He eyed the sweater with disgust. “And they say cowboys are hokey.”

“So you’ll wear it?” She took a step forward.

“Nope.” His vehement headshake stopped her in her tracks. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in that.”

“No one’s going to know, Grady.”

“I’ll know.” He shoved his hands on his hips. “Who even makes this crap anyway?”

“Santa’s little helpers?” she suggested, trying to be cute.

Clearly she failed if his unimpressed snort was any indication. “More like Satan’s little helpers.”

Suzanne shrugged. “Does it really matter?” In the short time she’d known him, Joshua Grady had made no bones about being a proud man. But surely he could cope with a few silly shirts. They weren’t exactly family dishonor kind of stuff. “Seriously, Grady, are you telling me your ego is that precious, you can’t wear some funny his-and-her matching shirts and sweaters for the next couple of weeks?”

His eyebrows shot up his forehead before his eyes narrowed. “You mean there’s more?”

Well crap…she hadn’t meant to break that bit of news to him tonight. “I…may or may not have bought a few more.”

He folded his arms across his chest—his naked chest—his gaze roving over her face as if he was considering his options. The angle of his jaw ticked, his lips pressed together in a tight line.

“Look, I don’t make up the rules about this stuff. Apparently his-and-her sweaters are what people who are really into Christmas do, remember? The heroine’s parents in that first movie wore them everywhere. Also, added bonus, it’s the kind of tacky Christmas shit my parents can’t abide. It’ll definitely send them back to their non-Christmas cottage for marriage-building time.”

Waiting another beat or two, he said, “Fine. I’ll wear whatever you want. But if wearing hideous Christmas sweaters is a part of the deal, then I’m going to need another painting.”

Suzanne gaped at him. “Josh—” She faltered at calling him by his real name. She hadn’t planned to, but it had just flowed off her tongue. “Are you really going to screw me out of a painting every time you don’t want to do something?”

He shrugged. “Probably.”

Suzanne’s temper flared again. “I told you, I’d give them all to you at the end.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, suddenly not so pissed off. “But it’s more fun this way.”

She suppressed the urge to tell him again that the only reason they were in this mess was because she’d tried to keep her parents away from Credence for him. But that was bullshit—it wasn’t his fault that she’d been called on her bluff. Nor was the hole she’d dug herself trying to weasel out of it.

“Fine.” She huffed out a breath. “Which one?”

“David.”