Season’s Schemings: A Holiday Hockey Rom Com

“Oh, wow. That makes everything feel very, very real.”

I prop myself up on one elbow to look at my husband laying beside me. In the background, a Food Network show—New Year’s Baking Bonanza! (because, apparently, the second one holiday ends, we are onto the next)—plays on TV.

Seb swallows, his blue eyes searching my face. “I wasn’t expecting it so soon.”

“Me neither,” I say softly. He’s filled me in on his conversation with Roger this afternoon before our double sushi date, effectively popping the “avoid reality” bubble in which I was hoping to float off into bliss tonight. “Roger said that we need to prepare for the interview?”

“He did,” Seb says. Then, he hesitates for a moment. “He also said that if the interview doesn’t go well, there could be a ton of repercussions. For both of us.” His face is dead serious, his body tense as he looks at me.

“I know,” I say simply.

He rubs the heel of his hand against his eye, looking almost lost for a moment. The expression makes him appear younger, more vulnerable, than the man I’ve gotten to know so well. He bites his lower lip, his gaze trained carefully on the TV. “Well, Roger did say that there could be a different way to do this… One that doesn’t involve you having to be my route to a green card. I could look at getting you out of this if you’re not feeling comfortable.”

My stomach twinges as I look at him, wondering what’s going through his head right now. Why on earth would he even be looking for another way when we’re already in the middle of executing this plan?

Is he getting cold feet about the green card? About staying married?

No. Surely not.

“I’m comfortable,” I tell him. “It’s what we agreed on, and I always stick to my word. I want to stick to my word.”

I’m gratified to see his entire body relax at this. His demeanor changes. And I know I’m right in saying this—he’s looking out for me, considering other avenues. Being thoughtful, as usual.

“You’re the best wife in the world.” He smiles suddenly, running a finger along my forearm and pulling a shiver out of me.

“I know.” I stretch out on the luxurious sheets. Seb has the most comfortable bed in the history of all beds, and taking my place in it has been wonderful. I really do love being married to this man. For more reasons than just his sheets of course. Though they certainly are a plus. “So, as a most excellent wife, do tell me how we can start prepping for this thing?”

“I can think of a few ways.” Seb’s voice takes on a husky quality as his eyes roam over my stretched-out body, the previous tension in the room now evaporated and replaced with tension of a whole new kind. The good kind. I’m wearing plaid pajama pants and a Little Miss Chatterbox T-shirt, yet he gives me such a heated look that I momentarily feel like I’m dressed in some kind of sexy negligée.

This is one of the things I love most about Sebastian—he seems to be into me for exactly who I am, the way I am.

I blush and giggle as Seb sits up, bare-chested and magnificent, and makes a move to kiss me.

“After,” I caution him, forcing myself to duck out of his reach while everything in me screams Nooooo, you idiot! Kiss the beautiful man! “Interview prep first, then—”

“I give you the night of your life?” He grins cheekily.

I hit him. “More like I give you yours.”

“I cannot argue with that.” He scoots closer to me and wraps an arm around me, pulling me close so that I can lay my head on his shoulder. He smells amazing, as usual, but his scent is even better now than it was at first. Because not only is it incredibly sexy, it’s now also familiar and comforting. “So what do we start with, my beautiful wife? Your favorite color?”

“Blush pink,” I say immediately. “You?”

“Green.” He tilts his head to meet my eyes, his gaze smoky. “The exact green of your eyes.”

And I’m immediately in half a mind to throw all interview prep out the window and jump on him.

Luckily (or unluckily), he presses on. “Food?”

“Pizza, the thin-crust, Italian kind. You?”

“Steak. So rare that it’s bloody.”

“Ew,” I respond, wrinkling my nose. “Okay, umm… Favorite flower?”

He blinks. “I dunno.”

“Oh, come on. Everyone has a favorite flower.”

Seb laughs. “Can’t say I’m a big flower guy.”

“The correct answer is peonies. Or freesias. Or calla lilies.”

“You’ve really thought that one through.”

I blush. Because I have, kind of. When I thought that Adam was going to propose, I started to look into what I might want for a wedding—flowers being one of them. I wasn’t too bothered about wedding planning, but I loved the idea of a pretty dress and gorgeous flowers, followed by a big party.

Now, I’m so glad that none of that happened, simply because Adam was the wrong man for me. And even though I always wanted a romantic wedding, I’d take a drunken trip to a chapel in Vegas with Seb a million times over a fairytale wedding with Adam.

We still haven’t talked about what’ll happen with our marriage once Seb actually gets his green card, but I think it’s because we don’t have to. It’s obvious that both of our feelings have changed, and we will cross those logistical bridges when we come to them.

Seb isn’t Adam. And I’m confident that he will never, ever blindside me like my ex did.

I smile at my husband, who’s now got his phone in his hand and is looking up flowers, his brow furrowed as he studies them. “These all look the same!” he squawks.

I shake my head with a laugh. “Absolutely not. And you call yourself observant.”

“I’m observant of you,” he says, throwing his phone to the side and pulling me back up against him. “Now, for the next question…”

Seb has a game tomorrow night and really should get some rest, but we end up continuing our interrogation of each other into the night. It doesn’t get boring because I find myself wanting to know every little thing about Sebastian Slater.

After we’re done talking, we let our bodies take over.

And he makes good on his promise to give me the best night of my life—like every night with Sebastian somehow manages to be.