Chapter 21 Iris #2
“Of course you get a stocking,” she cuts me off, her tone brooking no argument as she presses it into my hands.
“I always keep extras ready. You never know who might need a little Christmas magic.” She smiles, the same warm smile I’ve seen on Collin’s face so many times, the one that starts in his eyes and works its way down.
“It’s why I have a whole closet full of stocking stuffers.
Right, Hal?” He looks up from the fire, his eyes soft as they land on Julie
“The woman’s a Christmas freak,” he says fondly.
“Been that way since I first showed up on her doorstep. Wouldn’t take no for an answer then, either.
” The stocking in my lap is heavy, stuffed full of small, wrapped packages.
One by one, I pull them out: hand-knit wool socks in the softest gray yarn I’ve ever felt, chocolate truffles from the island’s famous fudge shop, a tiny snow globe of the island in winter, bath bombs that smell like vanilla and pine, a delicate bookmark made from pressed flowers.
Each item had been chosen with such care that my throat suddenly felt tight.
The gift exchange that follows feels like watching a choreographed dance.
Julie passes a gift to Hal, then grabs one for Collin, who hands one to his mother, and round and round it goes.
Their laughter and easy teasing fills the room like music.
Every so often, I catch Collin watching me instead of the gift being opened, his expression soft in a way that makes my stomach flip.
Hal got Julie a special edition of her favorite Jane Austen novel, and she actually squeals; a sound so delightfully undignified that it makes us all laugh.
“Hal,” she says, her voice suspiciously wobbly as she runs her fingers over the leather binding. “You wonderful man.”
“Just happened to see it in that bookshop in Petoskey,” he mumbles, but his ears have gone pink
“Just happened to see it,” she scoffs, her eyes shining. “Like you just happened to find that signed Red Wings jersey for Collin when he was twelve?”
“Pure luck,” Hal insists, and Collin catches my eye, grinning and shaking his head.
I watch them, this little family that has built itself out of love and choice rather than obligation.
This was what a home should feel like, I realize.
Not perfect or polished, but warm and real and full of love that showed itself in a thousand tiny ways—in perfectly doctored coffee and handmade stockings, in carefully collected Christmas ornaments and the way Hal never seemed to look away from Julie for too long.
This was the kind of home I’d always hoped to give Jamie.
My phone alarm buzzes as Julie unwraps her last gift, a set of garden tools from Collin that makes her eyes light up.
“For the greenhouse you’ve been planning,” he explains, and she jumps up to hug him, pressing a loud kiss to his cheek that makes him groan in mock protest. It’s 7:45.
Jamie would be opening presents soon at Owen’s house.
I dismiss the alarm, staring at the time.
He’d be bouncing with excitement by now, probably driving Owen crazy with his impatience.
My throat tightens as I imagine his face, the way his green eyes will light up at each gift, how he’ll want to play with each toy right away instead of opening the next present.
I want to call him, but I don’t want to interrupt his Christmas morning with his father.
I also don’t want to hear Owen’s voice yet. Don’t want—
“Well,” Julie announces suddenly, pushing herself up from the couch, “those waffles aren’t going to make themselves.” She reaches down and tugs Hal up by his hand. “And you’re on bacon duty, mister. Nobody crisps it quite like you do.”
“High praise from the Breakfast Queen herself,” he replies with a grin that makes him look years younger.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” she tosses over her shoulder, already heading for the kitchen.
For a moment, the living room lapses into silence.
The house creaking around us, settling into itself the way old houses do.
I trace my finger along the rim of my empty coffee mug, aware of Collin still in his chair, of my heart beating a little faster than usual, of his eyes cataloging every move I make.
Then he pushes himself up, the fabric of his sweatshirt pulling across broad shoulders as he crosses to the mantelpiece, reaching behind one of Julie’s nutcracker soldiers.
“I have something for you.” A glint of silver wrapping paper peeks out between his fingers, shining in the firelight as he crosses back to the couch.
The cushions shift as he settles beside me, and I catch the familiar scent of his soap—pine and fresh laundry, something that I’ve come to recognize as distinctly him.
“You got me a gift?” Heat creeps up my neck and into my cheeks. “But I didn’t get you anything.” He chuckles, soft and low, passing the gift back and forth between his hands. Was he nervous?
“Doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t get you something to get something in return.” His mouth quirks up at the corner, knee bumping mine gently. “Iris, be honest... do you not know how Christmas works?” he teases, and I bump his knee back, unable to hide my grin.
“I”—a breath—“know how Christmas works.” My lips together, caught between gratitude and that strange ache in my chest that came with being thought of. He holds out the small, square box, a dark green bow perfectly tied around it.
“I wrapped it myself,” he adds, a hint of pride in his voice.
I pull the box from his hands, slide my fingers under the ribbon, and pull it loose.
Silver paper is quickly discarded in my lap as my thumbs brush over a small, blue velvet box and flip up the lid.
Nestled inside sits a pair of bottle-green teardrop earrings that scatter the light like stars.
“They’re beautiful,” I whisper, tracing one delicate silver setting.
“They match your eyes.” His voice is low, something shy and cautious, two things that I haven’t known him to be.
“That’s why I got them,” he adds softly.
When I look up at him, the most dazzling smile erupts across his face.
It starts at the corner of his mouth, tugging upwards slowly until the dimple on his left cheek comes into view, and he looks so pleased with himself, with good reason.
This is the most thoughtful gift I’ve received in years and he nailed it.
I blink hard and look toward the ceiling, where the morning light was starting to paint patterns on the crown molding.
My vision blurs, and for once I’m happy for it.
“Thank you.” I laugh, forcing myself to look back in his direction despite the emotion tightening my throat.
He’s watching me, brown eyes intent on my face, dark, messy hair falling across his forehead in a way that makes him look younger, more like the boy in the photos on Julie’s walls than the man I’ve come to know.
My fingers tighten around the box. Every part of me screaming ‘touch him’ while simultaneously screaming not to.
His eyes hold mine, something vulnerable blooming under the surface.
He is always so sure of himself, but something about this moment is different.
“Merry Christmas, Iris.”
God help me. The way he says my name makes me weak.
“Merry Christmas, Collin.”
His smile reaches his eyes then, crinkling the corners as he stands, bending to gather the scattered wrapping paper from the floor.
Red and green and gold, the remnants of our morning slowly disappearing into the trash bag next to the tree.
I run my thumb over the silver settings again.
“And they’re silver,” I murmur under my breath.
“Of course they are,” he says, stuffing paper into the trash bag.
“You don’t wear gold.” He says it casually, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like he hasn’t just proved he’s been paying attention all this time.
As if I don’t feel it like a blow, all the air in my lungs gone.
I stare at him, my mouth slightly parted in surprise.
He straightens, catching my expression. “What?” he asks, eyes widening as he runs a hand through his dark hair. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No.” I shake my head quickly. “No, you just...” I trail off, watching as he moves closer, sitting on the edge of the couch beside me. “You notice things.” The words come out on a breathy laugh. The concept is so strange, so ridiculous to me. His shoulder brushes mine as he leans back.
“I notice you,” he corrects softly, and my heart stutters in my chest. Through the doorway, I hear his mom and Hal in the kitchen, their laughter drifting in with the scent of bacon and waffles.
There’s something so achingly familiar and so foreign about this moment.
The Christmas tree lights casting soft shadows, the sound of people I care about nearby, the warmth of someone beside me who sees me. .. really sees me.
“Your mom...” I start, trying to change the subject, to ease the intensity building between us. “She’s amazing. Putting all these things in my stocking, making me feel so welcome.” I motion around the room and drop my hand back to my lap, rubbing it with the other.
“She knows what it’s like,” Collin says, his voice gentle.
“Being alone for the holidays. After my dad left...” He pauses, and I watch his throat work as he swallows.
“She always said no one should feel alone on Christmas. That’s why she started taking in strays.
Hal was actually her first Christmas stray.
” He looks off down the hallway, as if he could see them now in the kitchen, laughing, hovering.
“Twenty years ago now. His wife had just left him, and Mom invited him over for Christmas dinner. He never really left after that.” He chuckles.
“They think I don’t see the way they look at each other, but. ..”
“Sometimes the best love stories take time,” I whisper, not quite meaning to say it aloud. When I glance up, Collin is watching me again, that intense look back in his eyes.
“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice rough. “Sometimes they do.” His hand finds mine, pulling it into his lap as he laces our fingers together.
His thumb traces circles over my skin. “And sometimes,” he continues, “they’re worth every second of the wait.
” The earrings in their velvet box catch the light again, and something warm unfurls in my chest, my heart playing jump rope in my ribcage.
From the kitchen, Julie calls out that breakfast was ready, but neither of us move.
“We should...” I gesture vaguely toward the kitchen with my free hand.
“We should,” he agrees, but his grip on my hand tightens slightly. “Just... give me one more minute like this?”
I nod, letting myself lean into him like I had the night before.
Head on his shoulder, hand firmly wrapped around his.
I breathe him in and feel my heartbeat slow while his thumb traces circles over the back of my hand.
Outside, snow falls in lazy spirals past the window, and somewhere in the kitchen, Julie laughs at something Hal said.
And there, in that quiet moment beside the Christmas tree, I think I might be falling in love with Collin King.