Chapter 15 Monika
MONIKA
“That’s not in the Monopoly playbook.” Riva throws her hands up in mock outrage, her patented teenage hair toss accentuating her point. “You can’t make up rules, Griffin.”
“I’m not making up anything.” He adjusts his position on the living room floor, stretching out his long legs. “I’m innovating.”
“You’re cheating,” my daughter counters, but she’s grinning as she says it.
I watch them from my spot on the couch, my heart so full it might burst. I touch the silver rose charm Griffin gave me for Christmas as I reach for my wine glass with my other hand. I haven’t taken the necklace off since he gave it to me on Christmas Day.
“Mom, tell him he can’t charge double rent because his hotel is ‘architecturally significant.’“
“Griffin.” I try to sound stern but fail spectacularly. “Stop corrupting my child with your creative interpretations of board game rules.”
He flashes that devastating smile that makes my stomach flip. “I’m teaching her to think outside the box.”
“You’re teaching her to be a con artist,” I say, but I’m laughing.
“Fine.” He moves his little silver dog token and hands Riva a stack of colorful bills. “Traditional rent it is. Though I maintain my brownstone renovation added significant value.”
Riva counts her money with exaggerated care. “You keep telling yourself that.”
The easy banter between them is everything I hoped for but was afraid to count on. When Riva arrived the day after Christmas, I’d been a bundle of nerves. What if she didn’t like Griffin? What if he felt weird around a teenager? What if she resented him for being part of my life?
Instead, they’d bonded over breakfast at the Salty Dog Diner when Griffin let her order the “Edgar Special”—a massive cinnamon roll named in honor of the town’s infamous seagull.
She’d peppered him with questions about Wild Rose Point, and he’d patiently answered each one like she was the center of his world.
By day two, they were planning the upstairs renovation together. Riva wants a window seat overlooking the ocean and shelves for her crystal collection. Griffin listened, made suggestions, and promised to build her the best window seat on the Oregon coast.
Yesterday, he’d taken us hiking through a nearby forest preserve, pointing out native plants and explaining the ecosystem while Riva took approximately four hundred photos.
When she’d slipped on a wet rock crossing a stream, he’d caught her before I could even gasp, steadying her with the same capable hands that fixed my grandmother’s dream house.
The same hands that hold me at night when he thinks I’m asleep, like he still can’t quite believe I’m really his.
“Your turn, Mom.” Riva nudges my foot with hers.
I roll the dice and move my token—the little top hat, because of course—and land on Griffin’s property. “How much do I owe you?”
“For you? Free pass.” He winks.
“That’s definitely not in the rules,” Riva protests.
“Fine.” I count out the rent and hand it over, electricity shooting up my arm when our fingers brush. Will I ever get over that? I sort of hope not. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” But he’s looking at me, not the money.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, another notification I choose to ignore. The publicity from Daniel’s arrest has been intense. Thanks to a slow news cycle, I’ve been the lead story on every tabloid site, with speculation running wild about my “secret hideaway” and “mystery man.”
I released a statement through my publicist: I’m taking time to heal and focus on what matters most—my family, work, and privacy. I ask that you respect this boundary.
Some outlets honored it. Others...well, I’m learning to let go of what I can’t control.
“How much longer until midnight?” Riva asks, abandoning any pretense of caring about the game.
Griffin checks his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”
“We should make popcorn.” She’s already on her feet. “Extra butter.”
“Don’t let your mom near it,” Griffin advises as he stands. “The smell of burnt kernels lingers like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Hey.” I nudge him as he passes me. “I resemble that remark.”
“He’s not wrong,” my daughter says as she heads into the kitchen.
“You have many other talents, Mon.” The way his voice goes rough sends shivers down my spine.
I stay on the couch, listening to their voices mix with the sound of cabinet doors opening and closing. Through the wall of windows, the ocean is dark except where moonlight catches on the breaking waves.
This house has become everything Grammy dreamed it could be. But more than that, it’s become my home. Not because of the renovated kitchen or the furniture I selected, but because of the people filling it with life and laughter and love.
“Grammy,” I whisper to the night sky visible through the windows. “I hope you can see this. I hope you know I finally understand that house like this are for people like us.”
Not because of my success, but because I was brave enough to claim the kind of happiness money can’t buy. I refuse to let anyone tell me I don’t deserve beautiful things.
Griffin returns carrying a massive bowl of popcorn, Riva trailing behind with three champagne flutes—sparkling cider for her, the real stuff for us.
“Provisions secured.” He sets the bowl on the coffee table and settles beside me on the couch. His arm comes around my shoulders automatically, and I lean into him.
Riva curls into the armchair, tucking her feet under her. “This is nice. Way better than a Hollywood party.”
My chest tightens with emotion. “I’m so happy you’re here, sweetie.”
“Even though I kicked your butt at Monopoly?”
“You didn’t win yet,” Griffin reminds her.
“Whatever. It’s gonna happen, and you’re too obsessed with each other to notice.”
Griffin holds up his hands. “Guilty as charged.”
Riva rolls her eyes as I turn on the TV to watch the coverage from Times Square. There’s a huge crowd of people packed together in the city, waiting for a ball to drop. It seems surreal from this quiet house on the coast, and I’m grateful to be exactly where I am.
“When do you leave for Vancouver?” Riva asks during a commercial break.
“The week after you go back to Colorado.” I take a sip of champagne. “Two months of filming, then I’ll be back here for a few weeks before the next season starts.”
“And Griffin’s going to finish the upstairs while you’re gone?”
“That’s the plan.” He reaches for popcorn. “Though I might need your input on some design choices. Think you can FaceTime for consultations?”
Riva tries not to react, but I see her face light up. “Really?”
“It’s your bedroom and bath. It should be exactly how you want it.”
“Plus…” I squeeze Griffin’s hand, “We’ll also need to fit in a trip to visit Susanna and the kids when they move into their new house.”
His gaze flares in that way that makes my heart skip a beat. Yesterday, he got the call that the house purchase was finalized. After years of saving and setbacks, Joey’s family would finally have the home they deserved.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says quietly.
“They’re important to you, which makes them important to me. I’d like to meet them.”
Riva looks between us, clearly processing something. Then she sets down her glass of sparkling cider, her expression going serious.
“Hey, Mom?”
“Hey, Riva?”
“Is this move to Oregon, like, permanent?”
I glance at Griffin, whose whiskey-colored eyes reflect the Christmas lights from the tree we set up in the corner of the room. My daughter watches me with the kind of perceptiveness teenagers can summon at the oddest moments.
“It’s permanent. We’ll keep the house in LA for a while, but Wild Rose Point is home.”
“You’re happy,” she says quietly.
“I’m really happy,” I agree.
“Me too.” She nods, satisfied.
Griffin’s arm tightens around me, and I blink back tears. Who knew normal could be so amazing?
The countdown begins—ten, nine, eight—and we all stand, moving closer together. Griffin’s hand finds mine, our fingers interlacing as naturally as breathing.
Three, two, one.
“Happy New Year!”
Griffin kisses me as fireworks explode on the TV screen, and Riva makes exaggerated gagging sounds that dissolve into laughter. I pull her into a hug, the three of us standing together in front of the windows overlooking the Pacific.
“To new beginnings,” Griffin says, raising his glass.
“To family,” I add.
“To getting my window seat,” Riva chimes in, making us all laugh.
We clink our glasses together, and I look around at this house that feels like home. Not because of the floors or the furniture or the perfectly chosen paint colors, but because ordinary spaces become extraordinary when you share them with the right people.
Through the window, I catch a glimpse of movement on the deck. A familiar masked face peers in at us, chittering indignantly.
Griffin grimaces. “Is that—”
“The boss raccoon is back.” Riva grins at the creature. “I bet he brought the whole gang. Can we keep them?”
“Absolutely not,” I say firmly.
“They’re part of the house’s lore,” she argues.
Griffin’s laugh is like a warm blanket over me. “Your mom’s right. The trash pandas need to find their own place.”
“Fine.” Riva sighs dramatically. “But I’m naming that one Ricky.”
As if in response, good ole’ Rick chatters again before scampering off into the night.
“Goodbye, buddy.” Griffin waves. “Feel free not to come back.”
As the three of us stand together in the house my grandmother dreamed of but never got to see, I have a deeper appreciation for the value of hard-won dreams and hard-fought love.
Real happiness doesn’t come from thread counts or square footage.
It’s found in the messy and imperfect moments, and I’m so grateful to have them with Griffin.
“I love you,” I whisper to him as Riva returns to the kitchen for more popcorn.
“I love you, too.” He kisses my forehead, and I touch the rose charm at my throat. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”
Love fills my entire being, knowing I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. It’s good to be home.
Thank you so much for reading Her Christmas Fix.