CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Bryce
Twenty-Two Weeks ~ Baby is the size of a papaya
Icheck my reflection in the glass door of Leanne’s parents’ house before reaching for the doorbell. My beard is trimmed and my hair is styled. I put on a button-down shirt—one that’s not flannel—and the only pair of dress pants I own for this occasion, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more nervous.
It’s stupid because I’ve met everyone before, and they were nothing but welcoming.
Christmas dinner with the mother of my child’s family hits different though, and I want to make a good impression.
I didn’t have to do the impress the family stuff with Sarah—there was never any fear of not being accepted.
I want to be accepted here though, and I want it to be more than as our baby girl’s father.
Ever since the ultrasound where we found out we’re having a girl, when we kissed, all I can think about is how badly I want more with Leanne. I don’t want to just be a partner—a friend—I want to be her partner, her best friend, her confidant… her lover.
I want more.
Sometimes it feels like maybe she wants that too, but she’s holding back… Like she’s afraid of what allowing me all the way in might mean. So, I’ll wait and show up—like I’m doing right now—and hope she sees I’m not going anywhere.
I compress the doorbell with my index finger and blow out a breath, trying to let go of the nerves so I can just be me, be present, and show Leanne and her whole family that I’m in this.
The door swings open and Leanne’s mother stands there with a wide smile on her face, her dark green sweatshirt pushed up at the sleeves.
I nearly swallow my tongue when I read it.
It has lines of Christmas trees with the words I like them real thick and sprucey printed on it.
Wow… It’s the only word my brain supplies me with, but I manage to tamp it down before it can escape my mouth.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Kole.” My voice nearly cracks with the effort of keeping my thoughts on her sweater to myself.
“Merry Christmas, Bryce. And I’ve already told you, call me Kimberly,” she says as I step over the threshold, as if she isn’t wearing a sweater dripping in innuendo. Then I’m in her arms as she pulls me into a welcoming embrace. “Had a good day so far?” she asks.
I shrug my coat off and hang it on the rack by the door. “It’s been wonderful.”
I spent the morning with Becca, Delia, and Alex in the same manner I’ve enjoyed Christmas for nearly twenty-five years.
Becca and I stay up at the big house, and we all wake up in matching pajamas.
Delia at least picks something flannel so I don’t end up in reindeer print or something else truly heinous.
Then we open presents around the tree, followed by a big breakfast that always lasts me until dinner.
Usually I’d have dinner with them too, but it’s a more casual affair of leftovers from the night before since we do our big dinner on Christmas Eve. This is the first Christmas night I haven’t spent with them since I was a teen, and it feels a little odd, but also right.
Walking into the kitchen, I can smell the ham cooking in the oven and the pine of the tree in the corner. But I stop dead at the sight in front of me—the whole family gathered around the kitchen island, all in equally inappropriate Christmas sweaters and wide wicked smiles.
Am I being pranked right now?
I nearly choke when my gaze finally lands on Leanne. Her sweatshirt says I jingled his bells and now I’m pregnant with a screen-printed silhouette of a man in a Santa hat who looks suspiciously like me.
I scrub a hand over my beard and attempt to find words, but before I can, the entire room bursts out laughing. Heat rises in my cheeks as I glance again at Leanne and the apologetic smile she has plastered on.
“Merry Christmas,” she says with a helpless shrug. “We don’t get to pick our own sweaters and—”
I know what’s coming when she grabs a present off the island wrapped with a big red bow and a tag with my name on it. Maybe this is my initiation into the family. Eric’s in one, so I take it as a good sign that I’m being offered one as well.
“Go on, open it,” Robert says. Looking at him makes me flush hotter, considering what his daughter’s sweater says. I mean, it’s no secret we had sex, but to have it so blatantly stated in vinyl is really something else.
I swallow and crick my neck side to side, like this is a battle and I’m determined to win. I will not back down from this challenge. Leanne’s hand finds my hip and I relax at the touch.
“Do you know what it says?” I ask out of the corner of my mouth, fingering the ribbon.
“Nope.” She blinks owlishly. “They wouldn’t let me see it.”
“Perfect,” I mutter. “Well, here goes nothing.”
I tear into the package and pull out an evergreen sweater the same color as Kimberly’s, only mine says I like big bumps and I cannot lie.
My lips twitch, but it’s the pattern around the words—lines of little sperm wearing Santa hats chasing eggs with red and green bows on their heads—that sends me over the edge.
I try to hold the laughter back, but it barks out of me, and the rest of the room erupts as well. My nerves from before slip away.
This may be profoundly embarrassing, but they’re accepting me—inviting me in—and it feels damn good.
“Well…” Leanne deadpans, “that’s… really something. You better put it on. We can’t start the festivities until you do.”
I groan, but it’s half-hearted because a little extra embarrassment won’t keep me from taking part in this family’s traditions.
“Your wish is my command,” I say, handing Leanne the sweatshirt and reaching for the top button of my shirt, popping it free. Leanne’s eyes drop to the hollow of my throat, and I watch hers bob on a swallow. “Don’t get too excited.”
“Now hold on just a second,” Robert says, covering Kimberly’s eyes with his hands.
I chuckle and pop another button free, and then another, revealing the white T-shirt I have underneath.
Leanne shoves my shoulder playfully, and her mom ducks out from under Robert’s hand.
I love the flush on Leanne’s cheeks to match her sweater.
I want to ghost my fingers over their warmth, but I continue my way down my torso and slip my shirt off my shoulders.
The room has gone oddly quiet. When I glance up, the whole family is locked in on our interaction. I clear my throat and quickly pull the sweatshirt over my head, beaming with a prideful smile before shooting a wink at Leanne.
Robert claps his hands loudly, garnering him the attention of the room. “I think I need a drink. Who wants one?”
The evening progresses with ease as the Koles welcome me into each of their traditions. It’s comfortable and feels right with them, so when Kimberly asks what a typical Christmas looks like for me—you know, minus the inappropriate sweaters—I don’t hesitate to give them the truth.
“I spent last night and this morning with the Davenports, who own Monarch Ranch,” I say, and Leanne offers me an encouraging smile, squeezing my knee from where she sits beside me on the couch.
“They’re the only family I have. I don’t know if Leanne told you I was married before, but the Davenports are my late wife Sarah’s parents. ”
Everyone offers solemn looks that tell me she already told them I’m a widower. Not wanting to go into too much detail or open that up for discussion, I share a bit more about myself than I probably would under normal circumstances.
“I was in foster care as a kid. My parents weren’t great people—they were actually some of the worst people—so I ended up with the Davenports when I was fifteen.
I became the man I am in that house.” I look at Leanne and she slips her hand into mine.
There’s a bubbling sensation under my sternum at her touch.
“So… yeah, that’s my family history in a nutshell. ”
“Well, we’re honored you’d choose to spend part of your day with us. I hope the Davenports don’t mind us stealing you,” Kimberly interjects.
“Oh, not at all. We had our big family dinner last night and our Christmas this morning.”
They invited Leanne. Delia even asked for Leanne’s number so she could extend the invite herself.
I understood when she declined, explaining she had traditions with her family she didn’t want to miss, but I’m pretty sure there was more to it than that.
Even with our dinner going so well a few weeks ago, I can understand how my family dynamic might be a bit more intimidating to jump into for her, so I won’t push.
It will get easier. She’ll see how much we want her there.
Because even with everything that happened with Sarah, all they have ever wanted was for me to be happy.
And I am… happier than I’ve been in a long time.
Now I want to make Leanne happy too.
The evening winds down around nine p.m. with a sleepy Leanne leaning against me on the couch, looking so beautiful my heart aches. I had a difficult time stopping myself from touching her throughout the night, but she didn’t once pull away whenever I lost the battle.
Leanne doesn’t have her car here since Jenna picked her up yesterday and she spent the night here last night—having a similar family sleepover to the one I had with the Davenports.
So I offer to drive her home, letting my fingers linger a little too long on her waist when I help her into the truck, inhaling the contrasting scents of her lilac shampoo and peppermint from the candy canes when I buckle her in.
There’s a frenetic atmosphere in the cab of my truck when we pull up in front of her house. The tension of hours together, innocent touches, and the memory of the kiss from two weeks ago swirl around us in the warm air.
She reaches for the handle but turns back, saying in a rush, “Do you want to come in?”
Do I ever. But I tamp down the eagerness and the anticipation, not wanting to get ahead of myself, not wanting to push. She invites me over a lot these days, but something feels different tonight.