Chapter 24
I take a hot shower but can’t get rid of the stinging chill.
It’s settled in my bones. I should be happy, ecstatic even.
The other day, I thought we’d need a Christmas miracle to get the Vallerton, and it happened.
The miracle being me in the right place with the right nativity set to trade with Candace Whitman.
She gets my Garrick and Leo gets the Vallerton. I fulfilled my end of the bargain.
And I’m absolutely crushed.
Mostly, I’m disappointed in myself. When Candace mentioned needing my set, I offered it up without hesitation.
The words spewed out of my mouth before I realized what I was doing.
It scared me, to be honest. Why is my default to surrender without thought?
Like if someone needs a new brain, I’d say, “Oh, here, take mine!” Though it doesn’t matter now, since I feel I officially lost it anyway.
Just as I lost the Garrick.
I’ll get over it. I faced a bigger devastation with Gran’s passing … but then, why does it feel like losing her all over again? I know the answer, yet I don’t have the headspace to acknowledge it.
I slip on Leo’s hoodie and sweatpants. They’re both too big, but I roll down the waistband and fold up the sleeves. I should probably dry my wet hair, but I only want this day to be over. Topknot it is. Drawing in a ragged breath, I exit the bathroom.
Leo’s watching college basketball highlights and scrolling on his phone. My seating options are a marshmallow bean bag or an inflatable gummy bear. I choose the bean bag.
His smile broadens as he takes me in. “You look cute in my clothes.”
I press the cuff to my face and inhale. “It smells like you.” That will probably embarrass me come morning, but all my filters are scattered downstairs on the women’s bathroom floor. I haven’t been the same since I walked out of there.
“I’m not getting that back, am I?”
“I’m glad we understand each other.” I try to match his teasing, but my tone falls flat.
If he notices my dampened mood, he kindly gives me a free pass. He holds out his phone, showing me the weather radar on the screen. “The bulk of the snow has stopped. I say we take the turnpike tomorrow. It should be clearer than backroads.”
“Agreed.” I glance at the tub of antiques, which has one less Garrick nativity set and one more Vallerton. It’s a good thing. I did a good thing. Christmas is a season of giving. Look at me—I’m embodying the whole Santa Claus thing.
“You okay?”
I suddenly realize that Leo’s turned off the TV and is staring at me. He doesn’t know about the trade, and tonight I’m going to keep it that way.
“Oh, me? Yep. All good.” Just a bit of emotional scar tissue that I’m hiding beneath forced smiles and rapid nods.
He reaches out and sweeps a rogue lock of hair from my cheek. “You sure?” His touch sends a shiver through me. “Cold?”
“Very.”
He goes to the thermostat. “Kicked up the heat. That should help.”
Maybe with the chill, but not the numbness. That will go away with time. Hopefully.
“You sure you’re all right?”
I must look awful. “Yeah, I’m overtired.” I move slowly toward the bed, but Leo intercepts my hand, tugging me to him.
“I’ll take the chair.” He brushes his lips across my forehead.
I slide my eyes closed, taking in his touch. Forehead kisses are underrated. After several deep breaths, I pull back. “No way you’re sleeping on a plastic gummy bear.” Never thought those words would ever come out of my mouth. “There’s room on the bed for both of us.”
“You sure? You’re acting a bit weird.”
Of course he would think my strange behavior is because of our sleeping arrangements.
“Weirdness is ninety percent of my personality.” Apparently the other ten percent is impulsivity, considering I offered up my Garrick before I could clamp my mouth shut.
I could knock on Candace’s door and say I’ve made a colossal mistake, ask for my antique back.
But the expression of unbridled joy on her face when she saw the nativity set makes me pause. Her family has been through a lot.
Maybe I’ll feel better about it in the morning. I glance up at Leo. “I’m sorry I’m out of it. This day has been long.” In so many ways. “And yes, I’m sure. I trust you. I’m just not feeling my best right now.”
“You need sleep.” He guides me to the bed and turns down the comforter and sheet.
I scoot onto the mattress, and he tucks me in with such care that my heart squeezes.
He kisses me softly, then grabs another blanket from the closet.
It’s about half his size, but he doesn’t seem to care.
I hear him move to his side of the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight.
He stays above the covers, and I’m touched at his sweetness in respecting my space.
“Goodnight, Greta,” he says and switches off the lamp.
“Night,” I whisper, but it’s a long time before sleep claims me.
In every rom-com I’ve watched where the story features the one-bed trope, the heroine always—always!—wakes up with her head on the hero’s chest or they both rouse in a tangle of limbs.
I wake to an obnoxious knocking at the door.
Leo groans and flops onto his back, an elbow across his forehead. “Maybe they’ll go away.”
It seems Leo is not a morning person.
Another knock. “Breakfast,” an overly bright, feminine voice calls.
I blink until the room comes into focus. “Dorian the Deceitful forgot to mention breakfast service is included in the Sugar Rush package.”
Leo chuckles, his voice still rusty with sleep. He grabs his phone off the nightstand. “It’s only seven. If we were really on our honeymoon, I’d be ticked.”
I fight against a blush. “Think on the bright side. Maybe there’s waffles.
” I get up and catch a glimpse of Gran’s tub.
Last night’s events come rushing back—swapping the sets while Leo was in the shower, seeing the pure relief and happiness on Candace’s face, handing over a chunk of my heart. I roll my shoulders and open the door.
The chipper hotel person left one of those rolling tables by the door. I wheel it into the room. Leo’s sitting on the edge of the bed, looking handsomely disheveled. I have no idea what my appearance is, but I’ve never exactly had that “I woke up like this” caption-worthy face.
I lift the stainless-steel dome lids like some French waiter. Shriveled eggs, hashbrowns that could pass for rubber pellets, and two bagels that haven’t been toasted are tossed onto the plates. I wrinkle my nose. “The Dough Ball food was so amazing, and this is …”
“Crap,” Leo finishes.
I nod. “I hope they don’t expect a five-star review with this breakfast.”
“Your vending machine idea has some merit.” He glances over, and I want to memorize the soft curl of his mouth. “Good morning, by the way.”
“Good morning.” I return his smile.
“You’re too far away.” He crushes me to him and breathes me in. “Your hair smells amazing.”
“That would be the provided vanilla-sugar shampoo. Very on-brand of them, I think.” I slip my arms around him. He has no clue how much I need this hug. After a long minute, he releases me, and I instantly miss his warmth. “Think the roads are all right?”
“Most likely. Trucks had all night to plow and throw down salt.” His gaze is a slow crawl over my face. “You seem sad.”
“I think I’m hungry.” And regretting life choices. You know, the usual.
He grabs his wallet and leaves to raid the vending machines, giving me a second to find my emotional equilibrium. I wash my face and brush my teeth with the toiletries from the hotel courtesy basket.
Leo returns with protein bars, pretzels, and Pop-Tarts—the three Ps of every balanced breakfast. We drink the orange juice that came with the meal, which does not mix well in the aftermath of bubblegum toothpaste.
Lesson learned. We scarf down our food and go to the lobby.
Leo takes one glance at my current fashion statement, which I dub “hoodies and heels,” and wisely keeps any remarks to himself, though I do see him sneak a smile.
He’s holding the tub of antiques, and I’m trying to imagine a way of telling him how I got the Vallerton that doesn’t involve my tears. Or me looking like a lunatic.
I’m drawing a blank.
We check out and head toward my car. The sun’s out, making the snow sparkle like diamonds. A minivan pulls up as we’re about to cross the parking lot, and the passenger window rolls down.
It’s Candace.
She smiles brightly. The man in the driver’s seat, who I assume is Sal, nods at Leo.
Candace pokes her head out the window like a middle-aged turtle. “I wanted to say thank you again! You made our daughter’s Christmas.”
I wave her off, but I can’t control the tremor in my hand. “Don’t mention it.” Like, please, do not mention it.
“I really hope you’re happy with the Vallerton. It’s a great set but not what we wanted. Thanks for trading.”
Feeling the weight of Leo’s stare, I scramble for a reply. “Uh, yeah. It’ll work wonderfully. Well, safe travels.”
Candace is not catching my hints. “Hope you have a Merry Christmas!”
Sal points at Leo. “Remember what I said.”
Huh? Sal never said anything, especially to Leo. Unless I zoned out for a second, which is entirely possible. Leo only dips his chin, and they drive off. I feel a gusty chill, and it has nothing to do with the December breeze.
“What was that about?”
“Oh, I met her last night in the bathroom at the Dough Ball.” I offer a quick smile and hustle toward the car. “Are you driving, or am I?”
He pulls out my keys and unlocks the doors. “I got it.” He opens the hatch and sets the tub in the back. In seconds, he’s behind the wheel and pulling off the Sugarvale Inn lot.
His frame’s rigid. “Why didn’t you tell me you got the Vallerton?”
“I was going to.” I force a bright tone. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but now that’s ruined.”
He softens somewhat. “She said you traded.”
I sink lower in my seat. “Yep.”
“What did you give her?”
“Oh, just an antique from that tub. It worked out that I brought it along.”
His brow lowers. “We were together the whole time. When did you do this?”
“When you were in the shower. I went to her room.” Now I feel icky and busted, like I was caught smoking behind the bleachers in junior high.
He nails me with a look. “What antique, Greta? Be more specific, please.”
Ugh. “The Garrick.”
Leo pulls to the side of the road and brakes. “Your inheritance?”
I suck in a quick breath. “Who told you?”
“Your Pap at Thanksgiving. He told me the Garrick was the first antique you and your gran found together. Said it sparked your love for antiques.”
“Yeah.”
He puts the car in reverse. “I’m turning around. We’re going back.”
“What? No.”
He keeps his foot on the brake and his heated gaze on my face. “Greta, I can’t let you give up that set.”
“It’s too late. They have a daughter who had a health battle. All she wanted was that set.”
“And you have a grandmother who passed, and that piece is meaningful to you.”
My lips quiver. “They’re no doubt long gone.”
“I can catch them.” His voice is steel.
I lean over and press my hand to his arm. “Listen, I traded the Garrick for the Vallerton. The Whitmans get the Garrick for their daughter. Your sweet widow gets the Vallerton. Everyone’s happy.”
“No. Not everyone.”
“Yes. Right. I see that.” My words are choppy like my breath. “You’re obviously not happy. I overstepped. I didn’t want to miss the chance. I should’ve talked to you because you might not have wanted to spend?—”
He throws up his hands in the universal “what the heck?” gesture.
“This isn’t about money, Greta. Because whatever number you have in your head, I guarantee you, I was willing to spend at least four times that much.
No, I’m not talking about my happiness here.
” He cups my face in both his hands, his gaze imploring.
“But yours. You’re the one I care about most.”
I swallow. This is not how I wanted to hear this declaration. “I made my decision.” My voice is reedy. “Nobody forced me.”
His thumb swipes my cheekbone. “It’s your nature. You see a need, and you’ll surrender anything. Even if it costs you.”
I blink. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
His hands drop from my face. “It’s not. But it’s also okay to say no.”
“That would be selfish.” I’m feeling defensive, even though I’ve shared the same reservations. My emotions are all over the place, not even a GPS can track them down. “Isn’t Christmas about giving? Isn’t that the point of the season?”
He looks at me like that’s the biggest load of festive fluff he’s ever heard. “I want to know why you always have to be the one who sacrifices?”
“I don’t mind.”
“Really?” He leans close. “Then tell me why you were upset last night and this morning?”
“I … uh.”
“I’ll tell you why. Because you felt awful about giving away your gran’s Garrick. One of the biggest things that connects you to her.”
“This was for you,” I say emphatically. “I promised you I would do everything I could to get the set, and I did. I never go back on my word.”
He rakes a hand through his hair. “I wish you would’ve talked it over with me.”
Is there a right answer to this? I don’t even know. “And what would you have said?”
“That sometimes you need to speak up for what you want.”