Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
I read through our conversation one more time, then type Home and toss my phone into my bag. I sink back into the seat and try to muster the energy to get out of my truck and to the front door.
Twelve hours in a studio with a man who communicates in grunts, followed by a white-knuckle drive—yeah, this Christmas is taking the crown for the worst one ever.
All I want are my pajamas and a dark room.
Merry freakin’ Christmas.
I peel off my gloves in the foyer and pause. All the lights are still on, and I’m not met with Gracie’s usual dramatic monologue. For a second, I wonder if Tara stopped by, until I remember she’s out of town.
Miles rounds the corner from the kitchen.
I stop short, one boot half unlaced.
“What’re you doing here?” The words tumble out.
I have no idea what time it is, only that the sky is already midnight blue and it’s way too early for a house full of hockey players to be done with a party.
“I came back early.” He gives a small shrug and tucks his hands into his front pockets.
“Do you ditch parties for all of your friends?”
“Yeah. I would.” His gaze doesn’t waver. Then he adds, softer, “I didn’t want you to be alone.”
I blink. “You didn’t?”
A lump rises in my throat. I’m usually the one who shows up early, who drives the extra mile, who makes sure no one’s alone. I don’t know what to do when it’s the other way around.
So I focus on unlooping my scarf instead.
Miles closes the distance between us. He takes my hat off, fingers carefully running along my temples.
I freeze, then swallow hard.
He shakes snow from my hat and tosses it on the entry table. Then he slides my jacket off my shoulders, hanging it neatly in the closet. He drops to his knees to deal with my boots.
I haven’t moved. My brain’s too busy spinning on what him being here means to worry about basic necessities, like getting out of cold, snow-damp clothes.
“C’mon.” He straightens, then tips his head toward the kitchen. “I brought you back dinner.”
I sit at the kitchen island while he preheats the oven, then pulls several Tupperware containers out of the fridge. He pops the lids off and—
“That’s way too much for me.”
“I’ll have some, too.” He transfers a little of everything into a large glass dish.
“You didn’t eat there?”
“I did. Just…” His eyes find mine and hold. “Still hungry, I guess.”
Something unsaid hangs between us, and it suddenly feels like a question of who will break first. Not if, but when. I have a feeling it’s going to be me.
The oven beeps, and Miles looks away first, turning to pop the food in.
When he returns, he braces his elbows on the counter across from me and leans in. Gracie takes the opportunity to jump up and rub against his face, but he straightens before she can headbutt him.
“How was the drive?” He rubs a non-existent smudge from the granite.
“You were right.” My shoulders sag. “It was slippery and stressful.”
His hand stills. “How bad?”
“Well, it was touch and go there for a bit.” I try to joke, but the line between his brows only gets deeper. “I made it, so…” I shrug.
His gaze flicks toward the front door, as if he can see the Bronco from here. “Do you have snow tires on it?”
My mouth drops open. “They make tires just for snow?”
“Yeah. You can take my truck, and I’ll bring yours—”
“I’ll figure it out,” I cut in. “I just need to get used to driving in a Chicago winter.”
Help has always been easier for me to give than take. Like mother, like daughter, I guess.
He rubs the back of his neck. I can tell he wants to push, but decides against it. Instead, he asks, “Did you talk to your family today?”
“Yeah. My mom told me to wish you a Merry Christmas.” I pause. “She also invited you to celebrate with us next year.”
“I’d like to meet them.” Miles looks taken aback by his own words and clears his throat. “So, this Boone guy… What’s his deal? Why’d he make you work on Christmas?”
A few choice expletives come to mind, but I bite my tongue. “He was a true pain today, but I also got the sense that he’s… I don’t know, lonely. And mad about it.”
Miles dips his chin.
“I have to believe it’ll be worth it.” I toy with my shirt sleeve. “I just hope it starts flowing soon.”
He reaches across the counter and squeezes my hand. The touch catches me off guard, and so does the heat that skitters up my arm.
“I know it will,” he murmurs.
All I hear in his words is confidence. He has a way of instilling this quiet kind of belief in you, like, of course you’ll figure it out.
He lets go when the oven timer goes off. He plates up two dishes, then sits beside me at the island, shooing Gracie away when she tries to climb into his lap. She jumps down with an offended flick of her tail.
I try the baked mac and cheese and nearly moan. “This is really good. They made all this themselves?”
“From what I gathered, Mia helped, but yeah.”
I hum around another bite.
Miles shifts beside me, fingers drumming on the counter. “Everyone was bummed you weren’t there.”
I arch a brow. I’ve barely met most of them. Sure, I can work a room, make people laugh, but being memorable and being missed are two different things. “I highly doubt anyone missed me that much.”
“I did,” he says softly. Too softly. Soft enough to work its way under my skin and settle near my heart.
I keep my eyes on my plate.
We eat in mostly silence. When Miles finishes, he turns his water glass in a slow circle, pretending he’s not watching me. “You could come to a game sometime. If you want. Meet everyone.”
“Your game?”
He chuckles. “I mean, yeah. Unless you’d prefer to cheer for another team.”
“It’s okay.” I bump my shoulder into his arm. “I’ll cheer for you.”
I take our plates to the dishwasher, aware of him behind me the whole time. When I turn, his gaze snaps up to meet mine.
“Hey.” I twist the dish towel between my hands. “Do you want to watch a movie? A Christmas Story is kind of a tradition in my family, but I haven’t had the chance this year.”
“Yeah.” He smiles. “Let’s do it.”
We settle on the couch. I grab the remote and search for the movie, while he disappears for a second, then returns with a blanket. He throws it over my legs before taking the opposite corner of the sectional.
There’s so much space between us. And I cannot for the life of me shut up the incessant voice in my head telling me to close it.
“Oh—before I forget.” Miles stands and crouches by the tree, then comes back with a wrapped box about the size of a hardback book. He holds it out. “Here.”
“I didn’t get you anything…” Guilt prickles under my skin.
Even with my bank account barely staying afloat and my brain overrun with lyrics, chord progressions, and Boone’s expectations, I should’ve thought to get him something.
Outside of family, I haven’t had someone to Christmas shop for in years. And even when I did, I can’t remember a single gift I gave or got. Kind of strange, now that I’m thinking about it.
“Didn’t expect you to.” He nudges the box toward me. “It’s just something small.”
“Okay,” I mumble, but the word gets lost in the sound of tearing paper.
Inside is a pocket-sized leather portfolio. I open it to find a notepad and a gold pen. I roll it between my fingers and notice the engraving running along the barrel.
For the record.
That lump I’ve been swallowing since I walked through the door rises again.
No one’s ever given me something like this before. Not the actual gift, but the quiet message underneath it: I see you. Keep going.
My exes gave me flowers that wilted. Gift cards I never used. Things that said, “I remembered it’s Christmas,” not “I’ve been paying attention to you.”
“In case you wanted to upgrade your grandma notebook,” he jokes into the silence. “But if there’s some superstition with that one, you don’t have to—”
“There’s not, and I love it,” I cut in, finally finding my voice. “Thank you.”
He shrugs and sinks back into his corner of the couch. “Like I said, just something small.”
I don’t think. I just move.
Crawling, I cross the cushion between us until I can wrap my arms around his neck. It should be the world’s most awkward hug, but it isn’t. Not even a little bit. He turns into me, and his arms come around my back. I breathe him in. He smells of pine needles and peppermint.
“Seriously,” I say near his ear. “I love it.”
His arms tighten just a fraction. “You’re welcome,” he rumbles, and I go warm all over.
Maybe this Christmas isn’t the worst, after all.
I ease back, but instead of retreating to my corner, I drop onto the cushion next to his.
Somewhere between the leg lamp and the pink bunny suit, we both move closer. His arm drapes along the back of the couch. My shoulder tucks into his side.
We stay that way for the rest of the movie.
Neither of us moves, like the smallest shift might tip us into something we can’t take back.
I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything.
But even I know it’s a lie.