Chapter 10
Brooks
“This?” I asked, staring at Ruby, who was holding out a princess gown.
“Yes,” she said with the kind of confidence only a seven-year-old could muster. “You have to wear this.”
I arched a brow. “Ruby, that won’t fit me.”
“Pleeeaasseee,” she drew the word out like she was auditioning for a soap opera. “This is the one my Uncle Ollie wears. He won’t mind sharing.”
I eyed the pink gown again. Layers of tulle, sparkly trim, a faint scent of plastic. Not my usual style. Then Ruby’s face lit up like Christmas morning when I took it from her tiny hands, and she clapped with excitement.
She’d talked me into a tea party instead of going outside in the snow this afternoon.
No snowball fights, no sledding—apparently, today was for gowns, tiaras, and grape juice served in the “good” cups.
She’d woken up with her hair a wild mess, pajamas hanging crooked on her little frame, and announced the day’s plan like it was law.
“Fine,” I said, holding the dress up with a sigh. “I’ll give it a shot.”
“You can get changed in my mom’s room because I have to use the bathroom.”
She took off running toward the downstairs bath, her ball gown trailing behind her.
I could have gone upstairs to my room to change, but a small part of me feared that if I got stuck trying to wriggle into this thing, I’d be stranded up there like some glitter-covered casualty. So, taking Ruby’s suggestion, I made my way into Annie’s room.
Taking advice from a 7-year-old about going into her mom's room felt like a bold move, but I did it anyway because curiosity also won out.
I knocked, even though I knew she wasn’t in there, before easing the door open. Stepping inside felt… intimate. Like I’d crossed into a space that wasn’t mine.
The room smelled like her—cinnamon and sugar with just enough spice to make me curious.
The bed sat in the middle, a nightstand on each side.
I wondered if this had been the same bed she’d shared with her ex-husband.
The thought made something twist low in my chest. Knowing what kind of man he’d turned out to be, part of me wanted to rewrite the history of this space, give her better memories here.
Before Ruby came knocking with that impatience only kids possess, I stripped down to my underwear and stepped into the pink tutu gown her uncle apparently wore without shame. Just as I expected, I managed to pull it up, but the zipper gave up halfway.
It would have to do.
I stepped out into the hallway, only to find Ruby waiting like she’d been guarding the door. In her hands, she held out a rhinestone tiara.
“This one goes perfectly,” she said solemnly.
I took it, the delicate band cool between my fingers, and settled it on my head.
My unruly black hair nearly swallowed the thing whole, but I still gave her a grin.
Then, because I was fully committed at this point, I dipped into a slow, exaggerated curtsy.
She giggled, then mirrored the motion with perfect princess poise.
“Shall we talk over tea, milady?” I asked.
“Oh, why yes,” she cooed, slipping into her own highborn accent. “That sounds quite delightful.”
I followed her, her skirts sweeping like she was floating, into the living room.
She’d set up a small table and two chairs right in the center of the space.
The TV flickered with a fake fireplace, adding the glow and crackle of flames that didn’t exist. Around the table sat an impressive guest list of stuffed animals, each propped on tiny stools.
I pulled out a chair with a flourish and gestured for her to sit.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she replied, settling into her seat with dignity.
Leaving her there, I made my way to the kitchen, where our tea—a grape juice kettle—was waiting alongside two miniature cups and saucers. I carried it back like I was delivering fine china worth more than my truck, setting it gently on the table.
Ruby grabbed the pot and poured with steady hands, filling each cup just shy of the rim. She extended one toward me on its saucer, giving a slight nod like she was bestowing an honor.
I took it carefully. I can say with full confidence that I’d never worn a dress while attending a tea party before, but surprisingly… it felt empowering.
Slipping deeper into the game, I adopted a fake accent—somewhere between British royalty and bad community theater.
“Tell me, dearest Ruby, do we drink pinkies up?”
I raised my cup and saucer to my lips, my pinky extended to an almost painful angle. She mirrored me instantly.
“Pinkies up, always,” she declared.
We sipped, smirked, and made polite conversation about the state of her stuffed-animal kingdom.
I complimented Sir Fluffington on his excellent posture, assured Princess Sprinkles that her gown was the finest in the land, and even agreed to dance with a giraffe named Gerald when the ball began “after tea.”
“I’m having the best time, Sir Brooks,” Ruby announced, her tiny pinky jutting out as she sipped from her plastic tea cup.
“Me too, Princess Ruby,” I said, leaning forward to clink my plastic cup against hers.
She set her drink down and leaned in. “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course. I’m an excellent secret keeper,” I assured her, lowering my voice in mock seriousness.
Ruby stared me straight in the eye—steady, unblinking, and without an ounce of hesitation. “I’m glad I’m not with my dad. I’m glad I get to stay here with you and Mom instead.”
I wasn’t expecting that. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting—a confession about sneaking cookies, maybe, or the revelation that her favorite stuffed animal could talk at night. But not this.
“Why’s that?” I asked gently.
“Because Dad would never do tea parties with me,” she said matter-of-factly. “All he does is make me sit inside while he works or watches TV. You’re way better than my dad.”
My chest tightened. Seven years old and she could already tell the difference between being loved and being tolerated. A man she’s known for two days had somehow earned a spot above the one who should’ve been here her whole life.
It wasn’t pride I felt—it was something heavier. Sadness for her. Anger for her. Maybe a small, fierce hope that she’d never have to settle for that kind of half-hearted love again.
“I’m glad I’m with you and your mom too,” I told her quietly.
Ruby tilted her head. “Do you have a family?”
I thought about how to explain it. “I do, but we’re… not close.”
She sipped her juice, then shrugged like she’d solved the mystery. “They must suck then.”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed. “That’s one way to put it.”
“You can always spend the holidays with us,” she offered, completely serious. “Snowberry Peak is, like, the best for holidays. And no one should ever be alone. If your family sucks, you can share my mom. She’s pretty great. We can be your family.”
For someone so young, she carried this well of kindness and generosity that hit me square in the chest. Annie was clearly raising her with an open and gentle heart.
“Thank you, Ruby,” I said sincerely.
She grinned and tipped back the rest of her grape juice in one giant gulp, leaving a perfect purple mustache on her upper lip.
“Princess,” I teased, tapping my own upper lip. “You seem to have made a bit of a mess.”
Her eyes went wide. “Oh!” Then, instead of reaching for the napkin right next to her plate, she grabbed the hem of her dress and wiped her mouth clean.
We locked eyes, both frozen for a split second before bursting into laughter.
That was when the front door swung open.
“What did I just walk in on?” Annie’s voice carried into the living room, warm and amused. She stood in the doorway, snow dusting her hair and scarf, a smile stretching from ear to ear.
Ruby and I didn’t answer her right away—we just looked at each other, sharing a silent, conspiratorial grin.
“Doesn’t Brooks look dashing in his dress?” Ruby finally said.
I pushed back from the tiny tea table and stood, spreading my arms wide before giving Annie a slow spin to show off the pink tutu that had been cutting off my circulation for the past half hour.
Her laughter came in a sudden burst—real, unguarded, and so bright it almost knocked me over more than the sight of her did. She doubled over, clutching her side.
I put a hand to my chest, feigning offense. “Is your mom laughing at my dress, Princess Ruby?”
Ruby gasped in mock horror. “I think she is!”
“Well,” I said, scooping her up into my arms, “I think that calls for revenge.”
Ruby’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Yes!”
Annie backed up slowly, her hands raised in surrender, until she hit the wall. “Wait, wait, I take back the laughter—”
Too late.
We closed in on her, Ruby’s little fingers wiggling in front of her like a cartoon villain ready to strike. I leaned in, bracing Annie in place, and Ruby launched her tickle attack. Annie squirmed, laughing even though Ruby’s tickling skills were more enthusiastic than effective.
“All right, all right!” Annie laughed, her cheeks pink from the cold and the moment.
In the middle of the chaos, she caught my gaze over Ruby’s shoulder. The laughter was still in her eyes, but so was something else—something softer, warmer.
She winked.
I couldn’t stop the slow grin that spread across my face as I winked back.
There I was, standing in a ridiculous tutu, with a kid who was starting to make me wish for a family of my own and a woman whose smile I’d already started memorizing. It had only been two days, and yet I couldn’t help but think that this was going to be the best holiday yet.