Chapter 26
Everly
Mom is thrilled.
One of her daughters is finally bringing a man home for Christmas. She’s acting as if I picked Knox out especially for her this holiday season.
I’m glad to see her joy. She’s been struggling since Thanksgiving, missing Dad. We wrote Hadley off the guest list weeks ago, what with her gadding about the US, but Oakley’s late-in-the-game defection was a blow.
Since the moment I informed her Knox accepted our invitation, she’s been lamenting that I failed to extend the invitation to include Christmas Day, as well.
I kept waiting for a real conversation with the man, but that never happened, so, first thing this evening, that oversight will be rectified.
Unless he has a secret family stashed in Chandor somewhere, I’m pretty certain the answer will be yes.
A whimper of pain flits through my stomach.
Nope. Today is a happy day. The past is the past. Ethan was a blip on the radar, a cautionary tale for the future.
A caution my dating life may not need, hip-hip hooray. Knox is…well, a certainty in the deepest part of my gut says he’s in my life to stay.
Mom opens the oven to read the temp on the meat thermometer. “I can’t believe you didn’t mention Christmas Day already. My goodness, honey, I hope the man hasn’t made other plans.”
Mom is a pro at finding things to nitpick her daughters about. Thankfully, it’s benign stuff. She loves a lot, and honestly, if I’m lucky enough to have a family of my own someday, I’ll probably be the same. I tend to get set in my ways and want others to fall in line.
I’ll have to work on that.
“Nope, we’ll be rescuing him from a day of TV in a yucky motel room.”
“I would think so. Surely spending time with us is preferable to that motel.”
“If it isn’t, you and I both have some serious soul-searching to do.”
I so wish Dad were here. He’s going to like Knox.
They’re going to like each other, I can feel it. Dad is great… and who couldn’t like Knox?
Mom snatches the oven mitts with Santa faces from the counter and takes the roast from the oven, covers it with aluminum foil, and sets the temp to warm.
Two other silvery-topped casserole dishes are still inside, and two more are wedged into the bottom, smaller oven.
Christmas Eve tradition around here is usually a simpler meal, like stew or white chicken chili, but Mom and I agreed Knox deserves a full homecooked meal. Tomorrow, turkey.
Overkill for three people? Perhaps a smidge.
I check my watch and walk to the bay window in the breakfast area overlooking the backyard. The sun has set, but not enough to hide the lowering, gunmetal cloud bank. I clap my hands together. “I hope it snows.”
Mom’s laughter is light. “That would be one for the books. I’ve lived here my whole life and never seen a flake on Christmas.
” She snorts. “Now, I’ve sweated to death over a hot stove in eighty-degree weather and hunkered in the bathtub for a tornado warning on Christmas.
But I’ve yet to see a single snowflake—so whatever that weatherman is saying, take it with a grain of salt.
Folding my arms and sighing, I move to the dining room window at the front of the house to watch for our guest. Mom is right. If we’re lucky enough to wind up with Christmas snow, I’ll kick myself for not playing the lottery.
The stockings are hung, a fire blazing behind them. I rub my neck and close my eyes. If Knox were here, would he wrap my waist, set his chin on my shoulder, and peer through the windows, waiting with me for the floodlights to catch a shimmering snowflake?
Will he fall asleep in Dad’s recliner in front of a football game, or roll up his sleeves and help Mom and me in the kitchen?
Not a bad daydream in the bunch.
I wouldn’t mind if he dozed. His eyes were watery, red veins webbing around the irises the other night. They were exhausted yet concerned for his injured man. His dedication is admirable. LHS Construction is fortunate to have him on their payroll.
I check my watch and then my phone. The designated arrival time has passed, and he hasn’t texted. He did say he had last-minute gifts to buy.
My stomach flutters like falling snowflakes are feathering my insides. Obviously Knox and I are nowhere near the ring stage, or any kind of diamond or jewelry, for that matter.
Right?
Of course that’s right. Our relationship is young, and I’m not a complete idiot. But…the older I get, the more I learn not to deceive myself. I don’t lie to other people, so why should I lie to myself? I can’t see the future, but Knox is special. This isn’t likely to be our only Christmas together.
Maybe next year we’ll be with his family. Or—
Rein it in, Ev.
I take a deep breath, imagining the oxygen going to my brain cells. My breathing slows, along with the racing thoughts.
But I do think about rings. One—massive ring in particular. How ever did he swing that thing?
Headlights sweep the room, spotlighting me, then landing on Mom’s antique buffet. The LHS truck parks behind my car in the driveway.
I open the door while Knox is only partway up the sidewalk. I detect the sound of bells, but can’t make out the source.
There is an enormous gift basket requiring the strength of both his long, strong arms. On top rests a small, professionally wrapped box.
He comes fully into the sweep of the porch lights. He wears dark slacks and a red sweater that clings to his chest and stomach.
Cashmere?
I think maybe so.
He pauses, scoping out the yard. “I see our handiwork endures.”
“Yeah, the snowman has melted a time or two when the extension cord came undone, but otherwise, everybody’s hanging in there.”
Knox tips his head, chuckling. “You’re quick, Evy girl.”
The endearment messes with my heart rhythm.
A tinkling sound again rides the airwaves when he resumes walking, arriving fully into the outdoor lighting.
Holding the door’s edge, I open it wide and laughter threatens to overtake my smile.
Reindeer antlers spike up from his neatly combed hair.
And the topper of it all? Jingle bells bob from the brown felt spikes.
“I heard you before I saw you, Knox.”
Courteous as ever, he stops to wipe his feet on the mat. He rolls his eyes up as if trying to see the noisy headpiece. “Too much?”
I tap my chin like I’m considering my answer. Really though, I’m catching my breath and savoring his magnificent cologne carried by the wind before I have to end the magical moment with words. Knox is spending Christmas Eve with me. “It’s a close call.”
“Hmm. I hope antlers aren’t along the lines of a painted chest, but I did promise I’d be here with bells on.”
I hum and tap my chin. Shrug. “I’ll allow it.”
But I will not allow the thought of Knox’s bare chest anywhere near my brain. Too soon for that. Worse, the mental image does things to me I can assure anyone who might want to know that Lance’s never did.
Knox, always quick with a smile, laughs some more. He plants a kiss on my cheek as he comes over the threshold.
The bells jingle. I love it. It’s like, they tell me he’s a good man without telling me he’s a good man.
“Is that Knox I hear?” Mom calls from the kitchen.
“No, Mom. It’s Santa.”
He and I trade smiles. I direct him to lay his gifts with the others Mom and I have meticulously wrapped at the base of the tree. There are presents even for the absent family members.
And for Knox. That one took some thought.
Mom walks into the living room as he’s straightening from delivering his gifts. The basket of goodies dwarfs everything around it. “Oh my goodness, Knox. What have you done!” She puts her hands on her hips. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Umm…” He slides his hands in his pockets and smiles sheepishly.
“But I am so glad you did! Lots of late-night snacking there.” Mom claps her hands together. “But now…dinner is ready and waiting. Let’s eat!”
Knox takes my hand. We trade happy smiles and follow Mom into the kitchen.
Wind rattles the glass panes, whistling through a microscopic crack somewhere in the frame. The north-facing dining room window has been that way for ages.
Mom and I worked like crazy all day. The fine spread of Christmas tradition we produced is impressive—and smells heavenly.
The table is draped with the pretty cloth she carefully irons every December, although she invested in an elegant new centerpiece decked with frosted pine cones and red and white poinsettias.
Pointy holly leaves with red berries adorn the lovely china that has decorated the Wilkes family table for decades. The plates wait to be piled high with the traditional casseroles that get whipped up only on Thanksgiving and Christmas. My stomach growls at the sight and the wafting aromas.
Mom names the dishes one by one. “We have honey-glazed ham, au gratin potatoes, green bean casserole, sweet potato casserole, and squash casserole.” She smiles brightly. “Which do you think will be your favorite, Knox ?”
My date—wow, I adore the sound of that—eyes the dishes as he unfolds a red napkin across his lap. “I’m going to savor each one, I can tell, but there’s no contest. I’m going to love the squash casserole, a hundred percent. That’s always my favorite.”
His answer feels like a sign, but the satisfied glee transforming Mom’s expression is more like a warning to duck and cover. She beams as bright as the North Star. “What a coincidence. That’s also Everly’s favorite…” Her words trail. “What’s that sound?”
Knox glances toward the fireplace, cheek hitched playfully. “Santa?”
Mom doesn’t laugh and I instantly realize why as a sound perks my ears. “Someone’s at the front door.” Not merely at—it sounds like whoever has arrived is letting themselves inside.
Knox straightens. “Are you expecting someone?” He looks between the two of us.
We both shake our heads.
He lays the napkin beside his empty plate and pushes from the table. “You ladies stay here.”
And we do—for three seconds. Mom and I shoot up like tandem rockets.
A split second before rounding the corner into the living room, a familiar baritone reaches me.
“You must be Knox.”