Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Three days later, Grant is still milking the fact that I fell asleep during The Best Man: The Final Chapters. Never mind I’ve seen all the episodes. Suddenly, he’s the expert on how the past always bleeds into the present.
“I gotta say though, Quentin’s attempt to cook for Shelby reminded me of—” Grant cuts his sentence short when he finally looks back at me. He takes in my crossed arms and jutted hip and firmly closes those full lips.
“And what, exactly, did Quentin’s cooking remind you of?”
Grant shrugs as he smooths the crib skirt.
“Uh huh.” I lean toward the mobile. “Because for a second there, I thought you were about to say it reminded you of my stuffed shells.”
“What? No, your shells were…”
“See?” I point at him. “You can’t even say good! I’m never cooking again.”
Grant grabs my hand. “There’s one thing I don’t play about—homemade meals. I appreciated every bite.”
I scoff. I won’t be mollified by his soft tone. “I thought you didn’t play about pie and cracking eggs?”
“There’s three things I don’t play about: pie, cracking eggs, and homemade meals.” He kisses my knuckles soft enough to make my knees wobble.
I clear my throat. “Get back to work.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
We work in companionable silence, finishing the beds and slipping a cover over the nursing pillow, when the changing table catches my eye.
The bins look wrong. I swap the diapers and wipes so it’ll be easier for Ivy and Braxton to grab wipes with their right hand first. But when I step back, it still feels off.
I adjust the wipes again so all the packet labels face the same way.
“You know Nia and Amani won’t care which way the wipes face, right?” Grant teases behind me.
“They may not, but organization matters,” I say primly, cheeks warming as I wonder how long he was watching.
I’m a control freak at the best of times, but those urges seem to be riding me extra today and I can’t help but grab ahold of whatever is in my reach to control.
Christmas is less than two weeks away, and there’s still no word about Ivy and the babies coming home.
My nieces are in the NICU. My twin is in another city.
And I’m here, straightening labels on wipe packs like it matters.
I just feel so helpless. I can’t do anything to make them stronger, can’t will them into this house we’ve worked so hard to prepare.
All I can do is wait, and waiting has never felt more unbearable in my life.
I almost ask Grant how he’s holding up not being able to see everyone, but before I can he frowns.
“Do you hear that?” he asks.
I hold still, thinking for one wild second he means my racing thoughts. Then I hear it, faint voices floating through the cold December air. Singing.
I dart to the window and press my face against the glass, and just like that the knot in my chest loosens. “They’ll be here next!” I shout like a kid who’s just spotted Santa’s sleigh in the sky.
Grant’s behind me, trying to get a look. “Who?”
“Carolers! One of the local churches has a huge boys’ youth choir they split into groups and send out to the neighborhoods.” I’m already out of the nursery and heading down the stairs with Grant at my back. “They’ve come every year since I was a kid and I’m tellin’ you, them boys can sang! All’um!”
It’s only a matter of time before the doorbell rings, so I race for the kitchen. It’s tradition to give them something as a thank you and I have just the thing in mind.
“Usually we give them candy canes,” I say over my shoulder while grabbing the cookie jar. “But since we don’t have any we can give them the cook—”
I freeze. The container is empty.
Now I know. I just know this man did not.
“Grant.” I swivel, locking him in place with a glare. “What happened to the rest of the cookies?”
He swallows. “The cookies?” His eyebrows knit together like he’s working on some big mystery where he’s totally not the culprit.
Before I can press him, the doorbell rings.
“Carolers are here,” he blurts, relief written all over his face as he tugs me toward the door.
“What? We can’t open the door and offer them nothing in return for the joy they spread,” I protest, digging my heels in. “There’s a whole chorus in a song about it.”
Grant blinks at me. “Girl, what?”
“You know—‘Now bring us some figgy pudding, now bring us some figgy pudding.’”
Another blink. “Girl, what?”
“Ugh, it’s from We Wish You A Merry Christmas!”
The carolers knock again and Grant catches my hand. “Not everything requires you to give something back, Eve. Sometimes, just letting people bring you joy is enough.” He looks from me to the door and patiently waits for me to make the decision.
I reach for the doorknob. And as the door swings open, a harmonic “Mmm” fills the air, followed by a gorgeous swell of “Go Tell It on The Mountain.” There are eight boys ranging from elementary to high school age with puffy jackets over matching black tuxedos.
They’re all so talented, so full of light, I can do nothing but stand there smiling as the blessing of Christmas drifts over us.
I smile up at Grant and he wraps his arm around my shoulders, drawing me into his warmth.
“Oh, I need to record some of this for Ivy,” I say, grabbing my phone from my back pocket.
I manage to record a portion of them singing “Away in a Manger”, and by the time they finish “O Holy Night” I’m fighting back tears.
“You were right. Those boys are good,” Grant says after we wave them off and wish them a merry Christmas.
“And you were right,” I say, bumping him with my shoulder. “It was nice to just enjoy their gift without rushing to give in return.”
“I was right. Wow, I love those words coming from your lips,” Grant says, stealing a kiss from said lips before I can cut him with my glare.
He leans back and shoots me a mischievous smile. Before he can get too far away, I grab the front of his sweater and pull him down to me for another kiss. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of these.
Before we can get too carried away, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
We both groan, but I pull away anyway. “It might be Ivy.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and see it is indeed her calling.
I slide the screen to answer. “I’m switching us to video,” I rush out before she can say anything. “You need to see the amazing nursery waiting for my amazing nieces.”
I don’t want her to see the Christmas tree, so I wait to hit the Facetime button until I’m jogging up the stairs.
I frown when I look at the phone, still seeing a black screen. “Did it not work? I can’t see you.”
I hear Ivy sigh before her face comes into view, right before my heart drops.