Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Charlie was sitting on the sofa, his pillow and blankets folded next to him.
Emmy inhaled the sweet and savory scents of breakfast—salt, butter, sage, and sugar.
“Morning,” she said, trying not to look as lovestruck by him as she was.
“Good morning,” he said.
Aunt Charlotte buzzed in. “We’ve got banana bread in the oven, and your Uncle Brian’s making steak and eggs for everyone.”
The snow had fallen so quickly that they’d all stayed over last night.
Madison had cleaned out the linens in her closets and scrounged up pillows for everyone.
Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Stephen slept on an air mattress in the formal living room, and Aunt Elsie and Uncle Brian took the sofas in Jack’s ping-pong room upstairs.
Uncle Stephen rounded the corner and plopped down next to Charlie. “I think the ladies were planning to play card games after breakfast, but I told them they only have the morning because New England and Miami are kicking off at one. I smell an upset.”
Charlie chuckled. “I doubt it very seriously. It would take a miracle for Miami to win that.”
“You’re in the right house for miracles,” Uncle Stephen said.
“Emmy is a famous designer—and whoever thought that would happen—James is almost ready to walk out of the hospital on his own after a massive heart attack, you’ve managed to hang out with us yet another year, and it’s snowing.
In Richmond. In December. I’ve got my money on Miami. ”
“Fair enough,” Charlie said with a grin.
They spent the rest of the day hunkered down inside by the fire, playing cards, nibbling cookies, and cheering on another game while snow fluttered down outside.
She couldn’t believe it, but Miami won. The announcers even called the win the “Miami Miracle.” They all got a good laugh out of that one.
Even though Emmy had a lot on her mind, she relished the absolute perfection of being there.
The only thing they were missing was her dad.
But they’d piped him in on another video call, which was all she could ask for. Maybe it was the year of miracles.
Everyone headed upstairs for the night. The family room was dimly lit by the flickering fire and the twinkling of the Christmas tree.
“Good night,” Emmy said.
Charlie stopped her. “Want to have a glass of wine before you turn in?”
“That sounds really great, actually.”
He beckoned her into the kitchen. Emmy took two stemmed glasses down from the cabinet and located the corkscrew. Charlie retrieved one of the bottles of wine he’d picked up when he’d gotten the prizes for their gift exchange. With an airy burst, he popped the cork.
“I almost talked myself out of coming to see you this Christmas,” he said, filling the glasses with Brachetto d’Acqui.
“You did?”
“I didn’t know if you wanted me to. We hadn’t talked very much, and while every moment I was with you it felt like old times, I wasn’t—you know—sure…”
“I’m glad you took a chance.”
“So am I.” He handed her a glass. “I’m not tired in the least, and I get you all to myself.”
They went into the family room and sat down on the sofa.
“Tell me all about your call.”
Between sips of smooth red wine, she told him Mitch’s side of the story.
“It’s a sad situation for him, but ultimately, your mom made the right decision.”
“I wonder if she ever questioned her choice. She gave up everything she’d worked for.”
“She might have questioned it over the years—she’s human, after all. But all she had to do was look at you, Madison, and James, and I’m sure that was enough to quiet the issue.”
“You always know the right thing to say.”
He grinned at her, his cheeks rosy from the fire and the wine. “Only to you.”
Without a second-guess, she set her wine down, leaned over, and kissed his lips.
The slight pull of air from his surprise was quickly returned as he took her into his arms. She inhaled his scent of cotton and spice and decided she never wanted to spend another minute without it.
She laid her head on his chest and snuggled into him.
“What will we do after this?” she asked.
“Sleep, probably,” he said softly. “Unless you have other ideas?”
She laughed and looked up at him. “I mean after this Christmas.”
“Well, we’ll endure January because everyone has to, and then we’ll have Valentine’s Day. I’ll probably send you something exciting—I need to start thinking about that.” His gaze roamed her face. “Then there’s St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, summer…”
She sat up. “I mean us.”
“Oh. Wait. Us? As in a single unit—us?” He waggled a finger between them. “Are we... together?”
She chewed on a smile. “Be serious.”
“Why be serious?”
“Because we need a plan.”
“Why don’t we just see how things go?”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s always your answer.”
He leaned into her view. “I have faith that it will all work out. You just can’t see the end right now because it’s still being written.”
He moved forward and gently pressed his lips to hers.
Maybe Charlie was right. Although, it wouldn’t make going back to New York any easier.