Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
ADAM
The not-burnt cookies were set out for Santa, and Danny was finally staying in bed. I walked through the hallway toward the living room. The lights of the Christmas tree guiding my path.
Our tree of Christmas past with Cassie was white lights only and matching wrapping paper. Everything used to look picture perfect, but behind the scene, it all was sad and empty.
Our tree now was full of handmade ornaments, bubble lights, and whatever random thing Danny added. The recent idea was small balls of tinfoil for shine. It all looked so different from before, but this was the picture I wanted to have with me forever. It was real.
Faith yawned as I sat on the couch next to her, the Christmas lights adding a soft glow to her skin. I’d be lying if I said a part of me wasn’t wondering if this woman would be a part of our Christmas picture in the future.
“Danny is so lucky to get to have Christmas with you.” She nestled into my chest. It had been so long since I was in a state of constant physical affection. I didn’t want to go back to being alone. I hadn’t realized how much I missed being touched and held.
I chuckled. “What are you talking about? We literally had to call in reinforcements for the cookies.” I rubbed her loose hair in my fingers.
She looked up at me. “I mean it! I wish my Christmases could have been like this.”
The comment was a reminder that I hardly knew the woman pressed against my side. I could tell she wasn’t very comfortable talking about her past, but I knew if we were going to make things work, we would need to learn to trust each other.
I smiled. “Tell me about your Christmases growing up.”
Faith stiffened at my side.
There was a pause, and I let the heavy silence fill it. If she wasn’t willing to share about herself, it would kill me, but I knew I would need to step back.
She raised a shoulder and looked around my little mismatched living room. “It was the opposite of this in every way.” She shook her head.
My eyebrows scrunched down. “In what way?”
She spun the ring on her hand. I noticed her doing that when she was nervous.
There was something in her past she wasn’t telling me.
“Oh, we had Christmas. It was big, gaudy, with no magic, and no connection.” She paused. “Thanks again for my Christmas tree.” Faith relaxed back into my chest, and I rubbed her shoulder. “I think it’s probably the most thoughtful gift I have ever been given.”
I didn’t know what that feeling was like from my parents, but I knew what it was from a spouse. Cassie never bought me a gift. Not a Christmas present, a birthday present, nothing.
I thought of Christmases far past where my parents had little to give, but what they had they gave to me, and I always felt love. I hoped Danny would feel love every Christmas. Faith watched the Christmas tree. I hoped Faith spent every Christmas from here on out feeling love and connection.
We sat there in silence and enjoyed the Christmas tree.
“What about your Christmases as a kid?” Faith asked.
I rubbed the sleeve of her shirt. “It was pretty similar to this.” I looked down at her.
“Although Santa had to make do with the burnt cookies.” I remembered Dad choking down burnt meals, each one with a smile and thank you.
“With my ex though, it sounds like it was more like your childhood.” I sighed.
“It took me a long time to realize we wanted different things.”
She spun her ring and stared at the tree. “It took me a while to step away too. Mom’s still saying I’ll come crawling back when I run out of money. But I’m not going back.” She glanced up at me. “I’m sorry about your ex.”
I looked down at her. “Sorry about your childhood.” Her mom trying to get her to come back home had to be difficult. Did that mean she would eventually leave? She mentioned only her mom. “What about your dad?”
She sighed. “Oh, he is there in every family portrait anyway.” I felt her shrug. “I hardly saw him, and he took a ‘mother knows best’ approach with me.”
“My dad died when I was in junior high. A heart attack.”
She rubbed her hand down my arm. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sure that was very difficult for you and your mom.”
I looked at the Christmas tree. “It was hard, but we found our new normal before too long.”
We sat there in silence, but it didn’t feel uneasy. It felt safe and warm.
“What do you love about coaching?” Her hand reached up and was splayed out on my chest, and my heart rate skyrocketed with the touch.
I tilted my head in thought. “There is something powerful in helping a group of kids come into their own, and learn to be their best selves.” I raised my eyebrow. “That and I don’t mind the friendly competition. It helps me stay in shape.”
Her lips were curving into a grin. “Well, it has done wonders for you.” Her cheeks flushed pink, and the compliment boosted my ego.
I laughed. “Thanks.” I rubbed my hand up and down her side, enjoying the feel of her shirt under my hand. “What about teaching? Do you love it?”
“I love it!” Her smile lit up her face. “There is something so loving about children, the way they accept each other and any differences without a second thought.” She shrugged. “My mother really struggled with some of my own differences.”
I nodded. “Sorry.”
“Thanks.” Her eyes studied my face, my mouth. “Um.” Faith shook her head, trying to come up with another question. “What’s one of your pet peeves?” she asked.
My forehead burrowed. “I guess it’s when people pretend to be something they’re not.”
Faith’s breath caught in a soft gasp. “What do you mean?” She sat up and her eyebrows dipped in concern.
I missed the way her hand felt over my heart. “Too often, people wear masks; they hide their true natures. Hide who they really are and what they really want. I don’t like games.”
Faith’s brow furrowed and she faced away slightly.
“I feel like my life before the divorce was nothing but hidden agendas and intentions. Like I was a player in a game, but I never got the rules and could never win.” I never wanted to pretend to be someone else again, and that so many people did, rubbed me the wrong way.
Faith’s vibe had definitely shifted. Her big reaction didn’t sit well in my stomach. I waited for her to say why. The silence stretched, no longer with the same comfort as before.
“Well, I better get home, so Santa doesn’t catch me.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Faith stood to go. I knew it was because of what I had said before.
I stopped myself from reaching out to her, even though I was already missing her warmth pressed into my side. I wondered if I should take back what I said, so she might stay.
I didn’t.
I warred with my emotions, wanting her to stay. Wanting to kiss her lips. Wanting her to open up about her past. I want to trust her and have her trust me.
I sat still as my brain and heart yo-yoed with what to do.
Faith grabbed her jacket off the back of the couch, and I stood to help her slide her arms in the sleeves.
Her golden hair brushed over my hands, and I bit back my plea for her to stay.
I would not spend another second of my life convincing someone else to choose me.
I opened the door for her and slipped my boots onto my feet as I followed her outside.
She opened her car door, leaned in to start the car, then stood and studied me. I felt like she was going to say something, but then she looked away.
I pulled her into a hug. Her body was soft against mine, and I leaned down to rest my head on her soft hair. “Thanks for saving me again.”
She looked up at me; the cold air had turned her nose and cheeks pink.
“Thanks for letting me come.” She gave me a sad smile.
“This is by far the most magical Christmas Eve I’ve ever had.
” Her eyes shone and she blinked rapidly.
Her breath turned to steam in the cold air and wrapped around me.
She pulled me closer and my heart closer to hers.
I pressed my lips to her cold forehead, taking in her floral scent. The gaping hole in my chest shrank a tiny fraction, reaffirming I was ready. Ready to try again. Ready to trust. Ready to love.
But this time around, I needed to make sure I stayed true to myself.
The moon reflected off the snow and reminded me how cold I would be once she left.
I wanted to ask her out.
I wanted her back inside my house, on my couch, and in my arms.
She leaned back from my chest, and her gaze met mine. “Merry Christmas, Adam.”
There was a slight sadness behind them. Why?
“Merry Christmas, Faith.”
She pulled out of my arms, and I forced myself to let her go, even though every part of me was screaming to hold on tighter.
She got into her car, backed up, and drove away.
Was I reading too much into things?