could find and fixed myself a cup.

“Quinn.” Mom’s voice was even sterner now. “Please.”

I picked up my mug and looked at the clock. “It’s five to seven. He’s early. That’s not my fault.” Then I took a sip and walked out, pulling my bra from my shoulder and swinging it at my side as I left.

“I’m so sorry about that,” I heard Mom say. “She has no manners.”

Well, that was rude.

I did have manners.

I didn’t always use them, but I had them, so there.

I was upstairs and in the safety of my room by the time he replied—if he did—and didn’t hear another thing.

Well, it was a good thing I didn’t embarrass easily, wasn’t it? Or that would have been super-duper awkward. Especially the way he looked at me.

That was annoying.

I didn’t want him to look at me that way—like he was wondering what it was like under my towel. He had no right to wonder that.

And mark my words—Nicholas White was not going to see what I looked like under my towel.

No sir.

Not ever.

Not again.

I finally got dressed and ready for the day, making sure to grab a stupid Christmas sweater that my mom would insist I wear. Mine, naturally, had the Grinch on it and was emblazoned with the words, ‘Resting Grinch Face.’ It’d been a gift from Erin last year, and although my mom might not like this particular sweater, she’d have to deal with it.

Compromise was important.

If you asked me, it was Gramps and his sweaters she had to worry about. His newest one said, ‘Do you like my balls?’ and had baubles on the front.

At least mine wasn’t sexually suggestive.

Not this sweater, anyway. There was the rest of the year for all those other ones.

After running the hairdryer through my hair and throwing on a lick of makeup, I pulled some thick socks over my feet before I went downstairs. Voices were coming from the living room, so I made my way in there.

Nicholas was standing on our coffee table.

Like he needed the extra height. The man was comfortably over six foot, for God’s sake.

He was absolutely swamped by the Santa suit. Granted, my father was a tall man, but he was also suitably… rounded… in the middle. And the top. And the bottom.

Look, he was a larger man, okay? It was a solid mix of muscle and pie, as he always said, and that meant his Santa suit was absolutely monstrous on Nicholas who, while tall, was slim.

And muscular.

But we weren’t talking about that.

Seriously. Stop laughing at me.

“You’re going to need some padding,” Mom said, pinching the sleeve at his arm. “I can temporarily take these in, but I can’t do it by much or it’ll be too obvious. Around your waist… Well, I hope we have enough padding for it. I don’t suppose you’d like to eat three pies and get very bloated, would you?”

“Uh, I’ll take one, but I doubt I could manage three of them,” Nicholas said with a smile, catching my eye.

“I thought as much. Let me find that padding and a pie. You may as well get started eating.”

“It’s a little early for pie, isn’t it?”

“Blasphemy.” I shook my head. “It’s never too early for pie. Especially Mom’s pie.”

“I stand corrected.” His eyes twinkled. “Pie it is, then. Just as well I didn’t have breakfast this morning.”

Oh.

Pie for breakfast.

I was all about that. Yes, please.

Wait.

Pie.

Cheesecake.

I hadn’t given Mom her cheesecake. It was still in my car.

Actually, that was fine. It was basically a freaking refrigerator outside anyway, so it would be okay.

“I’ll be right back,” I said as Nicholas stepped down from the coffee table and Mom started unbuttoning the coat. She shot me a look but didn’t question me as I slipped my feet into my favorite leather boots, shoved a hat on my head, and went outside.

My car was under the carport and that had saved it from the few inches of snow that had fallen yet again overnight. The driveway was another matter—I would have to help Michael shovel that before anyone could get anywhere. If the blue truck I could see at the edge of our land was any indication, Nicholas had had to park at the gate and walk up.