CHAPTER 19
TYLER
“Merry Christmas, Rory!” Tyler called from her childhood bed. “Cary’s coming to see you, buddy.”
Rory hopped down from the bed and searched the room, but he didn’t understand she meant later. Poor Rory.
She still couldn’t wrap her head around his surprise visit to the pub two nights ago. It was sweet—undeniably so—but confusing, too. They weren’t exactly together, were they?
“Tyler!” Dylan’s voice boomed through her door. “Are you up?”
“Yeah, I’ll be right out.”
Tyler walked into the living room a few minutes later, ready for chaos. Instead, she found silence.
“Did the rapture happen? Where is everyone?”
“My house,” Dylan said, bending over to kiss her nephew. “Merry Christmas, Rory!” Her sister gave him a new bully stick with a bow, and he wagged his tail.
At the kitchen counter, Tyler poured two cups of coffee. “Here,” she said, passing a mug to Dylan and sitting at the table. “Why are you here so early?” she asked, blowing on her coffee.
Dylan folded her arms on the table like a genie before dropping her head onto them. “I’m tired,” she mumbled. “I love Joe’s family, but it’s crowded over there.”
Tyler slid a mug toward her, letting the coffee do the talking. “Some of them can stay here. We’ve got an extra bedroom.”
“I know, but they insist on being under the same roof.” Dylan opened one eye. “It’s how they grew up.”
Tyler had lived alone since Dave, and she could hardly remember what it was like to share her space with anyone but the miniature panda.
“We need to get ready for the open house.” Tyler glanced at her watch. “Soonish.”
“Just let me rest my eyes for a minute.”
“Okay, but I need your advice.” Dylan nodded but kept her eyes shut. “As you know, Cary’s coming by later, but I think we need to have the talk first.”
“The talk?” Dylan mumbled.
“Yeah. Before I sleep with him.”
Her sister sighed through her nose. “What’s the problem?”
“Well . . .” She crossed her legs. “You know I want a family, and he’s one of these eternally single guys. And a musician. Probably a cheater, too, from my experience.”
Dylan’s shoulders rolled up like a marionette on strings. “Not all musicians are cheaters, Tyler. Look at Dad.”
The front door opened and Bert walked in, pressing his hands to his head. “My ears are burning,” he said. “What are you two talking about?”
Tyler stared at her sister and shook her head once.
Dylan turned toward the door. “She thinks all musicians are cheaters, Dad.” Tyler kicked her under the table. “Ow! Fuck, my leg!” Dylan grabbed her shin.
Bert pulled up a chair and joined his daughters at the table. “Merry Christmas, kiddo.” He smiled at his youngest child and kissed her on the cheek. “What’s this all about?”
“Cary,” they said in unison.
“I see.” Bert nodded. “He seems like a good guy. Isn’t he?”
“He is,” Tyler said. “But you’ve been around musicians your entire life, Dad. You know what they’re like.”
Bert clasped his hands on top of his head. “I do—but it’s not just musicians. It depends on the man, not the job. I’ve seen plenty of guys stay faithful to their wives.” He shrugged. “Seen plenty who didn’t.”
Like, most of them.
“Dad, you see the good in everyone,” Tyler said. “Dave—”
“Forget Dave.” Dylan stabbed the air with her finger. “You’re punishing Cary for his sins. That’s not really fair, is it?”
No, it isn’t.
The Robertsons’ open house was a cherished Christmas tradition.
It had been her mother’s idea, since it was her favorite time of year.
Growing up, Tyler had watched old home movies of past festivities to ensure everything was done right.
On some level, she still felt her mother might be looking over her.
As usual, Bert led the Christmas carols in the living room while Tyler and Dylan served drinks in the kitchen.
Her brothers greeted their guests wearing Santa suits while their wives wore Mrs. Claus outfits.
By the early evening the Robertsons’ house was bustling with joy, and it wouldn’t have seemed like Christmas otherwise.
Tyler kept a close eye on her phone, not wanting to miss Cary’s text, and when it finally came through her stomach folded like origami. Would she be strong enough to talk to him? Or would she succumb to his sexy smile and throw caution to the wind?
Almost there. xo, he texted.
She weaved through the crowd like it was the last call at the bar and took a deep breath before opening the door. “Merry Christmas,” she said, hugging him.
“Merry Christmas, babe.” Cary handed her an armful of gift bags and a tin container shaped like a tree. “My mom insisted. It’s shortbread—her family’s recipe.” He lifted his finger. “Hold on a sec.”
“What the . . .” Her voice trailed off as he jogged to the car and came back lugging a guitar case into the house.
“I never leave this one unattended.”
She angled her head, scanning like a goalie tracking the puck through traffic. “Where’s your bag?”
“I’ve already checked in.”
The Fairmont Winnipeg—sex.
Tyler took slow, shallow breaths, willing herself to stay steady. Were they about to cross that line? Of course she wanted to but not if it was just a one-night thing. She still had to work with him—at least until she left SDM.
“Merry Christmas, Rory!” Cary picked up her dog and kissed him while Wilbur pawed at his leg. “Who’ve we got here?” He put down Rory and petted the Labrador Retriever.
“That’s my brother, Wilbur,” Tyler said. “He’s my dad’s dog.” Wilbur spotted food on the floor and hurried to eat it. “Obviously a Lab.” She pointed to the gift bags. “What’s all this?”
“Presents!” Cary handed her a festive gift bag and she tossed the tissue paper like confetti.
“Cary!” she cried. The label on the trench coat read burberry.
“Kim picked it out.” A smile stretched across his face. “She knew your size. Here . . .” He gave her another bag. “An umbrella to go with it. James Smith and Sons from London. I heard yours was busted.”
“Thank you. You shouldn’t have.”
Next, he passed her a green bag that said harrods. “This one’s for Rory.”
“Really, you didn’t have to.” She pulled out a plush teddy bear and squished it like a marshmallow. “Rory!” The dog sat and wagged his tail. “Who’s this?”
“It’s their annual bear.” Cary lifted the bear’s foot, showing her the year. “I was hoping to make up for Aussie.”
She laughed, passing him the bear. “You give it to him.”
“Look, Rory!” He lowered the stuffie. “It’s Teddy!”
They laughed as the dog grabbed it and ran off.
Cary passed her two wine bags. “These are for Bert and Dylan.”
Tyler peeked inside. “Cary! No, they’re too expensive.” She handed them back but he wouldn’t accept them. “I know how much Penfolds Grange is.”
He shrugged. “It was on sale.”
Liar.
Cary grabbed the last bag—the smallest. “This one’s for Nadie.”
“What is it?” Tyler rested her hands on her hips.
“A Shure microphone, and you can’t get mad because I’ve got an endorsement.”
“All of this is too much, Cary.” She set the wine bags on the buffet table and grabbed a small, wrapped present. “This pales in comparison.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything. I’ve got everything I need and then some.” He unwrapped the paper and smiled at an old, worn-out guitar capo. “Thank you.”
“It was the Humbler’s.” She pointed out his initials on the side. “I found it kicking around in the basement.”
His jaw dropped to his boots. “The Humbler’s? Wow! This is the best present ever.” He examined the guitar nut, turning it over. “This should be in a jazz museum. Seriously, I—”
“My man.” Hank hugged him as if they were pals while Heather mouthed, Sorry from across the room. “How’s it hanging?”
“Thanks for the other night,” Mark butted in. “That was so freaking awesome, hanging out and shooting the shit.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Hank said.
Cary nodded once. “Don’t mention it.”
Cary hadn’t just picked up their tab—he’d covered the whole pub. Meanwhile, Tyler celebrated double-points days at the supermarket like a national holiday.
“Cary!” Dylan said, raising a glass of wine.
“Thanks for having me, Dylan.” He gestured to the Robertsons’ family band. “Aren’t you playing tonight?”
Dylan raised her glass again. “I’m drinking instead.”
“I can see that,” he said.
“You know what?” she blabbed into his ear.
“What?” Cary lifted his brow.
She flung her arm around his shoulder. “You fit right in here.”
That’s enough, Dylan.
Tyler introduced Cary to the guests as classic Christmas tunes played softly in the background—festive, familiar, and secular.
“Auntie Ty!” Nadie shouted over the music. “I’m singing your favorite next.”
She nodded while Cary squinted.
“Silver Bells,” she told him.
“It’s my favorite, too,” Nadie added.
After Nadie’s benefit performance went viral, she became a local celebrity. She wanted to be a star, but Tyler reminded her—school came first. A deal was a deal.
Bert played the first few notes before counting Nadie in, and the room fell silent as her voice exploded.
Hark! The Herald. This angel can sing!
Cary took out his phone and pressed the red button to capture the moment.
When the song ended Nadie took a bow, and the room erupted with clapping and cheers.
“Come sit in, son.” Bert tapped on the empty seat beside him.
“Dad!” Tyler’s voice came out shrill. She hadn’t invited Cary there to perform. He’d just ended a six-week stint.
“I want to sing Santa Baby!” Nadie clapped, jumping up and down. It wasn’t surprising, given the amount of sugar in the vicinity.
“I know that one,” Cary said, lifting his guitar out of its case. “C major, I think.” He clamped the Humbler’s capo onto his guitar and strummed the first few chords. “Sorry, it’s out of tune . . . I should’ve checked.”
Of course he was used to having people do that for him, like everything else.
Cary tuned his guitar by ear and started to play, and Dylan beamed at her daughter singing “Santa Baby” with the most famous rock star in the world.
“What do you think?” Tyler asked her sister.
“Their voices sound great together.”