Chapter 51
Fifty-One
T he office closes early Christmas Eve, which allows me to drive to Butch’s in daylight.
My car’s packed with presents and enough clothing to hang out until Sunday—if I choose.
An undercurrent of excitement hums under my skin.
It’s my first Christmas truly on my own, and I have zero desire to reminisce or dwell on the past. Instead, I’m warmed by the idea of spending it here in Virginia with this close-knit family who’ve already endeared themselves to me.
I’m not even parked when Mr. Hot Lumberjack emerges from the cabin with a huge grin lighting up his rugged good looks.
He pulls me into his arms and off the driveway, searing me with a kiss before uttering one word.
Butch draws back. “Hi.”
Falling into his emerald gaze, I flash him a smile. “Hi.”
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he says, easing me to the ground.
“You too.”
“Merry Christmas Eve, gorgeous.”
I’m about to answer when Emmy and Hemi scramble out the front door. Emmy throws her arms around my legs in greeting. It’s the first time she’s done this, and the affection thaws any reservations I have about being here.
I give her a squeeze, and when the dog nudges me on the other side, my fingers slide into Hemi’s golden fur then rumple his ears.
“It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas!” Emmy squeals. Grabbing my hand, she tugs me impatiently toward the house. “Come see our tree!”
Her enthusiasm is infectious. I shoot Butch a backward glance, all smiles, and he’s already beaming.
Emmy tows me up the steps and into the house, making me jog to keep up. But oh my . The evergreen standing in the living room brims with ornaments and big colored lights and nearly touches the ceiling.
“It’s beautiful, Em.”
She keeps tugging until we’re inches from the tree, then highlights some of the decorations. “I made this one. And this one. And this one…” Several branches display her crafty, glittery, bedazzled handiwork.
“You’re very creative,” I say.
She smiles proudly, then points to one that looks decidedly…awkward. “Daddy did this one. He’s not artistic.”
I chuckle.
“I heard that,” Butch says, playfully indignant.
“We saved some for you to hang,” Emmy continues, lacing her tiny fingers with mine again as she leads me to a stash on the bookshelves. My nose stings from this unexpected gesture. When I steal a glance at Butch, his eyes shine with tenderness.
“That is so thoughtful.” I crouch lower. “Can I give you a thank-you hug?”
She nods, and I squeeze her, blinking away happy tears.
“Wanna put ’em on?”
“Emmy, let her get settled. She just got here,” Butch says .
I respectfully shake him off. “It’s okay, I’d love to.”
They saved me a popsicle-stick reindeer, a fancy crimson ball with white painted swirls, a glass pinecone dusted with snow, and a wooden sleigh glued with sequins and my name spelled in purple glitter.
The “u” and “i” are squished on one end, where she started to run out of room, but it only makes it more endearing.
I whisper to Emmy how special it is, trying not to lose my cool.
Carefully hanging each, I realize I’ve found a spot of my own, one where I might just belong.
We spend the evening at Butch’s parents’ along with Liz and her family. Once again, the kids race tirelessly through the house, Hemi flops before the fire blazing in the hearth, conversation and teasing among the adults abounds, and there’s food, drink, and love aplenty.
During dinner, I learn about their Christmas Eve traditions.
The children receive holiday-themed pajamas and will leave out milk and cookies for Santa, time-honored books are read aloud, and one lucky individual will get the privilege of putting baby Jesus into the Nativity manger.
It’s obvious the latter is an area of contention, with everyone vying to be picked.
“Me, me, me!” Kayla demands. “I want the baby Jesus!”
Liz and Dan lock eyes, sharing an exhausted-parent moment.
“You literally did it last year,” Emmy says. “I haven’t had a turn in forever.”
Butch scoffs. “You? You twerps have taken over. It’s like Liz and I no longer exist.”
Liz mock-glares at her mother. “For once, I agree with you, big brother.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Jerri scoots her chair from the table and stands. “I don’t play favorites. I love you all equally. ”
Gus snags her hand in his. “But me the most. Right, honey?”
She lowers her face to his and kisses him gently. “Maybe.”
Everyone guffaws.
“What about you, Dan?” I ask.
“I got it one year, but it’s so cutthroat, I was constantly watching my back, you know? Frankly, I don’t need the stress.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now I just try flying under the radar and doing what I’m told.”
More cackling, except from his wife. “Really? Strange. I still don’t have the flower beds I asked you to make three years ago .”
He sighs loudly and narrows his eyes at me. “Thanks for helping me stay out of the spotlight, Jacqui .”
“My pleasure,” I answer with a toothy grin.
“I don’t know why we bother trying to sway Mom.” Butch squeezes my thigh affectionately. “Jacqui’s a shoo-in this year.”
“Yup,” his sister agrees. “She’s a first timer. Although I could argue I’m more deserving as a beleaguered parent of two hellions.”
“So am I,” Gus says, causing more laughter.
“The decision’s already been made,” Jerri quips, returning to the table. “You’ll just have to wait to find out who it is. Now quit your bellyaching and help clean up.”
We all pitch in before reconvening in the living room.
Butch and I claim one end of a sofa, and his arm wraps around my shoulders.
The children tear excitedly into their tissue-wrapped gifts then scamper off to don their pjs.
Jerri distributes the reading material. Many are Little Golden Books, and I’m offered one to read.
I select The Littlest Angel , which I’ve never seen.
Butch taps the vintage cover. “That’s one of my favorites.”
The kids thunder back into the room and flop down in various places, and the readings begin. How the Grinch Stole Christmas. The Biggest, Most Beautiful Christmas Tree. A new addition called The Polar Express .
When it’s my turn, Emmy crawls between her father and me, making a shared lap so she can see the illustrations.
The Littlest Angel turns out to be a surprisingly meaningful story about angels and earth, not fitting in but eventually finding your heaven, and the night Jesus was born. Parts of it are so touching that I’m forced to pause when my voice wavers.
As the family patriarch, Gus reads the grand finale, The Night Before Christmas . Even my father read this to me, without fail, every Christmas Eve of my formative years.
We all applaud when he finishes.
The room falls silent as Jerri unearths the baby Jesus, holding him reverently in the air for all to see. “The honor this year goes to…” She pauses, clearly for dramatic effect. “Jacqui.”
Oh…wow.
“Called it,” Butch says.
Liz rolls her eyes. “So predictable.”
“Not fair!” Kayla pouts.
“Don’t be a brat,” her brother Trevor scolds, even though he’s only seven.
I stand and meet Jerri’s warm gaze as she places the tiny ceramic figure into my hand. “Thank you,” I say, wondering if I should give it to Kayla.
She smiles sweetly and guides me to the Nativity scene, pressing close to whisper, “Don’t even think of giving the babe to anyone else or allowing them to guilt you into it. This is tradition, and they’ve all had plenty of turns.”
The rustic stable is nearly as big as those popular microwave ovens, with painted figurines and animals huddled around a little wooden manger, empty save for a small scrap of material mimicking a blanket .
The kids gather round as I place the baby Jesus into his cradle, all gripes tempered for now, and the group sighs a collective breath. There’s something both funny and poignant about the moment, and I’m flattered to be the chosen one.
Jerri corrals the grandkids to set out Santa’s treats, and I rejoin Butch on the sofa.
“You’re one of us now,” he murmurs.
That might be the best Christmas gift I could receive.