I’m a fraud, a fake, an imposter posing as an adult who clearly has zero skills when it comes to parenting small people, and it won’t be long before Brendan figures it out and decides I’m not all that and a bag of chips.

I’m not even a bag of chips all by itself.

I’m a half-empty roll of crackers that has started to go stale.

Five nights and six days of being the responsible adult in Chloe’s life has left me feeling like I’ve been ridden hard and hung up wet. And then I fell off the line where I was trying to get dry and was immediately pummeled by a herd of stampeding buffalo.

Chloe is one of my favorite people. But Chloe, infected with pre-holiday-excitement and snow-day-inspired euphoria, is also a ball of constant motion. Gone is the girl who would sit and color for hours, and in her place is a pint-size powerhouse with roughly the energy contained in the sun.

She’s a nuclear reaction in little girl form, and I’m suffering from radiation poisoning.

“It gets easier,” my mother promised with a smile when I collapsed onto the couch after an hour of helping Chloe wrap packages while she jumped up every few seconds to change the Pandora station or run to the window to see if Brendan was here yet or dash into the kitchen to see if she could steal another cookie, even though I told her four times that there would be no more cookies until after we sat down for a late lunch at three.

I’m sure Mom’s right, but in the meantime, I’m in way over my head and terrified that I’m going to let Brendan down.

Even when he arrives and pulls me in for one of those perfect, warm, tingle-inducing Brendan hugs, the worry remains. I’m so happy to see him. The past week has felt like sipping air through a straw, and now finally, there’s all the oxygen I could ever need rushing into my lungs as he kisses me hello and whispers, “You look beautiful, Freckles.” But I’m also suffering from a raging case of imposter syndrome.

Fake it until you make it, Collins.

You can do this!

You are not going to fuck up the best thing that’s ever happened to you because you’re not woman enough to swing childcare solo when Brendan is out of town. He’s been doing this alone for over three years. You can manage the usual two-night away-game absences and the occasional week-long road trip on your own.

“Come on, Dad! Come see all the presents! And the cookies. There are four different kinds!” Chloe squirms out of Brendan’s arm and grabs his hand, towing him toward the door, but not before he manages to slap my ass twice in swift succession, making me yip in surprise.

“I keep my promises, sexy,” he says, winking at me over his shoulder. “That’s for calling me an old man.”

I narrow my eyes, but I’m grinning when I say, “It won’t be the last time, old man. In hockey years, you’re at least fifty.”

Justin laughs as he and Libby pass me on the way up to the house. “Man, am I glad I’m not old yet.”

“Neither is Brendan,” Libby says with an outraged huff. “Thirty-two is not old. You two are crazy.”

I follow them up the path while Justin explains that the majority of forwards quit the game by thirty-two or thirty-three and drop like flies from thirty-four to forty. He’s right, but I don’t see Brendan quitting anytime soon. He’s playing too well, and it’s clear he loves the game.

And I love him, so we’ll find a way to make it work, even when he has to be out of town a lot.

It’s disgusting how much I love him, really. The way the world suddenly seems brighter because he’s close enough to touch. The way my heart starts beating faster and a giddy, goofy, magical feeling swells in my chest when I catch his eye across the room and he smiles that new smile of his. The free, easy, blissed and blessed smile that leaves no doubt that he’s every bit as crazy about me as I am about him.

“I’m so happy for you.” Libby wraps her arm around my waist as we lean against the island in the kitchen, waiting for Justin to put the finishing touches on our glasses of eggnog. “He’s the sweetest man.”

“He is,” I agree, grinning at Brendan, who is looking through Chloe’s drawings from the past week while she talks his ear off about how wonderful things are at her new school (which is really her old school; the transition back has gone so well, thank God) and makes a case for having her first ever sleepover.

He is incredibly sweet. But he’s also sexy as hell, a fact that moves to the forefront of my awareness as I finish my whiskey-laced eggnog.

“I’m hungry, Daniels,” I say, cornering him as he emerges from the bathroom half an hour later.

“Your mom said lunch would be ready in less than an hour, right?” He draws me into his arms, pulling me against him as he slips around the corner into a quieter hallway, farther from the madness ensuing on the other side of the house.

“But I’m not hungry for food,” I whisper into his ear, before nipping at his earlobe, grinning as his breath rushes out across my neck in response. “I need cock, Daniels. Your cock, to be specific.”

“Yeah? How bad do you need it, Collins?” He palms my ass and squeezes tight, drawing me against the ridge of his erection until I can feel it pulsing against me through his jeans and mine.

I moan softly as I rock my hips forward. “So bad. So, so bad. I can’t wait until we get home tonight. I’m suffering from extreme cock deprivation.”

A concerned sound rumbles from deep in his throat. “Well, we can’t have that. I won’t let you suffer on my watch. Not if my cock and I can do something to make you feel better.”

“I think you can.” I take his hand and draw him toward the stairs. “But we’ll have to be quick. Chloe is outside with Libby making a snowman, but I’m sure she’ll be in to get you as soon as they’re finished. We might only have ten, fifteen minutes, tops.”

“Then we’d better hurry.” He moves quickly around me, leading the way up the stairs with a remarkably soft step for a large person. “If I give it my A game, I can make you come at least twice in that amount of time.”

“You always give your A game, baby.” I close the door to my childhood bedroom behind me, giggling as I fall into his arms. His lips meet mine and his tongue sweeps out, saying a sweet, sexy hello to mine, and I melt the way I do every time we touch.

We stumble toward the bed, but at the last minute, I shake my head, mumbling against his lips, “Not there. The closet.”

“The closet?” he asks, his hand finding its way up my shirt as I shift our course toward the other side of the room.

“It’s a big closet, and it locks from the inside,” I explain, breath catching as his thumb brushes across my already tight nipple. “The bedroom door doesn’t lock. It never has for some reason.”

“Your parents probably wanted to be sure they could get to you in case of a fire.” He hooks his fingers over the cup of my bra and jerks it down below my breast, baring my skin to his touch. “That’s why I took Chloe’s lock off of her door.”

“Or they wanted to be sure Justin and I kept our pot smoking over at his house.” I arch into his hand as his fingers find my nipple again, this time with no satin in the way. “God, that feels good. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Me, too, baby. It feels like I’ve gone a fucking year without your pussy, not a week. I need you naked and on top of me. Right now.”

“Push the lock,” I whisper, already reaching for the bottom of my sweater in the dim light streaming through the cracks in the closet door.

Brendan clicks the button and proceeds to strip swiftly and efficiently, disposing of his boxer briefs and revealing the long, smooth column of his erection as my bra hits the floor. A moment later, he’s flat on his back beside a shelf of my shoes from high school, and I’m straddling him, groaning in relief as he guides his cock to where I’m already wet simply from standing next to him in the kitchen drinking eggnog and admiring how sexy he looks in his jeans.

“Fuck, Laura, you feel so good,” he murmurs as I drop my hips, taking him deep, my entire body thrilling to the way he pierces me, stretching me, filling me with a perfection that assures me on a biological level that we’re a perfect fit. “Yes, ride me, beautiful. Ride your cock. Because he’s yours. He belongs to you.”

With a moan of surrender, I obey, giving in to the desire pumping through my bloodstream like wildfire, devouring what restraint I have left. I brace my hands on his chest and ride him hard and fast, slamming my hips down again and again, grinding my clit against him at the end of each thrust, while he pinches my nipples and urges me on with a string of sweetly filthy words that take me higher, higher, until I’m gasping for air.

And then suddenly I’m falling.

I cry out his name as I come, my pussy locking tight around his cock as waves of pleasure swell and explode, one after the other in a brilliant row, like fireworks lighting up the night sky.

I’m still coming, my inner walls clenching and releasing like a fist, when Brendan joins me. He pins my hips to his with his fingers tight at my waist and comes with a groan, his cock twitching until I can feel the head of him pulsing against that sweet spot deep inside.

I wiggle closer, on the verge of catching a second wave, when the sound of a slamming door and a familiar chuckle make me freeze.

Eyes flying wide, I glance down at Brendan, who looks like he’s seen his grandmother’s ghost. Right behind us. While we’re both naked.

“Who is it?” he mouths.

“I think it’s my parents,” I mouth back, a horrified furrow wrinkling my forehead.

A second later, I hear my father say, “I love that eggnog makes you horny, Mimi. I’m going to serve you a glass every Friday from now on.”

My mom giggles breathlessly. “We shouldn’t be doing this. The kids will notice we’re gone and come looking.”

“But they won’t come looking here,” my dad says with a naughty laugh that makes me want to stuff cotton in my ears.

And then some moist, smacking sounds drift through the air, and I revise the wish for cotton to acid. Acid poured right into my ear drums until I’m in so much pain I’m incapable of remembering that I heard my parents preparing to have sex.

“We have to stop them,” Brendan hisses softly. “I’m not ready to be this close to your parents.”

“And you think I am?” I hiss back, eyes squeezing shut as more smacking sounds and a giggle sound from my childhood bed, where my parents are totally about to get in on while Brendan and I hide out buck-naked in the closet.

I shudder as I crawl off Brendan and grope for a cowboy boot in the semi-darkness. “Cover your ears,” I warn, knowing there’s no time to waste.

The moment Brendan’s hands fly to either side of his head, I slam the boot into the wall with a sharp—bam bam bam bam bam—and call out in my loudest voice, “Fire drill! Fire drill! I repeat this is a fire drill and all perverted old people should vacate the premises as quickly as possible. Preferably with all of their clothes on.”

Silence falls in the wake of my announcement, and then my mom says, “Laura? Are you in the closet?” in a horrified voice.

“Yes, Mom, I’m in the closet and unfortunately I’m not alone.” I quickly slip on my panties, bra, and sweater, just in case my mom or dad decide to come peer in the slats of the closet door.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Collins.” Brendan grins as he pulls on his boxer briefs and sweater, as if this is all some hysterical joke. “I hope this won’t make things weird.”

My mom gasps and whispers something to my father, who only laughs because he also has no shame. This is the man I caught fondling my mom’s ass every morning as a child, when I stumbled down the stairs grumpy and hungry and hunting breakfast only to find the two of them canoodling over their morning coffee.

“Not at all, son,” my dad says, while my mother makes more distressed hissing sounds. “Just glad you two sounded the alarm before—”

“Blah blah blah blah,” I call out, covering my ears. “I’m not listening. Good-bye, Dad, good-bye, Mom. We’ll see you downstairs in a few minutes, at which time we will all pretend this never happened.”

“Excellent idea,” Mom says. “But I will take this opportunity to mention that birth control is an important thing to consider when you’re young and—”

“Oh my God, Mom, stop! For the love of Christ.” I bury my face in my hands with a moan while Brendan giggles.

The man actually giggles, a gleeful leprechaun sound that makes me laugh even as I wrinkle my nose and slap his chest. “Stop,” I whisper. “This is not funny. And you sound like you’re twelve.”

He giggles again, apparently unable to help himself. And pretty soon, I’m unable to help myself, either. By the time my parents hustle out of the room, slamming the door behind them, I’m laughing so hard I can’t stand.

“Stop,” I gasp, sliding down the closet wall as my knees give way. “Stop or I’m going to be sick.”

“I can’t.” Brendan swipes his fist across his watering eyes as he doubles over with a fresh convulsion of laughter. “I wonder if you inherited eggnog-inspired horniness from your mother.”

“Gross. Oh God, so gross.” I slap at his knees with a laughter-weak arm even as I snicker so hard my nose starts to hurt. “What is wrong with you?”

“Not a thing.” He slides down to sit beside me, taking my hand in his. “Not a damned thing. You make me stupid happy, Laura Collins.”

“Me, too.” I sniff hard as the laughter cramps finally begin to subside. “It’s just stupid. We should have been doing this since last summer. Think of all the getting-caught-banging-in-the-closet fun we missed.”

He grins, bringing our joined hands to his lips. “That’s all right. I think we’re doing a good job of making up for lost time.”

I watch him kiss the back of my hand with what I’m sure is a sappy as hell expression, but it’s dark and I’m crazy in love so who cares?

I’m thinking about how crazy this is—and how wonderful and scary it is that we might have passed in the night and never finished falling in love if not for Diana’s text—when Brendan shifts onto his knees in front of me, a weirdly serious expression on his face.

“I was going to wait until tonight, but I’m not sure I’ll get a more memorable moment than this, so…” He takes a deep breath and pulls something out of the depths of his front pocket, holding it up between us. “Laura, will you do me the honor of making me stupid happy for a long, long time? Hopefully until we’re perverted grandparents, sneaking into Chloe’s room to bang on Christmas Eve day?”

My jaw drops and my eyes fill, while shock, joy, and terror burst inside me all at the same time, sending a sonic boom of confusion thundering through my ears, leaving a high whine of white noise behind.

“I love you,” Brendan continues, the look in his eyes assuring me that it’s true and this is really happening in my childhood closet, a mere month after we started dating. “I love you, and I can’t imagine anything better to do with my life than spend the rest of it loving you and Chloe and any other babies we might pick up along the way.”

Babies. He wants babies.

He wants to marry me, make me Chloe’s stepmom for real, and eventually get me knocked up so we can have an even bigger family.

And on one hand, it’s a dream come true because I love him, and I love Chloe, and yes, oh yes, I want babies with his blue eyes, the same obnoxiously red hair I had as a child, and elegant, artist’s fingers just like Chloe’s. But on the other hand, it’s only been four weeks, and I spent the past week barely keeping my head above water, and Brendan has no idea how close I came to failing him. To failing him and Chloe and myself because maybe I’m not cut out to be a mom. Maybe I don’t have what it takes to juggle work, kids, romance, and all the rest of it.

And if I don’t have the right stuff, then I have no business with this beautiful man or his beautiful little girl, and they should move on, keep looking, keep searching until they find someone better, stronger.

Someone more like Maryanne, who, according to everything I’ve heard from Brendan and the Gibbons, never got stressed out or overwhelmed or felt like she was having a panic attack when she got home starved and exhausted from a long day at work only to find that the fish she’d bought to cook is filled with worms, the soup in the fridge has gone moldy, and Chloe refuses to eat anything from the freezer because it “tastes funny, like soap and burning mixed together.”

“Laura?” Brendan leans down, bringing his eyes level with my no-doubt panicked ones. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I squeak, even as I shake my head quickly back and forth. “No. No, I’m not. I don’t know what to say. Or to think and I—” I gulp in a breath, suddenly dizzy, as if all that oxygen Brendan brought home with him has been sucked away again.

I stand, hands braced on the closet wall as my stomach does a woozy backflip. “I need to think. I’m sorry. I love you so much. I just need some time to think.” Fumbling for the door handle, I flee the closet at a jog.

By the time I hit the stairs, I’m flat out running, even though I know it’s crazy, and from what I can hear, it doesn’t sound like Brendan is following me, let alone chasing me through the house. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t need anyone flesh and blood chasing me. The doubt demons in my head are doing a perfectly good job all on their own.

I streak through the kitchen, ignoring my mother’s sharp—“Laura, what’s wrong? Laura, are you okay?”—and head for the front door, snagging my purse on the way. As I dash across the snow-covered grass toward where my car is parked on the street, I’m dimly aware of Libby and Chloe calling out to me from the other side of the yard where they’re still hard at work on their snowman, but I don’t stop.

I can’t talk to them right now.

I can’t talk to anyone. I just need to drive. To drive and drive, until I’m far enough away to figure out what to do next.