Chapter Thirty
Hayden
Stargazing
Myles Smith
It’s been four days since we had brunch at Luc and Lily’s and we’ve barely spent a moment apart. Vanessa’s off work now until after the New Year, and the band is on break from the studio until after the holidays.
I’ve spent all four of those nights at Vanessa’s. Wrapping all the presents we bought for everyone, cooking together, watching classic Christmas movies, making love so many times I’ve lost count, and of course, tolerating Vinny.
So, when Vanessa walks into my apartment this afternoon, she notices the absence within seconds.
“There’s no tree.”
I glance up from where I’m opening takeout containers at the kitchen island. “What?”
“There’s no Christmas tree in your apartment.”
I look around once trying to piece together why this is a problem. “No,” I confirm with an arched brow. “There isn’t.”
Vanessa stares at me from the middle of my living room like I’ve personally offended her. Outside, snow drifts across the city skyline beyond the massive windows while music crackles from the turntable in the living room.
“You don’t decorate for Christmas?” Disbelief laced in her question.
“I have a candle.” I point to the large green jar on the table.
Her mouth falls open. “A candle,” she spits out, her disdain evident.
“It smells like pine?” I try without success to prove my point that I’ve decorated.
“Oh my God.” She presses one hand against her chest. “You live like a wealthy serial killer.”
I snort before I can stop myself. “That feels excessive.”
“There’s not even a wreath.” She continues, her gaze darting around my apartment.
“I didn’t realize this would upset you. We have a tree at your place.” I argue, hoping that will suffice.
“It doesn’t upset me.” She drops her purse onto the couch before turning toward me with narrowed eyes. “It concerns me.”
I’m smiling again. This woman is going to be the death of me. Vanessa disappears down the hallway toward my bedroom without another word.
“What are you doing?” I call after her.
“You’ll see.”
That does nothing to alleviate my concerns. Five minutes later she reappears wearing one of my black sweaters. It nearly swallows her whole, red hair falling loose over the fabric while she types into her phone.
I lean against the kitchen counter watching her with suspicion. “What are you doing?”
Her eyes lift, one brow arching high. “You’ll see.”
“Vanessa…” I warn with a smile.
“Relax.” That single word should not sound as threatening as it does. My phone buzzes beside me seconds later. I glance down, and then snap my gaze back up at her.
“Why,” I drawl out, “did I just get informed that my delivery will be here in one hour?”
Vanessa beams. “Excellent news. Your apartment is about to develop a personality.”
Sure enough, one hour later, a six-foot Christmas tree is now sitting in a stand in the middle of my living room.
I stare at it. Then at the boxes of ornaments, that were also delivered with the tree, and now lay scattered across my floor.
Then at Vanessa, who somehow looks supremely happy by all of this.
“You understand,” I tread with caution, “that none of this was here before you.”
“I know.” She untangles a strand of lights with fierce concentration. “That’s why I fixed it.”
I don’t think she even realizes how devastating some of the things she says are.
Christmas music, instead of the jazz I normally play, drifts through the apartment now, some old Sinatra album Vanessa insisted was “mandatory seasonal ambiance,” while she moves barefoot across my hardwood floors wearing my sweater with absolutely no concern for the chaos she’s creating.
And to add insult to injury, she had Nicole bring Vinny over. He’s busy attacking ribbon near the couch like it insulted him in some way. My life has become deeply unrecognizable. And somehow, much, much better.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Vanessa chirps without looking up.
“I’m watching you take over my apartment.”
“You’re welcome.” She smiles wide in my direction.
I shake my head with a smile before reaching for another box. “You realize I have no idea how to do any of this.”
Vanessa’s eyes snap over to me. “You’ve never decorated a tree before?”
“Well, not in a really long time.” I shrug.
Her expression softens then to something gentler as realization strikes. “Oh, Hayden.”
That tone alone nearly undoes me. She walks toward me then, one strand of white lights still wrapped around her neck, stopping when she’s in front of me. “Come here.”
“I’m literally already here.”
“Oh shush.”
She grabs my wrist and tugs me toward the tree, giving me no choice in whatever she has planned next for me. Which should feel concerning but doesn’t in the least.
Vanessa reaches for something and then presses an ornament into my hand. It’s a simple piece of round glass. It’s dark red. Nothing elaborate.
“Okay,” her voice soft. “Now hang it on the tree.”
I stare down at the ornament. Something strange tightens in my chest. Because I can’t remember the last time Christmas felt like anything except something to survive. Vanessa watches me but doesn’t push. She just waits. And God, maybe that’s what gives me the strength to step toward the tree.
I hang the ornament carefully onto one of the branches near the center.
For one suspended second, neither of us says anything.
The white lights reflect against the windows behind it, while snow falls outside and the Christmas music hums low through the apartment.
It’s warm and quiet and fills me with a peace I wasn’t expecting.
Vanessa smiles then. It’s small and soft, and beautiful enough to ruin me. “See? You’re capable of joy after all.”
Something in my chest physically aches, because she has no idea what she’s really done here tonight. This apartment has always been immaculate. A place to sleep, work and exist.
Now there’s music, ribbon, laughter, wine glasses on the counter, a cranky cat curled up on my couch, and a woman I love standing barefoot beneath Christmas lights. And for the first time ever, it feels like a home.
Vanessa moves back toward the tree again, adjusting ornaments with fierce concentration while singing along to the music under her breath.
I watch her in silence. The oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder.
Copper hair glowing gold beneath the lights.
Her smile every time she steps back to admire the tree like she’s genuinely proud of it, of us.
And something terrifying settles into place inside me. It’s not fear. It’s worse. I can picture the future. Our future. Traditions. More trees and Christmases. More laughter, maybe one day, our children’s laughter.
My heart thuds against my ribs before the thought can fully form, but the images flash anyway. Vanessa on the floor beside Larkin last weekend. Tiny fingers tangled in red hair. Soft laughter filling the room. My pulse stumbles hard. Jesus Christ . I drag one hand across my jaw.
“Hey,” Vanessa asks from beside the tree. “What’s happening in that head right now?”
Too much. Way too much. I look at her standing there glowing beneath white Christmas lights and realize with sudden terrifying clarity that I’ve stopped imagining how to survive losing her, and now, now I’m imagining forever with her.