Snowed In (Fitzpatrick Christmas, #2)

by Catherine Walsh

“You try and think outside the box,” he says. “You try and be cute with your dead zoos, and then your date turns out to be a vegetarian.”

“Yes, they are. They know it, and you know it, and if someone says something and I’m not there, you call me. If someone side-eyes you, you call me. You call me, and no matter where you are or what time it is, I’ll pick up and I’ll come running. That’s the whole point of this.”

“If I start crying, just remember that’s manly now,” Christian says, following me blindly. “Toxic masculinity is dead.”

I follow her across the room to her mother, I realize I’m getting so good at pretending that I’m starting to fool myself.

“It’s all in the plating,” he says, and steers me into a chair before snapping a napkin onto my lap. “And the fact that most of it came preprepared. But let’s pretend I know how to rock a pestle and mortar, shall we?”

“Go out with me,” he demands. “Or what?” “Or you’ll break my heart, Megan O’Sullivan.”