Merry and Bright

Chapter Ten #4

I told him that was one hundred percent relatable, and then we discussed the woes of ill-fitting socks.

“I don’t know why people think he’s a bit weird,” I told Ro. “Because I totally understand what he means.”

We were standing in my bedroom and I was up to sweater number four in the outfit check.

She hummed.

“What’s that supposed to mean? There’s nothing worse when your clothes feel weird.

What do you think of this one?” I fixed the collar.

“I think the blue’s a better choice. Blue is a safe, calm color.

If I want his parents to like me . . . You know they’ve done studies on how the color of clothing affects your perception of that person, especially with first impressions.

Politicians and the color of their neckties, for example. ”

“Well, I kinda liked the pink,” she said. “But you’re right. The blue is good. Very passive and smart.”

I pulled at the collar again. “It feels kinda scratchy. Did the detergent people change their recipe?” Then the sleeve felt weird, and I needed to take it off.

Immediately.

I tossed it onto the pile and pulled the gray sweater out from the bottom. It had been sweater number one in today’s fit check, but I wasn’t sold on it at first, because I wasn’t sure monochrome was the look I was going for. But once I had it on again, it felt so much better.

“Okay, this is it.” I looked into the mirror, readjusted the sweater around my arms and had to pull at it a bit . . . “No. Nope.” I pulled it off and tossed it onto the pile. “What the hell?”

Ro handed me the pink one. I pulled it on and checked myself in the mirror, and doing an all-over torso check, there wasn’t anything bothering me. As per usual, she was right. It possibly was the better choice.

“So, Win,” she said, using that tone again. The one where she was about to drop another truth bomb.

“Just say it.”

“Well, do you think there’s a reason why you and Deacon click?”

I turned to face her. “What?”

“And a reason why some clothes feel weird, and why you’ll have a meltdown and have to pull your shoe off, regardless of where we are, if your sock feels weird? And why you don’t like loud crowded spaces, or why you need to decompress in silence after a busy day, or—”

“Is there a point to this character assassination or are we doing this for fun?”

She chuckled and tilted her head. “Darling, you know I love you.”

“Oh god. What is it? What’s wrong? I thought you liked the pink.”

“I do. The pink sweater is the correct choice. I’m just saying that you and Deacon have a lot in common, and you know, birds of a feather and all that.”

I stared at her. “Are you trying to say you think I’m neurodivergent?”

“No,” she said quickly. “But neurodivergence is a broad spectrum.”

“You think I’m neurodivergent,” I said. It wasn’t a question, because that was one hundred percent what she was implying.

“Well, yes. Maybe. And that’s not a bad thing,” she added quickly. “Goodness, no. It’s not a bad thing at all. It just explains some things, don’t you think?”

I blinked. “Uh . . . well, jeez, I dunno. I don’t know what to think because you just dropped this on me and I’ve had no time to process—”

She raised an eyebrow and smiled as if I was almost connecting the dots. “Processing, overthinking, overanalyzing, meticulous organization, hyperfocus.”

“Those are . . . those are positive personality traits,” I replied. “And great for business management, I’ll have you know.”

She chuckled again. “They are. And I wouldn’t change one thing about you, Winter. Not one thing. I’m just saying this to help you realize that you and Deacon have more in common than you might think. So instead of trying to analyze every single thing he does or doesn’t do, just relax.”

“Oh, relax and don’t overthink,” I said flatly. “Why didn’t I think of doing that earlier? Could have saved me a lifetime of unnecessary stress.”

Ro sighed. “Don’t be mad. I’m just trying to help.”

“By telling me you think I have undiagnosed neurodivergence.”

She shrugged. “Well, me thinking that isn’t new. You’ve been like this forever.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Remember that time when you were in kindergarten and you had to make clouds on paper with cotton balls?”

I made a gagging noise and shuddered at the memory. I had to wipe my hands on my pants to remove the memory of cotton balls. “Dear god. Why would you—”

“Or the slime at the science fair.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “That was a traumatic experience. I can still feel—”

“Or how many fidget spinners you’ve lost.”

I put my hand up. “Okay, I think you’ve made your point.”

She began putting all the incorrect sweaters back on their hangers for me. “Um, that’s back to front,” I mumbled. “It will face the wrong way in the wardrobe. They all face the front . . .”

She smiled as she fixed it. “Okay.”

I sighed. “So this has been fun for me.”

“You should get going. You don’t want to be late,” she said. “They won’t notice the sweater if you miss dinner.”

I gasped and checked the time. “Oh jeez.” I grabbed my scarf and pulled on my boots and coat at the door. “I’ll be home by ten, maybe? I don’t even know. The boys have been fed—”

“Yes, yes,” she said, shoving me toward the door. “Go, Winter. Oh, here, don’t forget this.”

She shoved the box of Christmas cookies into my hand, which I had brought to take as a thank you gift for dinner, because it was rude not to take something, which I had forgotten all about. I’d be so lost without her.

“Oh, thank you.”

“Drive safe.”

“Always do.”

I hurried to my car to get out of the cold. Now, coming from Boise, I was used to the cold and snow. But Hartbridge was in-the-mountains level of cold.

And to think Merry and Bright could have been out in this on their own if I hadn’t taken them in. Well, if I hadn’t sent their poor momma cat to kitty-heaven. But still . . . they wouldn’t have lasted long in this weather.

I drove to Deacon’s, trying not to think about what Ro had suggested, about me having neurodivergent traits.

It didn’t bother or upset me any, it just .

. . I wasn’t sure. I’d always had idiosyncrasies.

Who the heck didn’t? I’d always found myself in the company of other quirky people.

It was just who I felt most comfortable with.

Hmm.

Was Ro wrong?

Undecided.

I had enough self-awareness to see she may have some valid points. Objectively, I couldn’t disagree with her. It wasn’t a flat-out no.

So, maybe?

Did it change anything?

Not at all.

Did it explain a lot of things?

Possibly.

Did it change anything between Deacon and me?

Not one bit.

So maybe she had a point, maybe she didn’t.

I arrived at Deacon’s, taking the box of cookies, suddenly wishing I’d worn the blue sweater, and rang the doorbell.

I could hear shuffling and what was possibly claws on floorboards, then a deep, raspy bark.

“Mildred,” a familiar voice said before the door opened.

Deacon grinned at me, bathed in warm light.

At his feet was the cutest freaking dog I’d ever seen.

Mildred was an English bulldog, and looked remarkably as if she was created in Minecraft.

And no other name but Mildred that would have suited her.

“Hello,” Deacon said. “Please come in. Don’t mind Mildred. She normally has manners.”

I stepped in, my boots and legs being sniffed and snuffled by an excited Mildred. I handed Deacon the box of cookies. “For you and your parents.” I gave Mildred a pat, which made her snuffle and wiggle in the cutest way. “Oh my goodness, she’s adorable.”

I pulled off my boots and Deacon hung my coat and scarf by the door. “She is.”

I noticed then, the most amazing aroma. “Something smells wonderful.”

“Dinner,” he said, as I followed him through their house. There was wood paneling, tiled floors, timber trims. The whole house was a palette of warm greens and browns, and I immediately felt at ease here. It definitely had the feeling of a home.

In the kitchen, Deacon’s mom was at the fridge, and his dad was cutting a slab of meat.

“Mom, Dad,” Deacon said. “Winter’s here.”

They each smiled at me, fond and genuine. “Oh, hello again,” his mom said. “Please call me Vicky.”

His dad put down the carving utensils and quickly wiped his hand before offering me a handshake, completely pretending he hadn’t come to see me at the store to talk to me about Deacon. “Hello, thanks for coming. Call me Wayne.”

“Thank you for having me,” I said.

Deacon held up the box of cookies. “Winter brought these.”

“I couldn’t turn up empty-handed,” I said, a little embarrassed at being the focus of attention.

His dad peered in through the clear lid. “Oooh, Christmas cookies! My favorite.”

Deacon laughed. “Any cookie is his favorite.”

“Correct.”

Vicky took the box. “Thank you, Winter. It wasn’t necessary but I do appreciate it.”

“Yes, it was necessary, thank you,” Wayne said, opening the box and plucking a cookie from the top. He shoved it into his mouth before Vicky could stop him.

“Oh, Wayne,” she admonished, with nothing but love in her eyes. “You’ll spoil your dinner.”

He grinned at her around his mouthful, and as they went back and forth, I was struck by how affectionate they were, how much warmth there was between them. Deacon had grown up in a home so full of love, it was . . . something special.

Something I could only envy.

Deacon laughed at them, and then his mom turned to us. “Dinner will be ten minutes.”

Deacon took the sleeve of my sweater at my wrist and pulled me out of the room, down a hall, and through a door. He closed it behind us, and we both stood there. He was grinning, and damn, he was handsome.

He still had a hold of my sleeve, right at the wrist. Not touching me, exactly, but he was touching a part of me. My sweater, and by extension, me.

I looked at his hand, then up at his face, and smiled at him.

His eyes met mine, and he dropped his hand. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. I like it.”

In fact, I’d loved it.