Chapter 20
Twenty
RHEA
December comes with crisp mountain air and a sense of excitement, but beneath the holiday cheer, I'm restless. I wonder if our plans for a joyful season will go as smoothly as I wish. My memories—some wonderful, some tough—mix with hopes for this year. I’m afraid that reality might disrupt our perfect plans.
As I set out a new tray of pastries at Mountain Mornings, the smell of cinnamon and sugar comforts me, though my fretfulness lingers.
Then, Gray walks in with his usual smile, momentarily relieving my uneasiness.
"Good morning, beautiful.” He approaches the counter with his hands behind his back. "Ready to make this the best Christmas ever?"
I wipe my hands on my apron and give him my full attention. “That's a big promise. What are you planning?”
He produces a small, wrapped gift from behind his back, “I was thinking we could make every day until Christmas special. Our own advent calendar, but instead of chocolate, we exchange small gifts. It doesn’t have to be anything expensive, just meaningful things.”
This is such a Gray thing to do. When he’s his authentic self, he’s thoughtful and romantic. I take the package wrapped in shiny silver paper with a tiny matching bow on top.
“Can I open it now?” I grin from ear to ear, like a child who just received an unexpected gift.
He leans his head back and laughs at my overzealousness. “That's the whole point.”
Inside is a delicate glass ornament shaped like a coffee cup, with “Our Beginning” etched in elegant script. A small silver card is tucked inside.
“For the place where everything started again. Mountain Mornings will always be sacred to us. - G”
Tears well in my eyes, despite making every effort to avoid them. “Gray. It's perfect.”
“So, you'll do it? Twenty-four days of surprises?” He seems more excited to give me gifts than to receive his own.
“I'd love to.” I reach under the counter where I'd stashed a small gift I'd wrapped on impulse yesterday. “Actually, I might have already started.”
His face lights up as he unwraps a custom keychain guitar pick that I found online with a picture of us from Halloween night together. “Rhea, baby, this is fucking perfect. Thank you.” He removes his keys from his pocket and slides his gift through the silver ring.
We look forward to our daily surprise gifts, turning each day into something special. December second brings a small gift. As I walk into Mountain Mornings, the door chimes, and Gray greets me with an envelope. I open it to find a bookmark engraved with For all the love stories yet to be read.
Gray smiles. “It's to remind you that every story matters.”
Later in the week, I give Gray a small succulent for his windowsill at the cabin. “You need a living, growing baby to care for,” I say.
He acknowledges the symbolism, voice thick with emotion. “It'll remind us that beauty can come from care and patience.”
* * *
The eighteenth stands out, though. The gift I've been most concerned about sits wrapped in a small velvet pouch. Gray has had a tough week, grappling with memories from his past that resurface unexpectedly during therapy, testing his resolve. He’s been quieter than usual, his smiles not quite reaching his eyes.
It’s a clear sign that he's struggling more than he lets on.
Knowing this, I put extra thought into today's gift, hoping it meets him where he is emotionally. Somehow, I know the Buddhist prayer beads will speak to what he’s been battling internally.
When Gray eases the string open and finds a mala made of carved bone skulls, not the traditional wooden kind, his eyes widen slightly.
He pauses, taking a deep breath that shakes just a little, before running the beads through his fingers with a kind of reverence.
A moment of silence passes between us as he registers the significance.
Pain crosses his features before settling into a soft expression.
“It's a meditation mala. The skulls represent impermanence, reminding us that joy and suffering are temporary and to cherish each moment.” Gray nods slowly, still absorbing the weight of the gift.
He looks at me, his eyes glistening with tears and his voice barely above a whisper.
“Rhea, this is incredible. I see what you're saying, and it means a lot.” He places it around his wrist. “I'll wear it every day.”
His gift for me that day is a small leather journal with my initials embossed on the cover. “For all the thoughts and dreams you're too humble to share. I want you to write down everything - all your hopes, fears, and ideas for the future. Our future.”
Christmas Eve brings Gray's adoptive parents to the cabin for a Christmas visit. I've been nervous about seeing David and Meg Garrison for weeks, knowing how important they are to Gray and Andrew's story.
David is a retired high school principal with kind eyes and calloused hands that speak of years spent building beautiful things in his workshop.
Meg was a nurse for thirty years before retiring, and she possesses a gentle yet no-nonsense demeanor, reflecting the kind of person who has seen it all and still chooses kindness.
They took in Gray and Andrew when the boys were eight and ten, respectively, after their previous foster placement fell through.
What was supposed to be temporary became permanent when the Garrison family realized these traumatized brothers needed the kind of stability that only unconditional love could provide.
“Hey, Rhea,” Meg greets me warmly when they arrive at the band’s cabin, pulling me into a hug that smells like vanilla and home. “We've missed you.”
“I missed you guys, too,” I reply, immediately feeling welcomed despite my earlier concerns.
Christmas Eve dinner is a revelation. The cabin is festive, and the air is filled with the aroma of Meg’s pies. She and I work in the kitchen, getting everything ready while the men handle the music.
Meg prepares the mashed potatoes, ensuring they’re whipped to the perfect consistency. “Gray called us from rehab every week, but the calls after he started talking to you again were different. Hopeful. Like he remembered what he was fighting for.”
“He's the one who did the work.” I don’t want to take credit for his hard-won sobriety.
“Sweetheart, love doesn't cure addiction, but it sure gives you a reason to fight. You gave him that reason.” Meg smiles warmly.
During dinner, David raises his glass of sparkling cider in a toast. “To our sons,” he says, looking directly at Gray and Andrew.
“We've watched you both grow from little boys into incredible men. But Gray, this year especially, we want you to know how proud we are. One hundred and fifty-seven days of sobriety, and more importantly, one hundred and fifty-seven days of choosing to show up for your life and the people you love.”
Gray's eyes fill with tears, and I watch him absorb his father's words like a man who's been thirsty his whole life, finally finding water. The pride and emotion in the room momentarily overwhelm him, shifting the mood of the dinner from celebration to a deep, heartfelt connection.
“Thank you for never giving up on me and for believing I could get better even when I didn't believe it myself.” Gray’s voice is heavy with emotion.
“That's what families do, sweetheart. We hold onto hope when you can't hold it yourself.” She reminds him.
After dinner, the guys set up for an impromptu concert and play several new songs from their upcoming album.
I watch David and Meg beam with pride, and I can’t help but smile.
Gray performs with the harmony that comes only from years of making music.
As they play “Solid Ground,” Gray sings a haunting melody with a lingering, unfinished chord, which casts a subtle shadow over the otherwise uplifting tunes.
“We have one more, but it's not quite finished yet. Maybe next time,” Gray says as the last song ends.
I know he's talking about, The Ballad of Us, the song he's been working on for months, and something warm spreads through my chest at the knowledge that he's saving it for my ears first.
As the evening winds down and David and Meg prepare to head to their own rental on the other side of the mountain, Meg pulls me aside in the kitchen.
“I have something for you.” She presses a small, wrapped package into my hands. “It's not much, but I wanted you to have something that belonged to our family.”
Inside is an ornate silver locket, delicate and obviously vintage. “It was my grandmother's. She always said it should go to the woman who helped our Gray find his way home to himself,” Meg says in a proud tone.
Tears prick my eyes. “Meg, I can't accept this. It's too much.”
“It's exactly enough. You're family, sweetheart. Whether you know it or not.”
After David and Meg leave, the cabin settles into comfortable quiet. The guys gradually drift off to their rooms, leaving Gray and me alone by the dying fire. I'm curled against his side on the couch, his arm around me, both of us reluctant to let this perfect evening end.
“Thank you.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “For tonight, for being amazing with my parents, for just being you.”
“They're wonderful people. I’m so glad you have them.”
“They saved my life long before rehab ever did.” His voice is thoughtful, reflective. “Taught me that families aren't just about blood. They're about choice. About showing up for each other even when it's hard.”
“Is that what we're doing? Choosing each other?” I ask, curiosity lacing my words.
His voice gives way to something more serious. “Every fucking day. Every single day, I choose you.”
The weight of his words settles between us, and suddenly the air feels charged with something deeper than our usual comfortable intimacy.
I sense the shift from simple appreciation to an intensity neither of us can ignore.
When I look up at him, his eyes are dark with an emotion that makes my pulse quicken.
“Gray,” I start, but I'm not sure what I want to say.
“I should probably head back to my room,” he says, but he doesn't move. If anything, his arm tightens around me.
“Actually, would you like to wake up on Christmas morning at my place? I know it's just down the mountain, but...” I say, the words tumbling out before I can second-guess myself.
“Yes.” His answer comes out so quickly, it makes me laugh. “Sorry, was that too eager?”
“Just eager enough.” I shift to face him more fully. “You could sleep on the couch, and we could make Christmas breakfast together, and—”
“Rhea,” he interrupts softly, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. “I don't care if I sleep on the floor. I just want to wake up in the same place as you.”
The tenderness in his voice, combined with the way his thumb brushes across my skin, snaps me into focus. This is it. This is the moment I stop being careful, stop holding back, stop protecting myself from the full force of what I feel for him.
“We should go,” I whisper, but neither of us moves.
“We should,” he agrees, his gaze dropping to my lips.
The space between us disappears slowly, like we're both giving each other every chance to pull away. When his lips finally touch mine, it's with a gentleness that quickly transforms into a deeper, more urgent kiss.
This isn't like our careful kisses of the past few weeks. This is months of pent-up longing and love finally given permission to breathe. My hands tangle in his hair as he pulls me closer, and I taste the promise of everything we've been too scared to reach for.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard, and the air between us crackles with electricity.
“My apartment. Now.” I can’t even form complete sentences.
Gray doesn't need to be asked twice. He stands from the couch and says, “Give me two minutes to pack a bag.”
“Just two minutes,” I tease.
He offers me his hand, helping me to my feet from the couch. “Baby, you’re waiting to take me back to your apartment for a sleepover. I doubt I’ll need the entire two minutes.” He presses a kiss on my forehead and disappears into his bedroom for an overnight bag.
The drive to my apartment feels both endless and over in the blink of an eye. I hold Gray's warm, steady hand, feeling the pull between us. This is the moment we've been waiting for, when we finally stop holding back and let go.
At my apartment door, I fumble with my keys. Gray stands close behind me. When we finally step inside, the room feels different. My skin tingles with anticipation. Gray speaks too softly for me to hear. I turn to face him, and his expression takes my breath away.
This time when he kisses me, there's no hesitation or careful testing of boundaries. This is the kiss I've been waiting for since the day he walked back into my life. It’s hungry and tender and full of everything we've been too careful to say out loud.
His hands frame my face as I press closer, and I feel the moment when we both stop thinking and start feeling. This is love without walls, without fear, and without the careful distance we’ve maintained.
This is coming home.