Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Some things don’t change—I will forever be a Christmas Market girlie.
After dragging Grant through so many booths I lost count, I found a gift for Braxton, more for Nia and Amani, and gifts for Grant’s parents.
As we pull into the driveway I inhale deeply, feeling rejuvenated. Grant cuts off the engine but makes no move to get out.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
“I can’t move my legs.” He turns to me, dark eyes weary and tired. “I think you broke me. So much shopping. So. Much.”
“Aww, is the widdle baby tired after a few hours of walking? Did big, mean Evie keep you out past your bedtime?”
I’ve got to practice baby-talk somehow.
He cuts his eyes at me. “No. My back is still sore from falling off the roof, and someone had me out on the ice busting my butt.”
I gasp. “I didn’t even think about your fall. Are you okay? Do you need to see a doctor?”
“No doctor.” A slow, sly grin transforms his face from handsome to devastating. A little too bright for someone supposedly unable to move. “I could use some help from the most beautiful figure skater I know though.”
I don’t quite trust that smile, but guilt of not thinking about his earlier injury gets me moving.
I rush around the car to help him up. Even though he’s got a good forty pounds on me, I grab his hands and pull with all my might.
He swiftly stands up then swoops down, pressing his lips to mine in a hot, brief kiss that leaves me trying to catch my breath.
I raise my hand to my lips and scowl so I don’t end up grinning like a fool. “I though you said you needed my help.”
“I did. I’ve been wanting to do that all day and needed your help to make it happen.”
“Just for that,” I say before opening the door to the backseat and pulling out a handful of shopping bags. “You get to carry these inside.”
The house is warm and welcoming, working quick to thaw our frozen appendages. After setting our bags by the tree, I watch Grant stiffly take off his gloves and jacket then slip out of his shoes without using his hands. Oh yeah, he’s definitely feeling the pain.
“Why don’t you get cleaned up,” I tell him. “I’ll take care of the bags and everything else. If you need a little Bengay, let me know. I’m sure we’ve got some of Dad’s stashed somewhere.”
Once he disappears down the hall, I dash to shower and slip into holiday pajamas. By the time I’m back, Grant’s still in the shower, so I set up for a gift-wrapping marathon. I get the assembly line organized with scissors, tape, paper, and bows. But something feels off.
After looking over everything, I decide it must just be me and get started.
I wrap Ivy’s book reading light and some board books for the babies. When I wrap Braxton’s spices, I think of how Dad would have loved testing these on some barbequed brisket and realize what’s missing.
Dad’s gift.
For the first time in my life, there isn’t one.
The absence hits like a sudden drop in temperature. My throat tightens, my vision blurs, and the cheer drains out of me.
“Are you still down here?”
I swipe at my eyes and sniff at the sound of Grant’s voice.
He takes one look at me and crosses the room. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s stupid, but I just realized I didn’t get a present for my dad.” My voice wavers. “I’ve had all year to get used to it, but somehow it’s hitting me now.”
The tears spill over before I can stop them. Grant doesn't hesitate to wrap me in his arms, and I make no attempt to fight him. I bury my face in his chest and let the grief roll through me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper once the tears slow. “We’re supposed to be celebrating the season, and here I am falling apart.”
Grant tilts my chin so I’m looking at him and his brown eyes full of compassion and warmth.
“I never want you to apologize for missing your dad. Or for falling apart. My arms are always free for that. And actually”—his mouth lifts in a small smile as he brushes away some of my tears—“I consider it a sign of progress when you're not trying to hide your emotions from me.”
“You know, you're the only man I've ever fallen apart in front of like this. Twice now.”
“That tells me I must be doing something right then. And I want you to know it's an honor I don't take lightly.”
In not so many words, he's still me what I've already suspected—my heart is safe with him.
His hands slide from my back to my shoulders. “Now, I have something I want to give you.”
He digs through one of his bags from the market and pulls out a small, gift-wrapped box I don’t remember seeing.
“Where did that come from?” I ask.
“I got it while you were haggling with the scarf lady.”
“Oh, the same scarf lady who I was able to talk down enough that you got enough scarves for your whole family and Destiny’s dog?”
I’m not about to go off again about how ridiculous it is for someone trying to oversell ‘homemade’ scarves they know full well they got from Temu in bulk. They were pretty enough, but nothing close in quality to the one I purchased for Grant.
Grant smirks. “That’s the one.”
I wipe my face one more time, then make grabbing motions until Grant hands me the box.
There’s barely any weight to it. I untie the red ribbon, lift the lid, and gasp. “It’s a snow globe ornament.”
Inside sits a tiny snow-covered house with a red truck in the driveway and snowman in the yard. When I shake it, white flakes swirl about.
“You didn’t have to,” I whisper.
“I know, but you love them. I saw the ones in your room and remembered how you told me you and your dad bought one every year. I thought this might help you think of the good times.”
Good times. Like the year we built the tiniest snowman with an inch of snow, hands stuffed in two layers of Dad’s thick socks because we weren’t prepared for actual wintery conditions.
My eyes water again.
Grant cups my hands around the ornament so we’re both holding it. “It could be the first one on the tree this year. For him.”
“That would be amazing.”
We approach the tree together and Grant stands back while I hang the snow globe near the top, my fingers lingering.
“Lights?” Grant asks.
“Wait. Mustic first.” I connect my phone to the speaker and warm, soulful Christmas tunes fill the air.
We turn off the overhead light, and when the tree lights flick on, everything glows red and gold and magic—like a scene from a Christmas picture book.
“In my mind…” Grant croons along to The Temptations, right on pitch.
I giggle when he reaches for the high notes. “You and those falsettos.”
The smile he aims at me could melt a glacier—or the ice around my heart.
He holds out a hand and I slip mine into his without hesitation. His arm slides around my waist, mine up to his shoulder, and we sway.
“Today was magical,” I whisper, looking up at him. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
I rise onto my toes, brushing my lips over his in a slow, sweet kiss. And though the thought this could be dangerous flashes in my mind, I don’t let it take root. I want Grant. The dancing, laughing, and possibility of a future.
So for once, I let joy win.