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“Oh, ew. Why do you taste like olives?”
Nat pulls a face and reaches for the mug of coffee on the kitchen counter, draining it in one long gulp. She pulls another face at the taste of Jake’s favorite peppermint mocha creamer, but at least it’s marginally less nasty than olives.
Jake has the decency to look abashed as he scrubs at his mouth. As much as Nat hates to admit it, it’s a very good look on him. “Sorry, baby. This cheese ball recipe—”
“I thought we agreed, no more cheese balls after the Thanksgiving incident.” Viper’s youngest grandnephew had been thoroughly traumatized by the turkey ball, and Nat had flatly vetoed Jake’s plans for a matching Christmas reindeer.
“It’s not a reindeer! I found a recipe for a tree-shaped cheese ball!” Jake brandishes his iPad, which does, indeed, display a step-by-step how-to guide for transforming boursin cheese and olives and rosemary into Christmas-themed edible table decor, and gives Nat his best aw-shucks smile. Nat absolutely, definitively, resolutely does not find it cute.
She knew, of course, that Hangman had a whole collection of unfortunate habits, but she’d thought she’d already seen the worst of them when they started their thing six months ago. The fact that Jake Seresin happened to be the kind of holiday enthusiast who could give a Midwestern soccer mom a run for her money had come as a thoroughly unexpected surprise.
Jake is really far too cheerful for seven am on a Saturday, and his Santa hat and cartoon holly- and reindeer-emblazoned apron are an affront to Nat’s eyes. Frankly, everything about Jake’s apartment is an assault on her senses in the worst way: Mariah Carey wailing about all she wants for Christmas, an essential oil diffuser on the counter wafting drifts of spiced peppermint into the air, and it looks like a Michael’s has puked all over the living room, what with the sheer overload of ornaments and knickknacks adorning every surface. But Jake looks so boyishly excited, eyes sparkling with joy, and Nat, despite her Grinch-like tendencies, can’t quite bring herself to pop his bubble.
“I’ll allow it,” she sighs, letting herself be pulled in for a longer, olive-free good morning kiss that rapidly turns into a good morning make-out session. Nat is gracious enough to admit that Jake’s oral fixation does mean that he’s very good with his tongue. When they finally come up for air, Jake’s mouth is red like he’s been sucking on candy canes, and his apron’s more than a little disheveled. Nat starts tugging him down the hallway to the bedroom, and he follows without protest.
She pushes Jake onto the bed, and straddles his thighs, leaning in teasingly to whisper in his ear. “You can have the tree-shaped cheese ball. But if the ‘Dill-licious Christmas Tree’ on your Pinterest page becomes a reality, I’m breaking up with you.”