How the Hitman Stole Christmas

I ask Nora first since she’s been here a lot more than I have. She recommends a shop on Main Street that sells “fashionable women’s clothing,” and tells me about a couple of other places I could take her.

I get on my phone and do some research once I have an idea of the downtown area, check hours and locations so I can make a game plan.

When I go back to find Autumn, she’s in the kitchen with Nora and my mom baking cookies.

That is one hell of an image. I don’t know which part feels strangest—seeing Autumn looking like part of my family, or seeing my mom bake.

Uncle Arlo is sitting at the island talking to them while they bake. Autumn’s hard at work on snowball cookies, rolling them in powdered sugar and setting them aside.

She’s wearing an apron so as not to get sugar on Nora’s clothes.

An apron.

I sigh, shaking my head at the profound domesticity of this scene.

The hair on the back of my nape suddenly stands up. At first I think it’s some kind of response to seeing Autumn integrated into the fabric of my family like this, but then I feel a shift in the space behind me and look back to see Tarek creeping up on me.

My fists clench as a matter of habit, but of course he’s not creeping up on me for any nefarious purpose. He has his camera strapped around his neck, and it appears he’s trying to move up beside me quietly to take a candid shot of the ladies baking Christmas cookies.

“Tell Nora to send me a copy of that one,” I tell him.

He snaps a couple more photos, then smiles at me. “Sure, no problem.”

I don’t have any photographs in my house. Not just because I’m not overly sentimental—I’m not, but more than that, I don’t want to have things like that laying around my place just in case anyone ever got in and snooped around when I wasn’t there.

I can keep a copy of it on my phone, though.

The sound of my voice alerts Autumn to my presence and her gaze snaps in my direction. There’s a smile lingering on her face from whatever conversation she was just having, but when her gaze meets mine, it feels like her smile is just for me.

God, she’s beautiful.

Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy bun while she bakes. If she doesn’t do it on her own, I’m gonna take her hair down for her before we leave. I love her long hair hanging around her shoulders and down her back.

She holds up a powdery white ball and beckons me over. “Here, come try one of these, see if they’re good.”

“Oh, they are,” Arlo pipes up. He has a napkin on the counter in front of him with plenty of powdered sugar residue on it.

“I’m not a big cookie guy,” I tell her, but I move closer anyway.

Cocking a very unimpressed eyebrow at me, she says, “Eat my cookie, dammit.”

Well, if she insists.

I give her a searing look to let her know I didn’t miss the double entendre in her words. Her cheeks turn rosy, but she pretends obliviousness as she pushes the cookie between my waiting lips.

My fingers lock around her wrist before she can pull it away. Her gaze darts to mine like a lamb caught in a bear trap. I hold onto her while I chew the cookie and swallow. Then, as if we’re the only two in the room and it’s appropriate to mess with her this way, I suck her sugary finger into my mouth so I can lick it clean.

“Oh, my God,” Nora says, wide-eyed. “There are children and sisters in the room.”

“Not to mention your mother,” my mom pipes in, unwilling to be left out.

Without remorse, I tighten my grip on Autumn’s wrist since she’s trying to pull away. As her cheeks burn at the lack of privacy, I lick each one of her fingers clean.

When I finally release her, Autumn swallows and falls back a step. Flushed the deepest shade of pink I’ve seen her so far, she mutters an apology and flees to the sink to wash her hands.

The other women might be horrified, but Uncle Arlo chuckles. “Oh, I remember when me and Lorna were young and in love.” His eyes sparkle at the memory. “She used to make these balish cookies every year. The first year she ever made them for me was when we were going out together. She always makes them at Christmastime, you see, she used to make them with her mother. Well, that year she made an extra plate of cookies just for me and brought them up to my work.” Shaking his finger at me knowingly, he says, “That’s how you knows she’s sweet on you, Jasper. She wants to bake for you.”