29. Alexis
Chapter 29
Alexis
Bright winter sunlight streams through the window, reflecting off the fresh layer of snow outside.
Blake’s arm is wrapped tight around my stomach, protecting me even in sleep. I don’t want to move, to wake him, but I’d also rather not pee myself. I carefully maneuver out of his arms, sliding one of my old stuffed elephants in my place so he’s less likely to wake up, and make a break for it.
I make it to the tiny bathroom just in time, and when I step back out I’m too awake to go back to bed. I’d probably wake Blake if I go back to get my phone, so I decide to leave it and find something else to do downstairs.
Of course, going downstairs is mistake number one. My mother is like a bloodhound, sensing the exact moment you wake up so she can rope you into helping her do whatever. This morning, it’s baking cinnamon rolls from scratch. Judging by the burnt smell, she desperately needs the help.
“Good morning,” I chirp, and round the small island to kiss her cheek. She’s wearing the same pajamas I am, but she paired it with a truly awful knit Christmas sweater of a koala in a Christmas hat with the text “ have a koala-ty Christmas” stitched around it. I hope she didn’t make any for us.
Mom smiles. “Good morning, love. I’m having some trouble with the cinnamon rolls, can you take a look?”
A cloud of smoke escapes the oven as I open it, the poor rolls burnt to a crisp. The settings on the oven look fine, so she probably messed up the recipe again.
“I’ll do the baking, you set up for breakfast?” I don’t wait for her to answer as I start cleaning the counter and grab the ingredients—it’s a full re-do. “Where’s dad?”
All my life Dad has been an early riser, some days not even making it until sunrise before he left his bed. Not seeing him first thing when I wake is bound to make me worry, especially when he’s not with Mom. If that man ever sleeps in, humanity is screwed.
“He’s next door checking in on Charlotte and Clint, seeing if there’s anything we can do,” Mom says quietly. Clint is our neighbor and Lottie’s dad. My parents are incredibly close to him, and I know the impending loss of him must be hitting them hard. “I don’t think he’ll see another Christmas.”
I shake my head. “Poor Lottie.”
“Yeah, the poor girl’s lost too much for her age.” Mom grabs a stack of plates and disappears into the dining room. For a moment I swear I hear her sniffle, but then the sound of thundering footsteps on the stairs drowns out everything else.
Glancing through the archway I watch as Blake pauses in the middle of the living room. Dad stays up on Christmas Eve to place the presents under the tree and put up a few extra decorations, and it seems it doesn’t go unnoticed. His eyes are big as he takes it all in, the wonder in them almost childlike. Then he smiles to himself and keeps walking.
I go back to shaping the cinnamon rolls, pretending I didn’t see him.
“Good morning, Sunshine.” Blake presses a kiss to my temple before leaning on the counter. “Are the others up already?”
“Mom and Dad are. Lis and Levi are probably hungover. If we’re lucky, Dad will wake them up by banging pots and pans.” I smile at the memory of him doing just that last year.
“I’d pay good money to see that.”
I laugh, but before I can say anything Dad appears at the back door and steps inside, pulling the hat from his head at once. Mom steps into the kitchen as if summoned by the sound, and they lock eyes for only a moment before Dad gives a shake of his head.
“Now the girl’s come down with something, too,” he says gruffly. “I’m telling you, Nora, it’s that damn curse.”
Blake leans in to whisper, “Curse?”
“When Clint bought his house he and Dad did some construction in the yard. Found a headless doll. Dad wanted to rebury it, but Clint threw it out. Dad maintains the doll had a curse.”
Blake shakes his head with a smile. “I never want to leave this place.”
A flutter passes through my chest as I smile, basking in those words. Blake has made himself right at home here, charming my parents and meeting my friends. I love my hometown, but I love it more with him here.
so as he meets my gaze with a wink, there is only one thought echoing through my mind.
I hope we never do.
One hour and two groggy siblings later, we’re gathered in the living room by the roaring fire.
It’s the traditional format. Our parents make us accept weird trinkets they found in thrift shops, we give them something we all pitched in for. Then my dad goes, “Well, that’s it folks!” and laughs because there is a bulging heap of gifts under the tree.
I get books. Alissa gets make-up and art supplies. Levi gets a few of those miniature building kits he loves to do. My mother keeps apologizing to Blake for not having anything for him, but I think he feels more guilty than she does. Especially when she reaches behind the tree to pull out the last gift, his name scrawled in giant lettering across the shiny paper.
“It’s not much,” she says. “But I hope you like it.”
It’s not often that I experience Blake being lost for words—especially fully clothed—but as he undoes the tape and the paper falls away, it’s complete silence. He holds the contents in the air to look at it closely, rolling it over in his hands. It’s a sweater made from a soft navy-blue wool that will retain his warmth with ease, the color bringing out his eyes in the most beautiful way. Mom must have spent weeks on this, working late into the night the way she does to get it just right .
But why? I didn’t invite him until a few days ago. There is no reason for her to make it, let alone wrap it, if he wasn’t here to accept it. Unless…unless she knows me better than I’m willing to admit, and saw this coming long before I did.
Blake rises, and without hesitation throws his arms around my mother. He whispers something I can’t make out and Mom smiles, whispering something back.
Levi rolls his eyes, his childish streak still going strong. I swat his leg when no one’s looking.
Mom waits for Blake to let go first, probably sensing how much he craves this —a home, a real family—and gives Dad a knowing wink when they finally part.
Blake smiles almost shyly. “While I’m up here, I have one more gift, if you don’t mind.”
My heart skips a beat as I watch his movements like a hawk. I didn’t see or feel a ring box, but Blake is sneaky. He could have hidden it somewhere, waiting for just this moment. Would I say yes? We’ve only been dating for a few months–maybe a few weeks, depending how you look at it–but that doesn’t make my feelings less real. With start, I realize I would. It would be a long engagement, sure, but there is no question about my answer.
He is mine. I am his.
He crosses to the tree in long strides before reaching between the branches and pulling out a large envelope. No ring box in sight. I can’t help but feel a little relieved.
“Since me spending the holiday with you was a last-minute decision, Alexis and I agreed not to get each other gifts. But you all have given me more than you will ever know, and I wanted to do something small in return, to show my appreciation.”
A strange feeling passes through my stomach as Blake hands me the envelope. I pause, raising my brow in question, but he just mouths open it.
I reach into the envelope, counting the papers before taking them out.
What the fuck.
No.
NO .
“What is it, love?” my mother smiles. Does she know? Is she in on this, somehow? She could never afford it, but still.
I can only stare at the tickets in my hand, a thousand emotions fighting for dominance. “It’s tickets for all of us to go to Iceland.”
“You always say you want to see the northern lights,” Blake says before kissing my temple. “It’s happening, Sunshine.”
I scan his face. These tickets must have cost a fortune, and he doesn’t seem to care.
Alissa snatches the tickets from my hand. “There’s only five tickets. Have you decided to boot Levi from the trip? Solid move, my friend.”
My brother shoots her a look, but she pretends she doesn’t see it.
Blake laughs. “No. This gift is for you—a nice vacation for the entire Moore clan.”
“Then I’m afraid you’re one short, son,” Dad says. “I’m not getting on that plane unless you are. Don’t feel right.”
“No need. I insist?—”
“So do we,” Mom says in a stern voice. “That’s how we do things in this family, Blake. We do it together, or not at all.”
I take Blake’s hand and for a moment he stares at it, his face unreadable. What I wouldn’t do to get a glimpse into his mind right now.
“Together,” Blake repeats, his eyes trailing up to meet mine. “I like the sound of that.”