Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Finley
The afternoon is filled with candy making.
Valerie teaches me how to make fudge, peanut brittle, toffee, and a whole assortment of other desserts, but I keep checking the back door, waiting for Alex to return.
He’s been gone for nearly two hours, and I feel guilty that he’s having to pick up the stockings on his own.
It was my idea to get them, and I’m sure he has better things to do—especially on Christmas Eve—than running an errand for me.
I’m just about to text him when he walks through the back door. He’s carrying several bags, and it’s obvious he’s picked up more than the stockings.
When he sees my confusion, he grins and lifts one of his hands and mouths, wrapping paper.
Somehow in my excitement to help in the kitchen, I’d forgotten we still need to wrap gifts.
Valerie glances over her shoulder in time to see him bound up the steps. “Finley, do you want to go up and check in on Alex?”
I do, but… “We’re not done yet.”
“All that’s left is the clean up,” she says dismissively. “And there’s not much left since we’ve been cleaning as we go.”
Mallory gives me a mischievous grin. “Plus, you should probably help Alex wrap presents.”
Valerie releases a good-natured snort. “It’s not hard to wrap a gift card.”
“I think he bought actual presents this year,” Mallory says with a sly grin. “I’m pretty sure he got them yesterday at the market. Apparently, Finley’s a good influence on him.”
“Nah.” I smile. “He did just fine on his own.” I might have shamed him into it, but he came up with most of the ideas, not that I’ll rat him out.
Mallory makes a face, clearly unconvinced.
“We have a tradition for wrapping gifts,” Valerie says. “Feel free to borrow it if you like.”
“You mean, you have a tradition,” Mallory teases.
Valerie shoots her an ornery grin. “I have no trouble owning it.”
“It started when we were little,” Mallory says. “Mom would take an afternoon before Christmas, then lock herself in her room with the presents, wrapping paper, and a bottle of wine. She’d refuse to open the door until hours later. Even when we stood outside and pounded on it.”
Valerie lifts her chin. “I had three rambunctious sons and a precocious daughter,” Valerie says. “I was overwhelmed with everything that needed to be done. A little wine and solitude saved my sanity.”
“Sounds like survival to me.” I laugh, imagining the chaos.
She crosses to the fridge and pulls out an unopened bottle of rosé. “If you want to continue the tradition, feel free.”
“I don’t have four rowdy kids,” I joke.
“No, but you’ll be trapped with three rowdy men and one overzealous woman. The principle still applies.” She lifts an eyebrow, still holding the bottle out.
“When in Rome,” I say, taking the bottle from her. “Oh, wait. I don’t want to take your bottle if you’re saving it.”
“I’ve already wrapped,” she says with a reassuring nod.
“And she’s got five more bottles chilling in the fridge in the basement,” Mallory laughs.
“Well, in that case…”
She and her mom load a tray with a bottle opener, two wine glasses, and a plate of assorted Christmas cookies. “Fuel.” Valerie says.
“Thank you.” I take the tray and head upstairs, surprised to find the bedroom door is locked.
Balancing the trap on my hip, I knock. “Alex, it’s me.”
“Just a minute.” There’s a shuffle inside, then about ten seconds later, he opens the door. “Sorry—I locked it in case Mallory came snooping.” His gaze drops to the tray then he looks at me, one brow raised.
“Your mom handed me her gift-wrapping tradition—”
“Getting tipsy while wrapping presents,” he nods with a grin. “Check.”
“And your sister thought we needed fuel to keep us going.”
“That tracks.”
When I step inside, my eyes widen. Our suitcases are shoved to the side of the bed. At the foot of the bed, he’s arranged four rolls of wrapping paper, three different kinds of tape, spools of ribbon, a heap of stick-on-bows, and even two pairs of scissors.
“Wow.” I take it all in. “You thought of everything.”
Grinning, he takes the tray from me and sets it on the small dresser. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I got options. Are they okay?”
I barely glance at them. I’m so giddy he thought to buy wrapping supplies, they could be covered in poop emojis and I’d still be thrilled. “They’re perfect.”
He narrows his eyes. “Did you even look at them?”
I flash him a guilty smile. “Of course, I did. It’s all very… festive.”
“First wine.” He picks up the bottle and corkscrew, arching a brow. “I suspect she’s premedicating you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She’s fortifying you for when Grant and Eloise get here.”
The reminder drops like an anchor, pulling down my light mood. Somehow, I’d forgotten about that part. “Will he be pissed?”
“He already knows he’s sleeping in the rec room,” Alex says, twisting the corkscrew into the bottle. “Eloise, though… when she’s in a mood, she’s a handful.”
“What puts her in a mood?”
“Your guess is as good as ours, but it’s a pretty safe bet tonight’s mood will be about our bed.”
I cringe, hating that I’m about to be the spark for family drama.
“Don’t you feel bad,” he says as the cork pops free. “This isn’t about you.”
“It has everything to do with me.”
“I thought I was playing the role of the narcissist in this relationship,” he teases, pouring wine into one of the glasses.
That makes me cringe. “I never called you a narcissist.”
“You didn’t have to.” He hands me the glass with a smirk. “I earned the title fair and square.”
I take it, still watching him, unsettled by the strange dance we’re caught in. He’s playing the role of attentive boyfriend a little too well—and right now, it isn’t for his family’s benefit. We’re alone. I’m the only audience to his performance.
He pours himself a glass and lifts it towards mine. For a second, his expression makes me think he’s about to say something serious, then he deadpans, “May our gifts not look like they were dragged in by the family dog.”
Laughing, I click my glass into his. “Speak for yourself. I do a lovely job of wrapping gifts.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he says. “Which is why you should wrap mine too.”
“Oh no.” I wag a finger at him. “You’re a fully grown man, perfectly capable of working with paper and tape.”
He gives me a pleading look. “Even if it looks like a kindergartener wrapped them?”
“Especially then.” I grin. “All the more fodder for your family to rib you.”
We sip some wine, then settle on the floor at the end of the bed. Before long, we’re swiping each other’s tape and scissors and trading jabs—me mocking the lopsided mess he calls a gift for his father, him accusing me of being a “Christmas overachiever” when my corners come out perfect.
We finish the wine, and I blame my tipsiness on the undeniable pull toward him. He’s sitting closer than when we started, but maybe it’s just my imagination. We’re friends. Friends having fun.
Despite the undercurrent tugging at me, I’m happy. I’ve had more fun with Alex over the past two days than I’ve had in ages.
We’re about to have a race cutting the wrapping paper for our last gifts—I’ll have to sneak away later to wrap his—when the doorbell rings. We both freeze, scissors poised at the edges of the paper.
Alex shoots me a wicked gleam.
“What?” But then the realization hits. It’s nearly five. My breath sticks in my chest. “Your brother’s here,” I whisper.
His merriment fades, replaced by a quiet reassurance. “It’ll be okay,” he says softly. “I promise.”
I glance down at our unfinished wrapping. We were so close to being done. “Should we finish or go down to greet them?”
He looks like he’d rather stay hidden but finally nods. “Let’s go down, then come back and finish.”
“Okay.” It seems like a good compromise.
We throw a blanket over the half-wrapped gifts and head down the front staircase at the other end of the hall. My stomach is in knots as I trail Alex down the steps. He stops at the bottom, watching his family.
Valerie has her arms around her son, while his father and brother linger to the side. Mallory hangs back, glancing at the front door.
“Grant!” Valerie gushes. “I’m so happy you’re home!”
“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.” His tone doesn’t match his words. “Sorry I didn’t get here earlier.”
“Well, you’re here now.” She hugs him again, then glances past him. “Is Eloise still in the car? Does she need help with her bags?”
Grant’s jaw tightens as he turns, his gaze slicing toward Alex before shifting to me. The look he gives me could pin me to the staircase. “Eloise didn’t come.”
Alex goes rigid. “Why?”
“We broke up this morning.” Grant’s voice is tight, his stare locked firmly on his brother. “And it’s all your fault.”