Page 100 of The Finish Line
“Okay, well, I love you, too, mouse.” He dips and kisses me again, and I feel the strength of it down to my toes as he pulls back, and uncertainty crosses his beautiful features. “I don’t know if I’ll be a good boyfriend.”
“You were when we were together, aside from, you know, the lying and manipulation, and you still are, so very good at it.”
“Trésor, I want to Halloweenie with you and Thanksgiving with you, and Christmas with you, but—”
I can’t help my giggle. “Halloweenie?”
“Yes, with you.”
“Hallow-weenie. That’s what you’re saying, right?”
“Yes.” The line creases in his forehead. “That’s what I said.”
“Tobias, there is no Halloweenie.”
“Yes, there is,” he insists. “My mother said it all the time.”
I snort. “Tobias, it’s just Halloween.”
He looks at me like I’m ignorant. “It’s the event, an occurrence, you know, what you do the day of—” He releases my face, tossing his hand in his explanation. “There’s Christmas carols and caroling. Halloween, and Halloweenie—” He frowns as if it’s starting to sound odd to him.
Laughter erupts from me as I cup his face. “Ah, you poor man, I think your mother lost that one in translation. You had just moved from France, right?”
He nods slowly.
“You’re thirty-eight years old. How is it possible you still believe that’s the right verbiage?”
“I don’t celebrate holidays, so it’s a rare conversation,” he says dryly. “The woman at the store didn’t correct me today.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re a scary, mean-looking foreigner, and they’re terrified to.”
I swear I see his olive skin tint. “Tobias, my love, I’m sorry, but there is no act of Halloweenie.”
“Whatever,” he huffs. “Are you going to let me talk?”
Lips quivering with threatening laughter, I nod.
“I want a temporary truce.”
“As in?”
“No club talk of any kind, just you and me. Just us, Cecelia. That’s why I came here, for us. This isn’t about the fucking club or the part it plays with us. And that’s what we can’t seem to get past.”
“For how long?”
“We can take it day by day?”
“Halloweenie by Halloweenie?” he growls, and I laugh. “Sorry, but it’s hilarious.”
“Keep it up. I may strangle you tonight.”
“Ooooo, a Halloweenie reenactment.” I waggle my brows. “Are we going to play dress-up?”
“Yes,” he draws out in monotone. “You’re playing lumberjack.”
“What?”
He darts his eyes to the waiting pajamas on my bed.