“Sarah,” I whine as she places the present on the opposite end of the island. “Christmas is in two days. You really shouldn’t have.”
Sarah turns her attention to Bo, straightening her back with false wounded pride. “Win hates presents. Because we have money, and she doesn’t, and that makes her uncomfortable. Even though I have told her many times that it’s my way of showing love, she continually tries to deny me. How do you feel about presents, Bo? And please answer carefully—this will determine whether I like you or not.”
“I love them,” Bo says abruptly, taking a few strides over to the counter, eyeing the gift cautiously. “Thank you.”
Sarah makes a proud hmph sound in the back of her throat.
“Judas,” I whisper, glaring at Bo.
“Are you really not going to open this present with me?” he asks, toying with the ribbon—mimicking pulling it off. A sudden, striking image of him toying with my panties thrashes around my brain, then leaves just as quickly as it came.
“I worked so hard on it,” Sarah adds in the same mocking voice.
These two are a dangerous and annoying combination.
“Fine,” I say, hopping off the barstool and moving to stand next to Bo.
I tug indelicately on the ribbon and gesture for Bo to do the rest once it’s off. He unwraps the cling-wrap, revealing the green woven basket underneath filled to the brim with items, some wrapped and others not, and one white card-sized box with writing on it sitting on top.
Twenty Questions to Fall in Love, I read.
I turn my gaze toward Sarah, who’s spilling over with mischievous glee.
Really? I ask her silently, my right eye twitching in her direction.
“I saw a video about this game online. The title is… evocative, but really, it’s just twenty questions to get to know someone well, quickly. I thought that may be helpful,” she says that word sharply toward me, “since you two have a lot of catching up to do in the getting-to-know-each-other-while-clothed department.”
I fight the urge to mock her in a childlike whine and repeat her last few words out loud.
“That’s very thoughtful, thank you,” Bo says, as if he’s schooling me to do the same. I’m about to roll my eyes when he continues with, “we were just talking about having to get to know each other more on the way here. So this is great.”
“Yes,” I give in, only a little. “Thanks.”
Bo picks up the card box, flipping it over in his hand.
I nod, smiling politely, and reach for another gift to pull out.
“And to think,” Caleb whispers dramatically, circling the counter to stand next to me. “If you did one question every day, you could be in love in less than three weeks.”
I smack him over the head with the really nice bath pillow Sarah picked out.
“Thank you, Sarah, for the gift,” I say pointedly, glaring at him.
“I also made sure to stock condoms in the guest bedroom in your honour. Extra-large ones too,” she says, winking at Bo.
He sputters a cough, which I find deeply rewarding.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble into the space between our shoulders, pulling my lips in to stop a grin.
“No you’re not,” he replies for my ears only, reaching into the basket alongside me as I pull out something soft and white.
“Aww,” Caleb coos at the onesie in my hand.
“That’s small,” Bo stares, blinking slowly.
“Babies tend to be,” I reply, rubbing the soft cotton against my cheek.
“Bo, how big were you when you were born?” Sarah asks, eyeing his tall frame.
“Oh, uh, I don’t know actually.” He shrugs, pulling out some chocolates that he points at enthusiastically. “Fucking love these.”
“Ask your mother. I’m worried about my girl’s parts,” Sarah says.
Caleb groans, catching Sarah’s attention from across the counter.
“What?” Sarah asks, looking between the men.
“My mom passed away when I was really young,” Bo says without emotion, pulling out a sleeve of crackers. “Ooh these are my favourite.” He rips them open with vigour and takes a loud bite, nodding as he chews, as if he’s listening to his favourite song.
Who has a favourite cracker?
“Sorry.” Sarah winces.
“No big deal.” Bo smiles at her, swallowing. “Thanks again for all of this. And for letting me crash game night.” He turns to Caleb. “You too, man.”
“You’re welcome,” Caleb says as Sarah walks around the island toward him, placing her arm around his back. “We like to keep in touch with every couple that conceives a baby in our home.”
“Yes, it’s a tradition of ours,” Sarah adds.
“I didn’t realise this was such a common occurrence. Is there a support group? An online forum?” Bo asks.
“Yes, they meet here Tuesdays at eleven,” Sarah replies. “Light refreshments are served.”
“Wonderful. Count us in,” Bo says, pulling out the last item. “Whoa,” he chuckles, “I don’t think this is for me.”
I turn my attention to the box in his hand and immediately swat it away. The second the box hits the kitchen floor, I kick it instinctively. Hard enough that it soars across the room, through the kitchen’s entrance, and down the hallway. Bo stays, slightly red-faced, looking at his feet and biting his lip.
“Sarah Abilene Linwood,” I say, grinding my jaw. You promised no funny business, I say telepathically, flaring my eyes at her.
She clasps both hands in front of her mouth, but it does nothing to quell her laughter. “Okay, in my defence, I started this as a present just for you, and I may have forgotten that was in there.”
Caleb eyes me impishly as he slinks off his stool and creeps toward the hallway. I glare at him as he tiptoes backward, looking like a cartoon villain.
I don’t have the energy to attempt to get to the box first, so I ignore the giggles being shared between my previous best friend and the traitorous father-to-be and begin sorting our gift into two neat piles. Items for Bo on the right, items for me on the left.
“The Clit-Stim 9000…” Caleb strolls back into the kitchen, slapping the box against his palm. “Do we have this one?” he asks his wife, who’s at least looking a touch guilty under her thin-lipped smile.
“They had to make nine versions?” Bo asks.
“It must have been made by a man,” I say, dropping a book titled First-Time Dad onto his pile with a not-so-subtle thud, “if it took them nine tries to figure out how to properly please a woman.”
Bo’s tongue pushes against the side of his cheek as he nods, an arrogant gleam in his eye returning. “Not all men need nine chances, if I remember correctly.” He moves the chocolates that I had allocated to his pile back to mine, leaning closer. “Some of us only needed one,” he whispers.
He then absolutely destroys the tension he began pulling like a corset around my throat by biting down on his cracker in a purposefully aggressive manner, spinning on his heel toward Caleb, and throwing a hand up.
“Toss it,” Bo commands.
Caleb throws the box, and Bo catches it, palming it in one hand. “Here,” he says, placing it next to my pile.