Love, Utley (Love Letters #1)

He squeezes my leg. “I don’t want to rush you.”

A half-broken laugh falls out of me.

I set my hand on his. “You’re hardly rushing me, Maddox. If it were up to me, and the logistics weren’t so complicated, I’d spend every night sharing a bed with you.”

As soon as I say it, it feels like too much. But his unwavering grip on me stops the nerves from forming.

“We’ll get those logistics figured out, Little Bunny. And until then”— he smirks— “we just have to be creative.”

NINETY-TWO

HANNAH

With my soiled undies hidden inside my purse— because I couldn’t bring myself to leave them in my office trash can— I climb the steps and unlock the front door.

I can hear Christmas music coming from the kitchen, and the sound of it makes me smile.

The choice of genre might seem weird to anyone else, but it’s Mom’s tradition to listen to holiday music anytime she bakes cookies. Which is why, even though I should really go take a shower, I follow the scent of vanilla and browned butter across the house.

“What’re you…” I trail off as I cross the threshold into the small kitchen and blink at their outfits. “What are you wearing?”

Chelsea and Mom look up at the same time, then simultaneously drop their attention back to the little island where they are…

I move closer.

Oh.

Okay, sure. This is normal.

Just my family making sugar cookies shaped like little football jerseys. Decorating them with red and yellow frosting to mimic the colors of the Biters. And at least three have the number ninety-nine piped on with white icing.

Ninety-nine. Maddox’s number.

I reach out and touch the corner of one.

“Maddox had them sent over,” Chelsea tells me as she squeezes her piping bag.

“The cookies?” I ask, confused.

“Huh?” Chelsea glances up at me like I’m crazy. “No, we made these.” She gestures to the two dozen jersey cookies. “We used Grandma’s Christmas sweater cookie cutter.”

“That’s, uh, clever.” I have no clue what is going on or why they’re pretending this isn’t completely bonkers. “Do the cookies have something to do with all the…” I wave my hand at them. “Outfits.”

Chelsea makes a sound, but Mom answers. “Aren’t they nice?” Mom holds her arms out and twists side to side. “Chelsea said we should bake something as a thank-you, and then when we came across the sweater cutter, well, an idea was born.”

I widen my eyes. “Will someone just tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Oh hush, we’re trying to concentrate.” Mom waves me off. “Yours is on the dining table.”

I look between Mom and my niece, taking in the real human-sized Minnesota Biters jerseys they’re wearing. And I take in the baseball hat on Chelsea’s head with the embroidered mosquito mascot. And the red, yellow, and white pompom hat on Mom’s head.

“What —”

Mom cuts me off. “Go open your gift.”

I puff my cheeks out and spin around. “Fine.”

Obviously, Maddox was involved in whatever this is. At this point, I don’t even know why I’m surprised by anything he does.