An Amy Lane Christmas by Amy Lane

An Amy Lane Christmas by Amy Lane

Author:Amy Lane [Lane, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-63533-532-3
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2017-12-25T05:00:00+00:00

THE NEXT day he wasn’t so sure.

Taylor had planned to cook. Scott was not exactly sure the woman knew how.

Since that first morning, Scott had been the unacknowledged cook of the family. The kids would come ask him for sandwiches and soup because they knew he’d do fun stuff like cook parmesan into the bread with the grilled cheese sandwiches and dress their vegetables into things that looked like cars and kittens and Mickey Mouse.

Yvonne or Ryan had started dinner for the prior three nights, and both of them had asked his advice and followed it in matters of cooking time, seasoning, and side dishes. He’d enjoyed that time. He sat at the counter and drank a beer while Ryan and Yvonne moved like things were choreographed. He remembered Ryan talking about how he and Yvonne had woken up as kids and made their own cereal and sat and watched cartoons together. He could see that here in the way they moved, in the way they talked in shorthand, and the way they told effortless stories about each other as they moved.

Those were the times he was happiest about coming up to see Ryan’s family at the cabin instead of staying back in Sacramento to spend Christmas Eve with his own and then Christmas morning sleeping in like he’d planned. He’d had other plans, too—a midnight mass, hot chocolate on their couch, Ryan’s expression when he got his Christmas gift, and really hot sex including some Christmas gifts that hadn’t made the cut for the trip up to Tahoe. But those plans seemed small and selfish (well, not the hot sex—he’d planned to give a lot for that) compared to watching Ryan be quietly happy with the sister he rarely got to see.

But Christmas Eve. Shit. Scott had seen the flank steak and the frozen vegetables and the olive oil and the wine—he’d been the one to bring everything out of the outside freezer the night before. He’d gone into the kitchen and had started marinating the steak and sautéeing the vegetables and suddenly….

Suddenly there was Ryan’s mom, looking hurt, like Scott had stolen her favorite pair of earrings or was putting his big stinky man-feet into her new pumps or something.

“Oh, but Scott, I was going to cook.” Her eyes were blue and she was petite and blonde, but that didn’t mean Scott couldn’t see Ryan in the shape of her mouth and her nose and even the little line between her eyebrows when she was hurt.

Like now.

“Oh,” he said swallowing. “Uhm, Italian flank steak—there’s sundried tomatoes in the fridge. Uhm… unless… uhm… what were you planning to cook?”

Well hell. It was her cabin and her stocked refrigerator and basically her hospitality, and Scott had been stepping on her toes. He knew that. But he hadn’t seen the woman in the kitchen once, even to clean up when somebody else had cooked (and in Scott’s parents’ house, that was the rule,) and he’d been so good about staying out of her way.


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