Chapter Twelve
Leaving Olivia’s house after Christmas Eve family dinner, Summer let Tom help her into his truck.
The cab warm, she settled in the heated seat.
The man had a habit of caring for others, especially her.
It was humbling to be the recipient. On the way home, she gazed at house after house and the twinkling lights – a bright starry tableau.
“Your grandmother’s house is still the best, inside and out. ”
“It’s mainly the traditions. It’s a soothing constant. Christmas Eve dinner is always my favorite, but I’m glad we skipped church. No offense to this town, but I’ve had enough professional and social interactions to last me to Easter.”
“Me, too. Still worried about Mia?” Summer put her upturned palm on the console between them. He laid a hand over hers.
Tom gave a deep sigh. “She’s still critical. Bret says Jake’s been there as much as her mother will let him.”
Summer squeezed his hand, understanding his disappointment in the girl.
“You gave her the room to learn, Tom. It’s necessary and was a gift she could only hope for.
In the future, she’ll remember letting you down, will try harder and act differently, and be mindful of how she approaches things. Don’t give up on her.”
“We’ll see.” He turned onto their street, and she released his hand so he could maneuver the truck into the driveway. She’d left their tree lighted in the window. In the dark night, the homecoming filled tender places inside with hope.
His present was burning a hole in her purse, though.
She’d framed and wrapped the gift, then hid it in her biggest purse.
Tom being such a snoop, there was no other option available.
Only she hadn’t figured out how she wanted to give it to him.
Their Christmas tradition floated depending on her schedule and his.
Sometimes they opened each other’s presents on Christmas Eve and sometimes on Christmas morning.
She couldn’t wait this year. She’d been sneaky long enough.
She considered all the angles and finally gave up. It would happen when it happened. “Are you hungry?”
Tom turned off the truck. “After that dinner? No. I could use some cookies and milk, though.”
“Me, too. I want to give you your presents tonight. Too tired?”
He shook his head. “That’s fine by me.”
She swallowed on a gasp of realization. All this angst over him not guessing her gift when she hadn’t made any attempt to find out what he would give her. She was grateful to be home. Period. She turned her head away to stifle a yawn, but he caught her.
“We can wait until morning.” He got out and came to her door.
She stopped him when he leaned to unfasten her seatbelt. “I want tonight.”
“I guess I owe you. Too many nights I’ve fallen asleep on you.”
She turned to him, shaking her head. “I like knowing you’re right next to me, and I sleep so good because of it. You do, too.”
Tom released the clip on her belt and helped her out. “I like sleeping with you in all its forms. I’m glad its finally night after night.”
“Let’s get ourselves inside, shall we? Beat you to the porch.”
He slammed the truck door, pushed the lock button on the fob and followed her. She streaked up the main sidewalk to the wide front porch, Tom hot behind her. He stopped her at the front door – under a mistletoe that hadn’t been hanging there yesterday.
He turned her to him, pressed an open-mouth kiss to her lips, and proceeded to demolish every boundary between them, leaving her trembling. She broke away with weak knees and a desperate ache deep inside. “You are my everything, Applegate.”
“Same, sweetheart.” Tom lowered to kiss her again, this one short and intense. Their porch was a treasured part of their courtship and marriage. Even though the swing had cracked and a new one had been commissioned from Bart McAuley, the memories warmed.
Tom kept her in his arms, but managed to open the front door. “As much as I like kissing you, I’m over chilly weather.”
He eased her inside and walked with her to the living room. She started to complain – she still had her coat on. Then she saw the presents under the tree.
She dropped her purse on the sofa and shrugged out of her coat. “Oh, honey! The tree turned out amazing, didn’t it?”
Eyes on the decorations, he clasped her hand. “If I haven’t reminded you lately, I’m thankful you came back from San Francisco with me, married me, and stayed with me.” He kissed her brow and took their coats.
She shimmied out of her best boots, moved her purse to the table behind the sofa, and snooped at the presents under the tree. “Hmm, seems like you did a lot of shopping.” She eyed the deep midnight blue wrapping paper and counted. Twelve gifts. “What in the world did you find for me?”
“Hold on. Do you want coffee, hot chocolate, or milk to go with the cookies?”
“Milk, please.”
He disappeared into the kitchen. She made herself comfortable on the sofa and pulled a red throw over her legs. He came back with two glasses of milk and a plate of Christmas cookies and fudge balanced in his hands. He smoothly set the drinks and treats on the coffee table.
“Thanks for all the gifts.” He leaned across her knees for a kiss.
She pointed a finger at him. “You’re not supposed to guess what they are. It’s not fair, and not all of mine to you are under there.”
“What are you worried about? That I’ll get it right?”
She widened her eyes. “Yes!”
He laughed low and deep. “It’s my superpower.”
“It’s my cross to bear. You start. Go pick one for me to open.”
He walked to the tree and squatted to sort the packages. He lifted a sizeable one and brought it to the coffee table. “Drink your milk, honey.”
She huffed, then lifted her glass for a drink. Throwing off the blanket, she tore at the wrapping paper. She’d never been a neat present opener. The box underneath was a plain white. “Not giving anything away, huh?”
“Nope. Here.” He opened his Swiss Army knife and sliced the tape.
She opened the flaps, tossed the bubble wrap to the floor, and froze.
The Tiffany stained glass lamp shade was packed tightly in the top.
“Oh, Tom!” The lampshade glowed like a captured jewel, the mosaic colored in cobalt and sapphire glass.
Dragonflies with wings stretched on a ribbon of bronze, their eyes opals.
It caught every bit of color around it and reflected back the beauty.
“You wanted a better light to read in bed.”
“Is this an antique?”
“Yes, a replica, though. The authentic Tiffany ones are a bit pricey. I found this one at an estate sale. Matches our bedroom furniture.” The gorgeous panes could easily inspire a painting.
“Thank you. I’m stunned.”
“I couldn’t buy a cheap one. Do you not know me at all?”
“Well, I left it to you to decide. This was a wise choice.” She leaned over and kissed him, lingering for a moment to keep the connection.
Tom pulled away and cleared his throat. “My turn?”
“Yes, the one on the left. The bigger one with the red wrapping paper.”
He groaned when he hefted the box. “Concrete, right?”
She laughed, marveling she could be so excited to just give gifts this year. “Nope.”
He set the box on the coffee table and carefully removed the paper. It was amazing they got along. She was a ripper and he was a folder. She didn’t try to contain the wide smile on her face. “Hurry up.”
“I got it.” He paused at the white box. “You did this on purpose.”
“Yep. Can’t have you guessing too soon.”
He cut the tape on the lid and pulled open the flaps. Eyes wide, he lifted one of a dozen leather bound novels in the box. He turned the spine to the light. “Gunslinger, Stephen King. You didn’t!”
“Keep looking.” He pulled out book after book, read the titles, then dropped back on the sofa by her.
“I couldn’t get all of them obviously. But I inventoried your bookcase and all of his have pages loose which means you read them all the time. A fact I know since there is always one out.”
“Thank you.” He kissed her cheek. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
“Well, you aren’t expecting a few other things either.”
“That one over there is socks, and that one is probably new utensils for the barbeque.”
She huffed, as he expected her to. “You keep your guesses to yourself until you open. That’s half the fun.”
“Yes, it is. I apologize. And thank you for the books. I never thought of getting his in leather bound.”
“You’re welcome. My turn?”
And so it went, through little and big. Some he guessed and some he hadn’t. Some she had and some she hadn’t. But she sat speechless with his final gift. The medium size art palette was covered with splashed paint and was decades old.
“You told me once you didn’t like the bare walls in your art studio but you didn’t want to hang your paintings.” He fingered the rough surface. “It’s circa 1962. I found it in Amarillo. This could start a collection. You could mount them on the wall.”
“This is gorgeous, Tom. It’s like it was purposely painted this way, but it wasn’t. Most now are prefab. This is wood. Like a cutting board. There are so many layers here, and the color blending can’t be duplicated. It’s beautiful.”
“How many do you go through?”
“A couple a year depending on the project. Honestly, I have a few set aside in the back closet. Never got around to throwing them out. I get attached to them.” She leaned back against the sofa and laughed. “A strange thing to say, I know.”
“No, it’s convenient. A hanging of one was going to be pathetic, but I couldn’t find any others, and I didn’t have time to scroll eBay.” He smiled, his eyes tracing over her face. “You like?”
“Yes. Oh my god, yes. What a great idea.” She carefully set the box aside. “You’re the best. Have I told you that lately?”
“Once or twice.” He studied the tree, a smile settling on his face. “Good Christmas.”
“Oh, it’s not done yet, mister. There’s one more.”
Eyes on the empty space under the tree, he murmured. “Do tell.”