Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
brAN
I can’t believe I caved.
The thought has been pacing the back of my skull ever since we pulled out of that Tennessee restaurant and pointed the truck north. It beats time with the wipers as they swish across the windshield, the dark ribbon of highway unspooling in front of us like it’s got nothing better to do.
I shift in my leather seat, rolling my shoulders, trying to get comfortable. It doesn’t help. Nothing does when the wrong kind of what if is chewing at you.
What if this is exactly what Thurston is waiting for?
What if he somehow knows Twiggy Gentry will be at Floyd’s Toy Emporium tomorrow, playing elf for a bunch of kids who just want candy canes and cheap plastic wands?
He shouldn’t. Logic says that.
He’s not a dad—that we know of, anyway. He doesn’t strike me as the “take your kid to see Santa” type. Parent-focused advertising is not his lane. This event isn’t even advertised widely—Tally told me that much. It’s more word-of-mouth, community-home kind of thing.
Still. The idea of her in a crowded shop, predictable time, predictable place, makes my teeth grind.
“Siri, call Jack,” I say into the dimly lit cab.
Beside me, Tally’s gaze snaps over, surprise flaring in her eyes. “Why are you calling Jack?”
Because you talked me into doing the one thing every cell in my body says is a bad idea. Because if anything happens to you, Kael won’t have to kill me—I’ll do it myself.
I don’t answer her before the call connects.
“Bran.” Jack’s voice comes through over static and radio murmur. “Everything okay?”
“We’re fine,” I say, keeping my tone even.
“Just wanted to give you a heads up. Tally is supposed to be at Floyd’s Toy Emporium tomorrow…
some kind of public service thing she agreed to do for the kids.
I didn’t feel right about not letting her do it and figured it would be safe, but I did want to check in with you and get your thoughts. ”
Tally makes a small, offended noise at the whole ‘letting her’ thing but doesn’t interrupt. I can feel her looking at me, though.
“Floyd’s…” Jack mutters. “Yeah, I’m familiar with that event.
My thoughts are that it should be safe enough.
The potential for her presence to have been a big enough marketing ploy to reach Thurston is slim.
She’s not a celebrity, and Floyd doesn’t advertise this event… it’s for a community children’s home.”
“That’s kind of what I was thinking,” I say, breath easing out of my chest a fraction. “But I feel better hearing it confirmed by you.”
“I would, though,” he continues, “be there undercover if I were you. Just to be safe.”
It’s sensible. Of course it is. Doesn’t mean I have to like how right it is.
“That’s a good idea…but undercover in what way?” I ask. “I’m a little large to be another elf.”
“Santa, of course,” Tally says promptly.
My hand jerks on the wheel. The truck bumps over the rumble strip, vibrating like it’s laughing at me. I drag us back into the lane and cut her a glare.
“He’s perfect for the part,” she goes on, unbothered. “Particularly if he drives a sleigh better than he does a truck.”
“No. Absolutely not, hell no.” I can hear the horror in my own voice. “And then no, again.”
Twiggy giggles, which should not do the things it does to my chest.
On the other end of the line, Jack hums, low and thoughtful. I instantly distrust it. “Actually, it’s kind of genius. No one except the kids will be paying attention to Santa. If Thurston does show up, he’ll be emboldened to try something, and maybe we can catch him.”
“You’re not using Tallulah as fucking bait.” The words snap out before I can rein them in.
“No, of course not,” he says. “But it’s a good idea. Otherwise, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”
Motherfuck me up the ass.
My fingers tighten on the steering wheel until my knuckles ache. I can already see it—me in a stupid suit, fake beard, pretending to ho-ho-ho, while every muscle I own is coiled and waiting for a shadow that might not come.
“Fine,” I grind out. “You just make sure the fucking suit fits.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Jack says, sounding like a man who’s just won a bet. "And I'll also make sure someone from State is inside, and around the perimeter, as well."
I hang up and turn another glare on Tally. “Thanks a lot.”
She beams, choosing to ignore the sarcasm. “Don’t mention it, studmuffin.”
Fucking hell. “Do not, for the love, call me that.”
“Okay, hot stuff.”
“Not that, either.”
“Grumpy old man?”
The corner of my mouth betrays me, twitching. “You need to be spanked, and often.”
Her breath hitches the tiniest bit. She doesn’t say no.
Yeah. That’s a problem for later.
A couple further hours down the road, the night has thickened, clouds snuffing out any moonlight. The road is mostly ours—just the occasional headlights sweeping past like ghosts.
Up ahead, a fluorescent sign cuts through the darkness. Walmart – Open 24 Hours.
Perfect.
I take the exit without warning. The deceleration jerks Tally out of the doze she’s slid into, her head snapping up from where it had lolled toward the window.
“What are we doing here?” she mumbles, rubbing at her eyes, voice rough with sleep.
“You’ll see.”
I park near the garden center and kill the engine. Cold air knifes in when I open my door. Tally shivers visibly as she climbs out, wrapping her arms around herself.
“You know how freaking late it is?” she complains as we cross the rain-damp asphalt. “I was sleeping. If you were going to stop anywhere, it should have been at Karla’s. I want a damn donut.”
“Hush; you always want a donut,” I say. “And it’s only nine.”
“I will not hush—”
“If you shut up, I’ll get you a donut.”
She snaps her mouth closed so fast I huff a laugh.
Inside, the store hums under bad fluorescent lighting. It’s that late-night Walmart quiet—music too loud, aisles mostly empty aside from a few questionable wardrobe selections, one exhausted cashier at a single open register.
Tally keeps glancing at me, curiosity written all over her face.
WTF are we doing getting in line when you haven’t even picked up whatever it is you want to buy?
I can practically hear it in her head.
We get in line behind an old man with a basket full of canned soup and cat litter. When it’s our turn, the cashier pops a bubble of neon-pink gum and squints at us.
“Help you?” she asks.
“I need one of the six-foot trees out front, please.”
Her eyebrows rise a millimeter. She spins her little code wheel until she finds what she needs and rings up a Christmas tree. I swipe my card, sign, and tuck it back in my wallet.
Only then do I look at Tally.
“You bought a Christmas tree,” she blurts.
“I did,” I say mildly, heading for the doors.
“Why, though?” She half-jogs to keep up as we step back into the cold. Our breath fogs between us.
I nod toward the row of wrapped trees leaned against the wall. “Because you deserve a damn tree, that’s why. A real one, not that little stick you currently have in your apartment. Pick one.”
She doesn’t turn toward the trees.
Instead, she launches herself at me.
Her arms loop around my neck, small hands fisting in the collar of my jacket, yanking me down to her level. She buries her face in the space where my neck meets my shoulder, and I feel her breath hot against my skin.
“Thank you,” she says, the words muffled. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”
My throat tightens. I put a hand on her waist to steady us both. It’s too easy to keep her there. Too easy to say stay.
“Stop,” I mutter, because the alternative is going soft in the middle of a Walmart parking lot. I ease her back enough to see her eyes—bright, wet, wrecking me. Then I lean in and kiss her.
It’s not a long kiss. Not a hungry one. Just a firm press of my mouth to hers that says I see you more than I want you, and somehow that feels more dangerous.
“Pick a tree, Tink,” I say, voice low.
She turns to the display, sniffing once, pretending she didn’t just melt all over me. Eyes still shiny, she picks a small one, practical, already mentally mapping the square footage of her shoebox apartment.
I grunt and grab a bigger one. “We’ll make it fit,” I say when she opens her mouth to argue. “It’s Christmas. Bigger is better.”
She laughs, soft. “You would say that.”
Ten minutes later the tree is bungeed into the bed of the truck, and we’re back on the road, Lucy Falls only twenty minutes away.
The town is quiet when we roll in, all brick and twinkle lights and that shiny-hometown-movie charm that hides anything less than magical. I ease down to twenty-five, cruising the main drag, and Tally leans her head against the passenger window, staring out at the familiar storefronts.
As we pass Karla’s, her eyes cut to me, hopeful. I don’t even pretend to resist.
I pull into the small lot and park.
“Let’s get some donuts,” I say.
“Bran?” she says softly.
I pause with one foot on the pavement, half in, half out of the truck. “Yeah?”
“You’d better be careful,” she says, gaze flicking from me to the glowing sign and back. “A girl might get ideas.”
Her expression is softer than I’ve ever seen it. Tender, almost. The sarcasm is still there, but it’s wrapped in something new. Something that looks suspiciously like hope.
She climbs out and shuts the door before I can answer.
Maybe I want you to get ideas.
The thought lands in my chest like a stone in a pond, ripples spreading.
I meet her at the door to Karla’s and catch her hand, tugging it into mine. Our palms slide together, her smaller hand fitting into my much larger one like it was made to.
She glances down at our joined hands, then up at me.
“As long as they’re the same ideas I already have,” I say, “I’m okay with that.”
She bites her lip, speechless for once, and moves ahead without answering. That’s okay. We have time. I’ll make sure of that.