Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Alex
What the hell? Where did that come from?
Finley shakes her head, her eyes glassy. “This is too much, Alex.”
My heart is racing. “I never said I got it.”
“Of course you did.” She runs a fingertip over the ornament, reverent. “You’re the only one who knew.”
I flick a glance to Mallory. She’s wide-eyed, shaking her head.
The truth claws at me. I could take the credit—clearly the giver wanted to stay anonymous—but Finley deserves honesty. She insisted on it when I introduced her to my family, and I know her well enough to know she values truth in everything—especially with something as dear to her as this.
“Finley,” I say carefully, “I didn’t—”
“He didn’t do it alone,” Tyler cuts in, leaning back in his chair. “He had help so you wouldn’t notice.”
I freeze, my mouth parting. Tyler bought it? Why?
Finley glances at him then turns to Mallory. “Is that what you two were up to?”
“Guilty as charged.” Tyler leans back and rests his ankle on the opposite leg. “They say it takes a village.”
Why did Tyler buy it? Does he have feelings for Finley? It’s not hard to believe. He’s been protective of her since the moment she walked in the door—and look at her. Sure, she’s gorgeous, but her heart is even more stunning. How could he not feel something?
A hot twist coils in my chest. Is that … jealousy? I’ve never been a jealous guy, but this white-hot poker in my ribs is just that.
Why would I be jealous?
You know, you idiot.
I glance at Finley. Her face glows with Christmas joy, and it hits me like a baseball to the face.
I know beyond a shadow of a doubt—I want this woman. Not as a friend. Not as someone I’m casually dating. I want her to be my girlfriend.
How a relationship would work, I don’t know. Especially after the way I treated her on the drive here, and with everything Grant’s thrown at her. But I want her anyway.
Now I just have to convince her to give us a chance.
I mouth thank you to Tyler. Whatever his motives, he just saved Finley’s Christmas. He gives a short nod. I’ll pay him back for it later.
Mom looks puzzled by the exchange, so I explain why the ornament is special to Finley and how it became a group effort. I leave out the part about where Mallory missed buying it in time—better to let Mom glow over the idea of her kids working together for once.
Then I catch Grant’s scowl. His gaze snags on the fireplace. “Since when do we have stockings?”
The stockings.
In all the chaos, I forgot about them, and apparently everyone else was too preoccupied to notice them hanging from the mantle. I open my mouth to explain, but Grant barrels on, venom dripping.
“And why does Finley have one—when she’s probably just Alex’s flavor of the week—and Eloise doesn’t.”
The color drains from Finley’s face. Her joy bleeds away like he stabbed her straight through.
“Grant!” Mom protests.
Finley rises, clutching the ornament box to her chest. Her voice is steady, sweet—too sweet. “Thank you for my gift and the help you gave Alex to get the ornament. I’m feeling a little tired, so I think I’ll go upstairs and lie down.”
She heads up the stairs, and I’m about to follow, but Dad says, “Alex, wait.”
I glance toward the entryway, then back at him. “I think it’s best we leave.” I say calmer than I feel.
Mallory points a finger at Grant. “Why are you being such an asshole?”
His face reddens. “I’m not the one—”
“Yeah,” Tyler says, his voice tight. “You are the one.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Grant protests.
“Does it matter?” Tyler shoots back. “There’s nothing you can say to justify how you’ve treated Finley.”
“I just wanted to know why she had a stocking and Eloise doesn’t.” He turns to Mom with an accusing look.
She shakes her head. “Don’t look at me. I had nothing to do with the stockings.”
“Then who did?” Mallory asks, looking around the room.
“Maybe it was Santa,” Grant says, his voice dripping sarcastically.
“It was Finley,” I say flatly. “She has a stocking because I insisted that she have one too. And for the record, Eloise has a stocking upstairs in our room, but we didn’t put it up because she’s not here.”
When he starts to argue, I hold up my hand. “And the fact Eloise isn’t here has nothing to do with Finley. You might think I’ve got a flavor of the week,” I seethe, “but at least I’m not stuck in a toxic relationship.”
Grant’s jaw works like he’s about fire back, then clamps shut.
What am I doing standing here? Finley’s upstairs alone—her Christmas ruined—I’m wasting time with this. “I’m going upstairs to pack.”
“He’ll stay in line,” Dad says, narrowing his laser-focused glare on my brother.
I turn back to face him. “No offense, Dad, but you and Mom have been promising Finley she wouldn’t be subjected to any more of his bullshit since last night, and yet he keeps dishing it out.”
Mom’s cheeks flush.
“Hey!” Tyler snaps. “Don’t talk to Mom and Dad like that.”
“It’s okay, Tyler,” Mom says quietly. “He’s right. We promised it would stop, and it didn’t.”
To his credit, Grant looks embarrassed.
I start toward the entryway when the doorbell rings.
It’s so out of place with the mood that none of us move. Then it rings again. And again. Whoever’s out there isn’t leaving.
I’m the closest to the door, so I head to the entryway and yank the door open, prepared to send someone packing—only to freeze.
Two older women are standing on the porch, bundled up in so many layers, they look like escapees from an unprepared arctic expedition.
Multiple scarves are wrapped around their necks and heads, and oversized purses are slung over their arms. The tall one clutches a pet carrier shrouded in a knit blanket.
“Well, don’t just stand there!” the shorter, stockier one barks, her eyes blazing. “Let us in.”
Her voice carries so much authority; I don’t even question it—I back up and they storm across the threshold like they’re staging a raid.
“Where is she?” the shorter woman demands, shooting daggers at me. Her face looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place her. Is she one of the neighbors?
“Who?” I manage, still thrown off.
“Alex,” Mom calls from the living room. “Who’s at the door?”
The shorter woman stalks a few more steps into the house and bellows, “Finley!”
I blink in shock. Wait, they look just like—
“Where’s Finley?” the taller one demands her tone sharp. “We want to see her immediately.”
“Mirna?” I ask, dumfounded.
“I bet they have her locked in the basement,” the short one declares. “Just like in Buried with the Mob Boss.”
If I take away the hat and the two scarves wrapped around her head, I realize it’s Barb.
They flew from Atlanta. On Christmas Day.
“Now is not the time for your silly books,” the woman who must be Mirna snaps, then pins me with a glare. “Hello, Alex. Now, where is Finley?”
A loud, angry meow erupts from inside the carrier.
“Mirna?” Finley calls from the top of the stairs.
“I’m here too!” Barb hollers, making a beeline for the foot of the stairs.
My family has spilled into the entryway, staring at the two older women like a circus act has barged into the house mid-performance.
“Barb?” Finley calls again as she hurries down the stairs. She’s changed out of her pajamas into yoga pants and a long-sleeve T-shirt.
My stomach drops to the floor. She wasn’t resting. And there’s no way she’d change into that casual, unholiday-like outfit to spend Christmas Day with my family. Not even after the disaster of a morning.
She’s preparing to leave.
When she called Barb and Mirna last night, did she ask them to come get her?
Hurt slams into me. She didn’t have to ask them to rescue her. I would have done it.
But you didn’t, did you? You made her stay until tomorrow.
And then things got even worse.
Finley throws her arms around Barb, clinging like she’s found solid ground after a shipwreck. Then she turns to Mirna, who has brushed past me to fold her in too.
“What the hell is going on?” Grant asks, dazed.
I start to answer, but I can’t get out the words lodged in my throat. I’ve let her down, and I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself.
“What are you two doing here?” Finley asks, incredulous.
Mirna’s face hardens. “We came to rescue you.”
Relief rushes through me—they came on their own. But if they left Atlanta before dawn on Christmas Day, then Finley must have painted a bleak picture last night to make them drop everything.
“Finley,” Mom says cautiously behind me, “I take it these are your grandmothers?”
Finley turns to her, giving her a half smile. “Yeah, Barb and Mirna—” she gestures to each of them “—this is Valerie King, Alex’s mother.”
Barb doesn’t bother with niceties, but Mirna takes a step forward and says stiffly, “Thank you for your hospitality, but we’re here to take Finley home.”
Mom looks close to tears. “I really wish you wouldn’t.” She glances back at Grant, who, to his credit, actually looks embarrassed. “I realize things have been rough, but I promise they’ll smooth out.”
Mirna lifts her chin. “There shouldn’t be anything to smooth out. Alex brought Finley here, practically guaranteeing her a nice, traditional, family Christmas.”
“To be fair,” Grant mutters, grimacing. “Disagreements are often part of a traditional family Christmas.”
Mirna’s glare could turn a mere mortal to stone, and Grant rightfully shrinks. “Disagreements are one thing, young man, making her feel unwelcome is quite another. We would have never let her come if we’d known you were going to treat her this way.”
Mom flushes, and even Dad hangs his head. “Again, we’re so sorry this has happened and—”
“Stop,” Finley cuts in. “Look, I understand why Grant’s upset, and I don’t blame him for it.”
“Finley—” I start, but she raises her hand, silencing me.
“No,” she says softly, looking up at me. Tears pool in her eyes. “The last two days were everything I ever dreamed of having with my mom. I never would have had them without you.” Her voice trembles. “So, thank you.”