“I can do whatever I want,” he says simply, and it’s a wonder he and Carter aren’t actually related, because when the cookie village is done, that seems to also be Carter’s motto.
“There!” he exclaims, putting the finishing touch on the last of his three houses. “All done!” His eyes glitter with pride as he takes in the village that sprawls across his kitchen table. Then he reaches down, grabs hold of a chimney, pries it off, and throws it in his mouth.
“Carter!”
He stops, eyes round with fear, like he’s been caught red-handed by his wife doing something he’s not supposed to. Like eating the cookie village. “What?”
“You’re not supposed to eat it yet! You’re supposed to leave it on display for a few days! One, at the very least!”
“What? You want me to stare at cookie houses all day and not eat them?”
She jabs at one of the boxes, pointing to the village that’s on display in the picture behind the happy family, the one that looks nothing like ours right now. “Those are the rules!”
He flings his arms overhead. “You know I don’t follow rules, especially when Oreos are involved!” He breaks a wall off one house and looks Olivia dead in the eye as he stuffs the entire thing in his mouth. “Wha’ now, pwincess?” he mumbles, then dashes away with a squeal when she lunges for him.
Hank whistles along to the tune floating from the speakers. “So this is Christmas…”
Christmas snuggles are the best snuggles, especially when it’s your mom’s arms wrapped around you and you’re wearing matching jammies.
She hugs me tight, sighing into my hair. “I missed our sleepovers.”
“I missed you.” My gaze wanders through the open door, down the hallway, where I can see the twinkle of lights. “I can’t believe you decorated this year.”
“With the baby on the way, I figured maybe it was time to start again. They deserve to have a magical Christmas experience, no matter where they go.”
I turn, looking at my beautiful mom. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Don’t you deserve it as well?” I link our fingers, pulling our clasped hands to my chest. “Don’t you want someone to spend the holidays with? Share your life with?”
“I have my family. I don’t need anyone else.”
“I just want you to be happy, Mom.” The words are more a plea than anything. I don’t know if finding someone to share her time with will bring happiness, but if she thinks it might, I wish she’d try.
This house used to be filled with so much laughter, and while it still is, it’s also home to a gut-wrenching, silent loneliness. It’s my mom snuggling up alone on a Friday night to watch her favorite movies, the cheesy rom-coms my dad gladly sat through with her head on his shoulder. It’s the far-off look in her eyes while she works in the kitchen, the memories of my dad hanging over her shoulder and begging for a taste of whatever she was making, pulling her away so he could spin her around the kitchen while he sang to her, loud and obnoxious until her laughter drowned out his voice, and he sealed it with a kiss.
Sometimes the silence is louder than the laughter, an ear-piercing roar that has you begging for it to end.
“I don’t need a man to make me happy, Jennie.” There’s no uncertainty in her eyes. She’s sure of her decision, but I suppose that’s what brings her peace. “I’m happy with the life your dad and I created here while we had the chance. I’m thankful for the memories we made, and I’ll always wish for more, but he’s with us in every new memory we create too. I can feel him, and I just…I don’t want to fill his space with someone else.”
A tear rolls across the bridge of my nose, dripping onto the pillowcase. “What if one day you find space for someone else?”
“If one day I find space, then I’ll let someone in.” She pushes my hair back, tucking it behind my ear. “But what about you? When will you let someone in?”
“I don’t need a man to make me happy,” I parrot back, making her laugh.
“No, you don’t. What you need is a partner, a best friend. Someone who’s patient with you, who waits for you to open up when you’re ready and wants to walk through all your battles with you. Someone who makes you laugh, who complements your incredible qualities. You have such a big heart, Jennie, and I wish you’d open up a space in it for someone. I know you’re afraid. But life is too short to be afraid.”
Her words wiggle their way into my brain, setting up shop in the corner, gathering cobwebs, until I’m thinking back on them over and over, even two days later while I’m lying awake in bed as the sun rises, and a deranged murderer decides to knock on my door.
Not literally, but seriously, what the fuck? My bare feet slap against the floors as I storm down the hall, not bothering with the rat’s nest on my head that most people call hair.
“In what world is it socially acceptable to knock on someone’s door at—Garrett.”
He smiles down at me from where he waits in my doorway, golden hair curling out from beneath the forest green toque he wears, dusted in snowflakes, just like the shoulders of his coat and the duffle that hangs at his side.
“I have one more Christmas gift for you.” He steps beneath the threshold, his presence overwhelming, making my senses run wild. When he extends his hand to me, my heart leaps to my throat.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“C’mon, Jennie. Take my hand.”
I do, tentatively slipping mine into his. It’s cool from the elements, but his touch still manages to make my skin tingle with heat, desire.
And as we stand there staring at each other, slowly shaking hands, I’ve never been so confused.
Until he pulls his hand free and lays it palm down in the space between us.
My memory floods with hundreds of happy mornings, my dad’s sly grin as a regular handshake spiraled and turned into one of our favorite pastimes, something special for just the two of us.
“C’mon,” Garrett whispers again, and my chest heaves as he smiles, waiting patiently for me to lay my hand on top of his.
When I finally clap my hand on top of his, his face shatters with a grin, and tears prickle my eyes as a burst of laughter bubbles from my throat, the two of us in my doorway, slapping hands, bumping hips, switching spots, and finishing right back where we started: with a simple handshake.
He opens his arms and I barrel forward, burying my face in his chest, inhaling his scent. He’s the same, rich mahogany, clean and citrusy, but the dampness from the snow he’s just escaped from makes him different too. Earthy and fresh, like rain and pine needles.
I soak it all in, because the truth is, I feel a little bit more me when I’m with this man. He sees past all the bravado, sees both the bold and the quiet, the gentle that simmers below the fierce, and instead of turning away, he takes my hand and walks with me.
When we press the same whispered words to each other’s bodies, something warm lights inside me.
“I missed you.”
CHAPTER 20
I THINK WE BROKE ADAM
GARRETT
“I win again.” Jennie gathers her chestnut waves, piling them on her head and securing them with a velvet scrunchie the color of champagne. “How you feeling? Tired? Angry? Emasculated?” She wiggles her brows, cheeky grin in place. “Want me to hold you and tickle your back while you cry, big guy?”