Chapter 4
Hudson
I crease the end of the wrapping paper into a triangle, making sure both sides are equal. Tugging it tightly against the side of the package, I apply a single strip of invisible tape—such a misnomer. It's clearly there, but at least it's less noticeable than other tape.
Jolene's been dodging my hints for weeks, but I've laid them out like blueprints: lingering glances over her favorite foods that I prepared, comments about her future, even a conversation about whether she wants kids.
Am I being too subtle? Am I not serious enough? Is she fearful of commitment because of how complicated our family feels sometimes? Marriage means something solid to me, an anchor against the maelstrom. I want to spend the rest of my life devoted to Jolene.
Or is she just being Jolene, freaked out by anything that will pin her down and end her adventures as she calls life?
This gift will change everything—a marriage proposal that she can hold in her hands, no chance for a misunderstanding. And I'll be able to explain that I'll take care of the things that bog her down like bills. She'll have guaranteed freedom… and me.
I carry the package to the tree and set it underneath. Back at the table, my phone buzzes. I hurry over to find Jolene's name on the screen. My heart skips a beat. Does she somehow know what I'm doing? Is she spying on me?
I glance over my shoulder even though I'm certain she's not home. She made a big deal about how excited she was that Bellamie asked for help with one of her charity projects.
Knowing that she'd be gone for several hours gave me the perfect opportunity to lay the engagement plan out on the table, survey it for accuracy one last time, then wrap it for a Christmas surprise.
Convinced she's not lurking, I swipe open the text.
Jolene: Super serious. We need to talk. On my way home
Me: Call me
Jolene: Has to be in person.
Maybe she caught the hints after all. Her friends probably nudged her—I've overheard their chatter filtering through walls, giggles about stepbrothers.
I manage a thumbs-up emoji before sending the phone clattering to the table. I snatch it up, check the screen. Fine, of course, with my Otter Box case.
This is it. I stride to the tree, nudge the box front and center. If she seems ready and even remotely acknowledges my hints, I'll give this to her today.
No more pretending we're just roommates playing house. No restraining myself at night when she masturbates far too loudly. I can be the reason for her moans.
She has to sense why I begged her to move in, why I foot every bill, scrub counters after her midnight snacks, and plate dinners like we’re at a five-star restaurant.
Jolene: Be home in 20 minutes
Another thumbs-up. Then inspiration strikes.
I grab the log of her favorite cookie dough that I stashed in the back of the fridge, then crank the oven to 350. I cut carefully, making sure not to squish the star shape that's in the middle of the dough.
The scent of fresh-baked cookies will set the tone the second she walks in the door.
In the nine minutes those need to bake, I bolt to the bathroom and shower as fast as possible, lathering up with Old Spice Kraken, another one of her favorites. I don't know if she actually likes the scent or is fascinated by the Kraken like she is with her monster romances.
Rinse, towel-dry, and I'm done in minutes. I yank on the light-blue Henley that she says brings out my ocean-blue eyes, and add my pair of new jeans. And since barefoot seems too casual for the day that will change the rest of my life, I add my Dude sliders.
The timer dings, and I rush back to the kitchen. Lightly golden edges and a bright star in the center look perfect. I pull the tray out and set it on a cooling rack.
Keys jangle at the door. She's here.
I wipe my palms on a kitchen towel and force myself to breathe. Whatever she says, I end this charade today. No more hints. Just truth.
I make a mental note of the time so I can remove the cookies from the pan in three minutes. But if our conversation goes long like I hope, imperfect cookies won't be a problem.
The door flies open, and Jolene bursts in, cheeks flushed, eyes wild.
Shock washes through me. I reposition my feet and fling the oven mitt onto the counter. She was supposed to be happy.
The gift box under the tree taunts me. Would it fix the problem or make it worse?
I rush forward and pull her into my arms. She stiffens for a split second, then sags against me. I kick the door shut.
We stand there, my chin resting on her head. Her citrusy shampoo mixes with the sugar wafting from the oven, such a sweet combination at odds with the chaos on her shoulders. But she wants to talk, she's trusting me to help.
That's what I'll do—put my agenda aside and tend to hers. I ease back, set my hands on her shoulders. Her green eyes shimmer, red-rimmed, searching mine like she's already defeated.
"Let's go to the couch," I say. "I'll grab cookies and milk."
She sniffles. "You always know how to make me happy, but this is bigger than cookies and milk."
The flatness of her tone fills me with worry. Whoever hurt her is going to pay.
She slips from my grip, paces to the living room, and sinks into the couch cushions.
"What's going on, Jolene? I'll fix it."
"You can't." She twists her fingers in her lap and stares at the floor. "I'll get a job. I'll figure this out."
"What are you going to fix with a job?" My pulse thuds heavily in my veins.
"My cousin…" She lifts her gaze and her voice cracks. "Jennifer died in a car wreck and named me as guardian of Jane. I don't know what to do with a two-year-old!"
My mouth goes slack as I struggle to know what to say.
Jennifer was just getting her life under control—for Jane—and now she’s gone.
Why would she name Jolene as guardian? They weren't that close.
And not to make light of the tragedy, but Jolene has made it clear many times that she's not mom material. Her despair makes sense.
"Hey." I reach for her. "You don't have to tackle this solo. I'll help."
She shakes her head. "I won't dump a kid on you. That's not right."
"Taking care of a child who just lost their mom is right. She'll fit into our little world." The words tumble, rawness almost revealing my bigger plans. "I want to raise her with you."
Her eyes widen. "You're not kicking me out?"
"Why would I kick you out? I want to—"
She cuts me off, voice firm. "Don't make any promises you'll regret."
"I won't regret helping. How about we take it a month at a time. Promise you won't make any big decisions without talking to me?"
She exhales shakily. "You’re my shelter in the storm."
"Where is Jane now? When do we pick her up?"
"Social Services is gathering her things, then they'll be on their way."
Her breathing evens against my side. I squeeze my arm over her shoulders and pull her close. I can feel how fragile she is right now. The proposal will have to wait.
But the milk and cookies won’t. "I'll get a snack, then clear a bedroom for her."