Chapter 17
Tyler enters the house last, carrying the tree on his shoulder like some kind of office lumberjack, pausing only to slide off his shoes at the door.
“Where do you keep the decorations?” he asks after he’s set the tree in front of my living room window. “If you haven’t gotten them out, I can do that.”
“In the attic. The door’s in the hall ceiling. I haven’t dragged it all down yet. It’s a pain in the ass.”
“It’s not a problem. I’ll get it.”
Without another word, Tyler strides down the hallway, pulling the hatch so the folding ladder extends to the floor.
He disappears into the darkness, emerging minutes later with a plastic Rubbermaid bin labeled Christmas Shit.
Yep, I got real creative with my labels a few years back.
He reads the label, looks up at me, and shakes his head with a snort.
He takes it to the living room, sets it by the tree, and ascends the rickety stairs, back into the ceiling hauling out box after box.
While Tyler quietly works, Abby, Jay, and I secure the tree into its stand and fill it with water. I hear a muffled thump and what sounds like a hushed curse word from the attic, so I rush over calling out to him.
“You good up there?”
Tyler’s low chuckle sounds. “I hit my head. Didn’t realize how low the ceiling was in this corner,” he calls down to me.
He descends the stairs, holding the last box, and sure enough, there’s a cut on his forehead.
“You’re bleeding,” I quickly say. “I’ll grab the Band-Aids.”
Tyler waits while I run to the bathroom to grab the box of Band-Aids and an alcohol swab from the medicine cabinet.
I poke my head into the hallway. “Tyler, come in here.”
He appears in the doorway, and I jerk my chin for him to come into the bathroom. Closing the toilet lid, I grab him by the arm and push him so he’s sitting. Stepping between his open legs, I tear open the alcohol swab.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I’m cleaning your cut. It’s only superficial, but it might still sting.”
Brushing his soft hair back from his face, I position his head how I need it, forcing my focus on his cut and not how his hair feels between my fingers. Instead, I work to steady my heart while I get his cut cleaned up.
Tyler doesn’t flinch when I swipe the blood, using both sides of the swab. I lightly blow on it to dry the alcohol before covering it with the Band-Aid. The whole time I’m working, Tyler’s eyes are trained on me, but I avoid his gaze.
Then he lifts a hand, fingers brushing my curls. He picks up a strand, mimicking my earlier motions, giving it a soft tug and letting it spring free.
“I like your hair like this.” His hand drops back to his lap.
“Yeah, well…I’ve never liked my curly hair. You wouldn’t believe how much time I put into straightening it. If I could afford it, I’d get a keratin treatment, but they’re like two hundred bucks.”
“What’s a keratin treatment?” Tyler’s brows furrow with the question.
“It’d make my hair permanently straight. Well, not permanently. But for like, two months.”
“No, don’t do that.” Tyler’s voice goes soft like the thought pains him.
“I love your curls.” He reaches again, giving the strand a gentle tug, but this time he doesn’t drop his hand right away.
With his forefinger, he twirls it, hazel gaze flicking to my mouth and then up to my eyes.
A stretch of silence fills the space between our bodies, allowing shallow breaths to float between us.
It takes every stubborn bone in my body not to lean in and take what I want, but at the last second I snap out of the trance we’ve fallen into.
“Well, your cut is all better.” My voice trembles as I step back from his nearness, busying myself cleaning up the first aid supplies.
Being that close to him, feeling his fingers in my hair had my mind drifting to dangerous places.
Like closing the space between us, or sending my kids to friends’ houses so I could drag him to my bed.
Good grief alive. Cut it out, Josie.
Glancing over at him, he looks as flustered as I feel. “That tree isn’t going to decorate itself. We better get back out there.”
I need my kids around so I’m not alone with this man, who jumped in to coach so my son could play basketball, who keeps on showing up, day after day, moment after moment.
And dammit, he loves my curls.
I am not a woman who lacks confidence. Sure, I have the occasional thoughts every female has.
But the one thing I’ve always hated about myself is my curly locks.
I’ve fried my ends more times that I can count, flat ironing my hair straight.
But hearing Tyler say he loves my curls.
Well, for some crazy reason, it makes me want to march straight to my bedroom and toss that flat iron in the trash.
I take a few quick breaths and head back to the living room, where we all begin stringing lights on the tree. They’re a tangled mess from where I tossed them in the box last year, so with infinite patience, Tyler untangles them while the kids and I wind the strings onto the branches.
“There. Good enough,” I say, stepping back from it. Tilting my head, I examine it. “Does it look a bit wompyjawed?”
Tyler snorts a laugh, and I turn, narrowing my eyes at him. “Jo, who says wompyjawed?”
“You’re asking the wrong question, Tyler Kent,” I say, knocking him with my shoulder. “The question you should be asking is, why doesn’t everyone say wompyjawed?”
Tyler grins at me, those twin dimples entering the conversation. I’d give about anything to dip a finger into one.
“Remember when Mawmaw used to say flittersticks?” Abby asks, interrupting my train of thought.
“Oh! And tomfoolery!” Jay pipes up.
All four of us laugh and my heart does a little hiccup. Because this doesn’t feel like a stranger who’s been hanging around more lately. This feels very domestic, almost couple-y. No—we feel like a family.
“We should bring all those words back. Jay, when you’re acting up, from now on I’ll say ‘Jaybird, stop that tomfoolery.’”
“Maybe instead of fuck you should try saying flittersticks,” Abby says, then immediately claps a hand over her mouth.
“Abigail Nicole!” I gasp right as Tyler’s jaw falls open. “Language. When I was your age, Mawmaw grounded me for saying butt.”
“It was a quote, Mother. I wasn’t saying the word myself. Just quoting your favorite word.”
Well, she’s not wrong. It is my favorite word. Apparently I need to watch it, though, or it’ll soon be Abby’s favorite word as well.
“That settles it,” I say. “Flittersticks from now on. Abby, no cussing. Jay, do not repeat after your sister.”
I turn on a classic Christmas playlist, and we begin hanging ornaments.
We mostly work in silence, Bing Crosby crooning in the background.
A few times I catch Tyler stepping back to examine the tree, then he’ll rearrange a few of his ornaments.
Once, he catches me watching him and his lips tip up in a grin.
“Just making sure they’re evenly spaced.”
My answering grin is wide at this man who creates order without a second thought. My life has always been controlled chaos. I’m not tidy by any means, but I always know where things are amongst the clutter. Would that drive him crazy or would he accept me exactly as I am?
Abby and Jay grow bored with decorating, like they do every year. When Abby asks if she can go to her room, Jay’s quick to follow, leaving me alone with Tyler.
Peering over at him, I speak quietly. “It means a lot to me that you stepped up to coach the team. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jay so excited to see someone as he was when he spotted you.”
Tyler smiles, but then his lips twist down. “If this is none of my business, please tell me, but the other night at dinner, it seemed like Jay has…” Tyler pauses, searching for his next words. “Expectations. From his father. Does his father still come around?”
A sudden spike of anger flashes across my vision, and I clench my fists. I despise talking about Chad, but Tyler asked. So I might as well tell it like it is. Glancing down the hallway to check that Jay’s door is closed, I open up.
“For the most part, all of Jay’s friends have dads who are active in their lives.
Believe me when I say that communicating with Chad made my stomach turn, but for Jay’s sake I was willing to give it a shot.
I thought I’d gotten through to him. He showed up for a few visits when Jay was younger, but even that turned out to be too much effort.
” I hear the bitterness in my words and hate how familiar the sound is to my ears.
“When Jay was old enough to notice the absence, he’d pepper me with questions—so many questions.
At Thanksgiving when you asked, remember I said I wish he would disappear?
” He nods, and I go on. “This is awful to admit, but sometimes I wish I could erase Chad completely. Just wipe him from our story. Is that fair to Jay? I have no clue. But it’s not like he’s around, ya know?
Which means it wouldn’t technically change anything, I know that.
But it would feel final, like a chapter finally closed.
I’ve even considered asking him to terminate his rights, but knowing him he’d refuse just to be a dick. ”
Tyler watches me for a moment, his eyes a little sad. But I watched closely for a reaction while I was talking. Tyler didn’t flinch at my admission.
“I don’t think that’s awful,” he says finally, voice low.
“I think you’re a mom who has done everything you can.
Plus, you’re doing it alone. It makes sense that you’d want a clean slate from the ghost of him.
” Tyler’s eyes sear into mine with a quiet burning intensity.
“Wanting closure isn’t wrong, Jo. It doesn’t make you cruel.
It makes you human. And if letting go of him, even on paper, helps you and Jay breathe easier? Then I think that matters.”
I swallow hard, concentrating on his words. I’ve never confessed that to a single soul, and it feels liberating, freeing, to speak it aloud. Quietly, I take out another ornament, looping it on an empty branch.
The next ornament Tyler grabs is the one Abby made when she was four.
We dipped her palm in green paint, then when the paint dried she glued on sequins as the ornaments.
Tyler examines it, then opens his large palm and lays her handprint onto his.
That simple, precious gesture sends a flutter of butterflies to my belly.
“Would you like to keep that?” I ask.
Tyler looks up from where he’s eyeing the handprint ornament.
“Nah. It belongs here on this tree.”
I lift a brow. “You sure?”
He hesitates, turning the ornament over in his hand. “I’ll leave it here. Who knows. Hopefully I’ll do this with you guys again next year.”
His words land slow and soft, folding themselves around me like a warm blanket on a cold day.
Next year. It’s such a simple phrase, but it catches me so off guard my breath catches.
Not once since my divorce have I allowed my mind to wander this far.
But hearing Tyler say things like that, well, a very large part of me believes he means it.
He’s not like any man I’ve ever met. Tyler moves through life gently, making the space he occupies feel safer than it was before he arrived.
I look at his hand cradling Abby’s old ornament and wonder, would he hold my heart that gently in his hand?
Maybe, just maybe, I want him here with us again next year, too.
The only thing remaining is the star for the top of the tree, which I can never get right, despite dragging out my stepladder. The tree is too tall even when I extend my arm as far as it’ll go. Climbing to the third step, I rise to my tiptoes, but feel myself wobble.
“Good grief, woman. You’ll fall and break something. Let me help.”
Tyler steps onto the second rung of the ladder, reaching around to take the star from my hand. One strong arm wraps around my middle, tugging my back to his front, while the other situates the star perfectly on top of the tree.
I should probably worry that we’ll both topple over, but with Tyler here I’ve never felt steadier.
My head tips back until it finds the solid warmth of his chest and he sweeps his hand down my arm letting it settle on my hip.
My breath is caught in my lungs, standing on this precipice of…
something. Seconds tick by, but neither of us move.
But then Tyler presses his lips to my temple, soft and firm all at the same time.
“Perfect,” he whispers against my skin, before releasing me from his embrace. And I don’t know if he means the tree or me.
With all the decorations up, Tyler quietly takes every box back to the attic, and when he’s finished, he heads to the front door to take his leave.
I watch him slide his tennis shoes back on, grasping for a reason to see him again, to simply be around him.
Then I remember Abby’s band concert is in two days.
“Hey, I haven’t reminded you, but Abby’s band concert is Monday. I’d like for you to come.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Mom and Dad will be there, too.” Tyler’s eyes light up at that reminder. “You heard my mom on Thanksgiving. She extended her trip for it.”
“I hate that I haven’t had more time to get to know her.”
Tyler nods. “There’s time, Jo.”
I take a deep breath, attempting to steady my pounding heart. The way he says my name, soft with that southern lilt, feels like a promise. “Anyway, thanks for helping today.” I tilt my head toward the Christmas tree.
“Of course, Jo. Any chance to be with you guys.” He taps the doorframe twice with his knuckles and heads to his car, tugging his beanie back down onto his head.
Right before he climbs in, he turns, and I give him my goofy salute.
Tyler grins and mimics the motion, bringing a laugh from my lips.
And I’m hit with this feeling. It’s a slow realization, the kind that builds quietly until it becomes impossible to ignore.
The facts start lining up, each small moment stacked on top of the other like evidence, and I’m left with the fragile but thrilling truth.
Maybe the person who makes my heart race feels it too.
Maybe he does really like me, and despite all my fears, I feel the same.
I head to my art room, trying but failing to wipe the silliest of grins off my face. Down the hallway, I hear Jay’s video game and Abby’s music playing. I walk past their rooms to my art room, but right as I’m about to shut my door, Abby yells, “Mom’s got a crush!”
Then Jay’s responding shout of, “That’s disgusting, Abby!”