31. Christmas Day #2
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Laura.” He grasps my hand. “I hope this isn’t too forward, but Ash told me you’re his soulmate. It brings me so much joy that you’ve found each other. That I’ll get to see your love blossom.”
So that’s where Ash gets it from.
“I always wanted a daughter, you know.”
Ash breathes heavily, smiling despite the exasperation. “She doesn’t need someone else fawning after her, Dad. She has the entire world eating out of the palm of her hand.”
“I am literally right here,” I grumble with no bite. I smile as I guide them into the house.
“Birch Cedar, it is so lovely to see you,” Grandma says. “Can I get you some tea, some coffee?”
“Some tea would be wonderful, Ms. Pruitt.” Birch dips his head to her. He’s probably been calling her that since he was a kid.
“This is my sister, Hazel,” I say, introducing the only other person in the room.
Pleasantries are exchanged as I burrow into Ash’s safety and warmth. Into the beautiful soothing hum of the electric current passing between us.
“You okay?” he whispers into my hair.
I nod. I am now.
He places a big, clunky bag under the tree that I literally didn’t realize he was holding and wraps himself around me again.
“Is that all for me?” I ask, blinking up at him from beneath lowered lashes.
His chuckle is deep, rumbling from the center of his chest. “Of course it is. And then your big present is at home.”
My heart flutters. “Home, huh?”
He kisses my forehead, drawing me to the couch and snuggling me up to his side. Everything is okay as long as Ash is here.
Soon enough, Noah arrives and the house is full of chattering and laughter—something I haven’t heard since my father died. Hazel, Grandma, and I certainly had our moments, but not enough that the house laughed along with us.
Not enough that the joy soaked into the walls, making the lights brighter and the house warmer.
It’s something I didn’t realize we were missing until I finally had it.
The house is alive and so are we, despite Mom’s absence.
Ash and Noah are in the middle of some lively discussion about something called Warhammer?
I couldn’t tell you what the fuck it is, but apparently Hazel commissioned Ash to make some minis for Noah when he wouldn’t talk to her.
And that apparently made Ash look into it and he’s all obsessed and asking Noah fifty thousand questions.
Nerds.
It’s oddly reassuring that they like each other so much. Like just another piece of our family puzzle has clicked into place now that Mom is gone.
What an awful thing to think, but it’s true. It’s never been more obvious just how much she was holding us all back from having connections and love.
Her selfishness has never been so painfully laid out.
And yet, I can’t help but feel guilty. I can feel it gnawing at me. What kind of daughter thinks this kind of thing? Especially after I read her letter and found that she sacrificed herself specifically to prevent Hazel from turning into the shell of a person Mom became.
I shake my head. I can’t do anything to help her right this second.
Instead of continuing to wallow, my fingers trail along the cool side of the sewing machine my sister got me.
Pink.
I huff. I can’t really be mad at her for it. I think having Ash’s focus entirely on me has spoiled me. Set expectations that my family should know me better than they do, better than I allow them.
“Hazel spent a lot of time trying to find one that color,” Noah says, turning from the conversation with Ash.
Hello, crushing guilt, how are you today?
“That was very sweet of her,” I reply. It’s neutral, but honest. I don’t want to lie anymore.
“Pink is your favorite, right?” he continues, cocking his head. Noah is perceptive, too perceptive.
Ash leans back with that shit-eating grin on his face that I know spells trouble. “Nope. Her favorite is red.”
I pluck at one of the ridiculous fake feathers on my dressing gown.
A shadow falls over my shoulder.
“Hey, baby,” Noah says, eyes locked on the space above that shoulder. Hazel.
“Hey,” she replies. The guilt in that one word is almost overwhelming. I don’t even have to look at her face to know that she’s beating herself up for not knowing her own sister’s favorite color.
But it isn’t her fucking fault. There’s some shit she’s done wrong, but this? This isn’t one of them. And that’s on me to make better.
“Dinner is ready!”
Thank fuck for Grandma. Thank the absolute fuck for that woman.
In all honesty, this dinner isn’t the most awkward dinner we’ve had at this table. The bar for normalcy is incredibly low.
Ash and I are side by side, across from Hazel and Noah. Grandma and Birch sit at the opposite heads of the table.
Part of me wishes it was Grandma’s soulmate sitting in that seat. She could use some dick to help her relax.
Which is a very weird thought to have about your own grandmother, but it’s mostly from a good place. I just want her to be happy, and it feels almost wrong that she’s the only one in the family without a soulmate.
She’s positively glowing though. A genuine type of non-jealous happiness that I think most families are more familiar with.
“I wanted to thank you for the invitation,” Birch says, cutting into his Christmas ham. “It’s been a while since Ash and I have had a family Christmas with more than just the two of us.”
“Well, you’re family now, so you’ll just have to get used to it.” Grandma nods matter-of-factly. I get the impression that if I hadn’t extended the invitation, she would’ve tracked Birch down to drag him here herself.
A half smile curves along his face, and I’m smacked once again by the resemblance between him and Ash. It’s not just looks—it’s mannerisms too.
I get the distinct impression that Birch is just as mature and kind as Ash, although I’m not getting as much of the shit-stirrer vibe.
Speaking of.
“You really had to mention that pink isn’t my favorite color?” I hiss under my breath into Ash’s ear.
He shrugs. “I didn’t realize your sister was just around the corner.”
“Even if she wasn’t, I get to tell them things like that in my own time. It’s on me to fix it.”
A rare moment of guilt flashes in his eyes as he leans his forehead to my shoulder. “You’re right. That wasn’t right for me to do. I’m sorry.”
I think that may have been the healthiest communication through a mini-conflict I’ve ever had in my life. The man really is softening me.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He wraps his hand around my thigh, the warmth of his skin seeping through the layers of dressing gown and pajama pants. It’s not inherently sexual, despite the placement. It’s more comforting, grounding, securing that we’re okay and connected.
Grandma and Birch are talking about something, but my ears don’t catch the words. It’s like background music.
“Get used to this, Goldilocks,” he says, squeezing my leg. “This is what Christmas is going to look like for the rest of your life.”
A small bloom of hope unfurls in my chest. It’s more than I’ve let myself wish for. I’ve been preparing for the bad, always expecting the worst. Keeping Ash away to protect him from a life I always assumed would be full of despair and death.
Maybe I’ve been wrong. Maybe what I’ve really been keeping him from is this. A real, whole family. Dysfunctional but loving.
“Can we disappear for a second? Go sit on the couch?” I ask him after we’ve finished our food.
He nods, explaining to Grandma and his dad as I retreat.
The fireplace is alight and I drag one of the warm blankets down around my legs as I curl up. Ash comes up beside me, wrapping my body around him as we watch the licks of fire dance along the logs. It flickers at me like a friendly wave.
“You okay?” he murmurs into my hair, pressing kisses to wherever he can reach.
“Yeah. More so than I thought I’d be.”
“Dad likes you, but I knew he would. He’s probably going to spoil the shit out of you, honestly.”
I press a kiss to Ash’s neck. “I do enjoy being spoiled by the Cedar men.”
“I’ve created a monster. And speaking of.” He shifts. “I have to get your presents.”
I lift a little so he can stand and rustle around under the tree. He places four bags in my lap, winding his arm around my shoulders. “No particular order.”
“You didn’t need to get me this many,” I insist. Despite loving gifts and shopping, I don’t want him to feel obligated. I can shop for myself just fine.
He glares at me until I giggle and pick up the first one.
Tearing through the tissue paper, I finally reach a small box. I pop the lid, and inside—on a bed of silk—lies a pair of ruby-red teardrop earrings.
“Rubies signify courage and passion,” he says as I softly touch them. “It just makes sense that red is your favorite color.”
I sniffle. “You’re getting rather smug about knowing all these little factoids about me.”
He lifts my chin with a finger, forcing me to show him how his gift affected me. The tears threatening to spill onto my cheeks. “Not smug. Proud. I am the luckiest man on this fucking earth.”
He may be the luckiest man, but I’m the luckiest woman. Period.
I blink away the emotions, glaring at him playfully. “Don’t tell anyone I cried.”
“My lips are sealed.”