Through this, Brock lay on his back on the couch, head to a pile of toss pillows, one hand behind his head, one resting on his abs, eyes on a game on television.

I approached the back of the couch, put my ass to it, turned, whipped my legs over while straightening and rolling and, at the last minute, announced, “Incoming,” then I dropped full body on his.

He grunted and his body jerked on impact then his arms wrapped around me.

“Jesus, babe,” he muttered, humor in his tone, that sweet hum filling the air.

I slid off, my back to the couch, my front pressed to his side; I rested a cheek to his chest, arm around his abs and settled in.

Brock moved a hand back to his abs but his other arm stayed curved around my waist, hand at my hip.

I watched football I didn’t give a shit about but I did it contentedly because it was late, I was tired, my mind needed to shut down and the beautiful man who loved me that I loved back was stretched out beside me.

At a commercial, I heard and felt Brock rumble, “What’d you get ‘em?”

Hmm. Apparently the game took all his attention considering the fact that I spent the last forty-five minutes on the floor right in front of him wrapping presents that I did not in any way try to hide.

“Nerf stuff,” I answered.

“Nerf stuff?” he asked.

“When you were out running before we went to look at trucks that last Sunday you had them, I asked them to write a letter to Santa and they did,” I informed him.

“Babe, hate to break this to you but they’re ten and twelve. They know there’s no Santa Claus.”

I lifted my head and looked down at him. “Yeah, I know. But they aren’t stupid. They humored me because they also know I have a credit card.”

Brock’s body shook slightly and pleasantly against mine with his chuckle and I smiled at him.

Then I settled back in.

“What do you usually do for your nieces and nephews?” I asked the TV screen.

“I give their Moms fifty dollars for each kid and they put my name on a card.”

My head jerked up as my eyes shot to him.

Then I asked a horrified, “What?”

“You think fifty dollars is too much?” he asked back.

“No, I think their uncle should buy them presents that he’s put some thought into.”

“Darlin’, the last time I walked into a mall was two presidents ago.”

I stared at him in shock.

Then I asked, “Is that even possible?”

“I got a dick and I was single so, yeah, it’s possible.”

“So, how do you buy the boys presents?”

“Four options, give a wad of cash to Mom, Jill, Laura or all three.”

I stared again.

Then I asked, “Where do you buy clothes?”

“I don’t. I got a Mom and two sisters. I get them for Christmas and my birthday.”

“T-shirts?”

“I don’t get my tees at a mall, Tess. No decent tee can be bought at a f**kin’ mall. A good tee is bought during an experience.”

I had to admit, this was true. When I went the way of tee and jeans just months ago, I’d done copious research with Brock’s tees as my guide and I’d found no tee in any store that was even close to the cool tees he owned.

“Boots?” I kept at him.

“Harley store, babe, doesn’t count.”

This was also true. The Harley Davidson store was one of those rare and exceptional experiences where women and men could go and enjoy but in entirely different ways. And therefore, considering it was an experience, it was acceptable to buy tees there.

That and Harley tees were freaking awesome.

“And, Tess, sweetness,” he went on, “before you get any ideas… you wanna shop for my family, have at it. But I’m not breakin’ my streak.”

Hmm. Dylan, Grady and Ellie, no problem, especially Ellie. The adults, again, not a problem.

There were only two problems.

“I barely know Kalie and Kellie,” I reminded him.

“Kalie, anything with fringe, a peace sign or a fair trade logo. Kellie, don’t bother with anything other than a gift certificate unless it’s the absolute trendiest shit amongst teenagers,”

he advised.

Well, he didn’t shop but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be thoughtful.

Brock continued, “Keep the receipts, put both our names on the card and I’ll pay you back.”

“I –” I started and his arm gave me a squeeze.

“Receipts. Payback,” he grunted.

It was in that moment I got what Elvira said weeks before about Vic at Ada’s party.

Vic needed to man up.

If a man had a line you didn’t cross, he told you, he did it straight out, honestly and made his point clear, like Brock just did.

Cleary, Gwen and Cam had men like that and, now, I had one. Brock wanted Christmas to come from us. He was fine with me buying it and wrapping it but he was going to pay for it and I knew by his tone that this was a point I didn’t argue. For whatever reason, it meant something to him. And for that reason, whatever it was, it meant something to me to give it to him without mouthing off about something that, in the end, was a decent trade off.

Therefore, I whispered, “All right.”

He held my eyes. Then his went to the TV while his mouth twitched.

Whatever.

I settled back in.

Twenty minutes later, the game ended, Brock’s arm tightened and he rolled us both, stretching out an arm, he tagged the remote on the coffee table, the TV went blank, he dropped the remote then he settled back in but pulled me partially onto his front and up so my face was close to his.

Mm. It appeared we’d arrived at my favorite part of the day.

“You good?” he asked and I blinked.

“Sorry?”

“Earlier, all that shit, you good?”

Damn. It appeared we hadn’t arrived at my favorite part of the day.

“Yeah,” I told him.

“Okay, babe, no,” he said, his face serious. “I get why you want to make that play and you were raw earlier so I let you make it then but you gotta know, I don’t like that you’re makin’

any play. Olivia is gonna be in our lives and I don’t like that for me so I really don’t like it for you. Not to mention, full custody is a f**kuva lot different than joint, that works out for me it means you get me and two boys. I gotta know you’re cool with that.”

“Brock, I’m cool with it.”

“Convince me,” he ordered and I stared at him.