Chapter 14 Jude #2
Maisie giggles and plops down beside me, swinging her legs while Rufus sticks his nose under the table, inhaling deeply like he’s preparing to rate the entire restaurant.
We order burgers, mine loaded with jalapenos, hers plain with extra pickles, and while we wait, I lean my elbows on the table.
“So,” I ask, “tell me everything. School. Friends. Life. All of it.”
She shrugs, pushing her hair back. “School’s fine.”
“That’s it?” I prod gently. “Just fine?”
She picks at her napkin. “My teacher says I talk too much sometimes.”
“That’s not a crime.”
“And I got an A on my winter project.”
“That’s awesome, bug.”
Her smile grows when the food is set on the table. Rufus inches closer. She tips a scrap of burger down to him, and he takes it so gently you’d think he’s auditioning for sainthood.
I poke a fry at her plate. “Are you excited to be a big sister?”
She stops chewing. Swallows. Looks up at me.
“Yeah… I guess.”
There’s a hitch there, something she’s holding back, but I don’t push it. Not today. I just nod and reach for the bill when Fallon brings it.
Lunch goes smoothly, surprisingly so. By the time we’re bundling up again, she seems lighter. More herself.
“We can grab cookies,” I tell her as we step outside, “then head home. Sound good?”
She nods vigorously like I just promised her a pony.
And that’s when Rufus sees… god knows what. A squirrel. A sandwich wrapper. A hallucination.
Whatever it is, he bolts. Hard.
I lurch forward, nearly losing my grip on the leash while juggling shopping bags, Maisie’s mittened hand, and a dog who weighs as much as I do on a bad day.
“Rufus! Stop—hey—dammit—”
Maisie’s laughing, the bags are sliding, the leash burns my palm.
And then we skid to an abrupt, humiliating stop right in front of Norah.
Of course.
Of fucking course.
She’s holding a sandwich in one hand and a to-go cup in the other, boots dusted with snow, cheeks pink from the cold.
Her eyes widen. “Wow. That’s… a lot of motion for one person.”
I drag Rufus back to my side, breath clouding around me. “Sorry. He, uh—got excited.”
She looks at the dog like she’s been blessed by chaos. “Who’s this handsome boy?”
Rufus whines, tail wagging so hard it smacks my shin.
I barely get the words out before she waves her sandwich. “Was it the smell? It was totally the smell.”
Mortification hits me like a shovel to the face.
“Norah, this is my niece, Maisie. And this troublemaker is Rufus.”
She brightens instantly. “Hi, Maisie.”
Maisie just stares—full starstruck silence—before blurting, “You’re really pretty.”
Norah’s eyes go soft, bright, almost glowing. Something kicks in my chest at the sight.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she says.
Then, because Rufus’s puppy eyes could end empires, she breaks off half her sandwich and gives it to him.
“Norah,” I protest, “you didn’t have to feed—”
“It’s fine.” She laughs. “I don’t mind sharing.”
The sound does something dangerous to my chest. Trying to steady myself, I ask, “You been to the hall today?”
The shift in her face is immediate, like a curtain lowering. Not anger. Not quite sadness. Something knotted.
“No,” she says softly. “I’ve been at the flower shop. Had a… busy morning.”
No idea what that means, but it puts a tightness in my throat I don’t understand.
Maisie leans closer to Norah, inhaling like a little bloodhound. “You smell like Christmas.”
Norah laughs. “Probably because I just had cinnamon cookies. Want one? If your uncle says it’s okay.”
“Yes,” Maisie says before I can respond.
I nod. “Yeah. Sure.”
Rufus noses forward again, hopeful.
Norah looks down at him. “You too, huh?”
He whines loudly. She grins.
“Come on,” she says. “Cookies are at the shop.”
“I’ll help with the bags.”
Norah smiles and hands them to me. I take hold of the leash and then watch as Maisie takes a few steps forward and presses her small hand into Norah’s.
Norah glances back, smiling.
“Sorry,” I say. “She doesn’t always—”
“You don’t have to apologize,” she says gently. “She’s sweet.”
We start walking. Or rather, Norah and Maisie start walking hand-in-hand while I juggle Rufus, bags, and the shreds of my sanity.
We reach the flower shop. Bells jingle as we step in. Warmth envelops us, along with the smell of pine, cloves, and something sugary.
“Wow,” Maisie whispers, spinning slowly. “It’s so pretty in here.”
Norah bends to her level. “Thank you. It’s just as pretty as you!”
Maisie beams.
Rufus, meanwhile, decides to cause a natural disaster. He barrels straight into a poinsettia display, sending flowers toppling in every direction. Soil everywhere. Slobber everywhere. Leaves stuck to his face.
I groan. “Rufus—shit—Norah, I’m so—”
She’s laughing. Actually laughing. Bright and warm and not even a little annoyed.
“It’s fine,” she says, bending to pick up a pot. “He’s adorable. Messy, but adorable.”
Relief loosens my shoulders a little.
“Let me make you guys cocoa,” she says, brushing off her hands. “It goes better with cookies.”
“I can help,” I offer.
“You can sit,” she counteroffers. “Maisie can help me.”
And Maisie is already following her, hanging on her every word.
I lean against the counter, watching them. Something about the sight pulls at me in an unexpected way.
Norah’s teaching her how to scoop cocoa powder, Maisie’s listening like she’s being handed state secrets, both of them smiling. The ease between them surprises me. Warms me.
Norah hands me a mug a few minutes later. It’s bright blue with white lettering: “I Like Big Cups and I Cannot Lie.”
I cock an eyebrow.
She laughs. “I have a collection.”
“Noted,” I say, sipping. It’s good. Really good. Rich and sweet and warm enough to melt something inside my chest.
Maisie gets a snowman mug and a cookie, which she dips straight into the cocoa. She sits next to Rufus, who’s curled up with the dignity of a dog who absolutely did not destroy an entire display ten minutes ago.
“I have some more. Do you want them?”
Maisie nods enthusiastically, her mouth already full.
Norah hands her the plate of cookies. Maisie eats two, then looks between the last one and me.
“You have it,” she tells me.
“I think Norah should have it,” I tell my niece. Then, turning to Norah, I add, “You already lost part of your lunch.”
She shakes her head and breaks it cleanly in two, handing me half. When I reach out to take it, I try to ignore the sparks that lick up my spine at the contact.
Norah leans her elbows on the counter. “How have I never met your niece?”
“She’s mostly with her mom,” I say. “But she’s here now.”
“She’s lovely,” Norah says. “A little shy. A lot observant.”
“That’s new,” I murmur. “Last time she was with me, she was four. Everything was new and exciting. This time…”
“She’s older,” Norah finishes for me. “And things hit differently at that age.”
I nod.
Silence settles, but it’s not tense. Just soft. Comfortable. Then I remember. “By the way… you know where I can get a Christmas tree?”
She almost chokes on her cocoa. I reach over, rubbing her back instinctively.
“You okay?”
She holds up a hand, coughing. “I’m fine. I’m fine. You just… caught me off guard.”
“Tree farm?” I ask.
“There’s one in the next town,” she says, still recovering. “They’ve got great ones.”
“Maisie wants one,” I explain. “Figured I could get it today.”
She nods. “I… haven’t gotten mine yet either. It’s November 1st. The tree selection wouldn’t be great right now.”
“Oh!”
She hesitates. “How about this? Once I get the call that the best of the best are on display, I’ll let you know. We can go get some together. We could make a date out of it.”
The words hit me like a warm breeze after weeks of cold.
I pretend it doesn’t. I pretend my pulse doesn’t jump. I pretend her cheeks didn’t warm when she said it.
“Just let me know when,” I say.
She smiles—soft, small, beautiful—and I swear the shop warms a few degrees around us.
Maisie dunks another cookie chunk into her cocoa, humming. Rufus snores. Norah tidies a ribbon on a wreath.
It all feels very domestic. I try to ignore just how much it reminds me of the last Christmas that Maisie, Ryker, and I had with Claire.