Chapter 40 Midnight Mass
MIDNIGHT MASS
COLE
“Caitlyn!” I shouted from Bridget’s parents’ kitchen. “We’re leaving.”
“What?” Bridget pulled her hand out of my grasp. “You’re leaving? Now?”
“No, sweetheart.” I kissed her berry lips and hoped her lipstick rubbed off on me so I could prove to the world we’d claimed each other, and she was mine. “We’re leaving.”
“No.” She crossed her arms. “We’re not. It’s Christmas Eve. We haven’t even had dinner yet. And after dinner, we go to Mass.”
I stepped closer. “I have better plans. There’s food at my place. Then we can get cozy in front of the fireplace with that cabernet you like, and after Caitlyn’s asleep—”
She slapped her hand over my mouth. “We have an audience.”
For the first time, I noticed the other people standing in the kitchen.
Bridget’s sisters, some older people who were probably her parents, aunts, and uncles, and even a couple of red-haired kids watched us, some wide-eyed, and others—the sisters, mostly—glaring at me.
Apparently, I had a reputation in the O’Brien house.
I switched tactics. “Hey, everyone.” I stretched my face into a grin, which wasn’t hard now that Bridget had said she loved me.
I tugged her to my side. “I’m Cole Campion, and I’m Bridget’s boyfriend.
” Bridget’s small hand slid up to my lapel, and she smiled at me.
Point, Campion. A lightness expanded in my chest, and I snugged her tighter.
A man with Bridget’s kind eyes stepped forward and held out his hand. “Declan O’Brien. Bridget’s father.”
I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir. And you must be Bridget’s mother.” I flashed my most winning smile at the petite gray-haired woman beside him, who earlier had insinuated I was too young for Bridget. Her daughter had inherited her firm jaw.
“Bridget, is this true?” she asked. “This is your boyfriend? I thought he was—”
“We made up,” Bridget interrupted her, “and we’re moving on.
” She introduced me to her sisters, her sister-in-law, her brother-in-law, and enough other relatives to make my head spin.
How this many people fit into such a small kitchen was beyond me.
And I swear, some of them must have left and come back in because I’d met at least three Patricks.
“It’s nice to meet you all,” I said when I shook the last Patrick’s hand. “But I’m sure you understand, I was hoping to spend the evening with Bridget and my daughter.”
“Daddy,” Caitlyn slipped through the crowd, holding hands with a girl who looked to be around her age but smaller, “I’m not ready to leave. Hi, Bridget!” She threw her arms around Bridget, and now we were all hugging. The lightness threatened to blow my chest wide open.
When she released Bridget, I asked, “Don’t you want to spend Christmas Eve with Bridget and me?
You’ll want to go to bed early so you can see what Santa brought you.
” I’d procured a Christmas tree and a stocking during my unexpected afternoon off yesterday, to go with the closet full of wrapped presents I’d collected for her.
Most of them were filled with the pocket-sized plastic dolls—and their houses, vehicles, and accessories—that she never stopped talking about.
Plus, I’d picked up some books in a series her teacher had recommended.
And in an overflow of hope, I had a couple of gifts for Bridget too.
One was the latest leadership book everyone was talking about, something she could open in front of Cait.
The other was a not-safe-for-children silky thong, a replacement for the one I’d ripped last weekend, which had lived under my pillow since Bridget stormed out of my life.
“If I stay with Ashlyn, will Santa bring me presents here?” Caitlyn flung her arm around the other girl as her gaze darted between Bridget and me.
“Whoa,” I said. “You haven’t been invited—”
“She can stay,” Deirdre said. “What’s one more when we already have a house full? In fact, you’ll both stay for dinner, then you and Bridget can leave if you’d like. Caitlyn, your presents will be waiting for you at home tomorrow, just like Ashlyn’s and her cousins’.”
What a brilliant setup. I didn’t even have to stay up into the wee hours to set out her gifts. “Is that what you want, Cait?” I asked, but she was already gone, towed toward the dining room by Ashlyn, giggling.
“Is that what—” One look at Bridget’s thunderous expression told me it was not what she wanted. Right. She was into ugly sweaters and Midnight Mass and who-knows-what-other O’Brien family holiday traditions. “We’ll stay,” I said, pivoting again. “At least through Mass.”
Bridget’s jaw dropped open. “You want to go to Mass with us?”
“I want to do everything with you,” I said.
Her tongue darted out and licked her berry lips, and her eyes blazed brighter than the Christmas lights strung over the doorway. “Mom, I need to show Cole something upstairs. We’ll be down for dinner later.”
That’s how I ended up at Midnight Mass, one hand holding Bridget’s, and the other jammed in my pocket with Bridget’s still-warm underwear in my fist, and her taste still lingering on my tongue.
Religion wasn’t my thing, but you can bet your ass that when I got down on the kneeler, I thanked Jesus for Bridget O’Brien.