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The Plight Before Christmas(125)

Author:Kate Stewart

The stomping of the herd down the stairs was quickly followed by the pop of champagne. Dad freely poured into flutes, handing me one as I joined them downstairs after a long, hot shower.

The kids raided their unopened presents from Rudolph as the rest of us congregated around them. Taking my first sip of champagne, I feel Eli’s eyes on me. We exchange a long look that does little to ease the tension in his shoulders. We haven’t spoken privately since last night, and I can tell he’s worried about me regretting my decision. I want to go to him and ease his fears—to tell him I’m not at all second-guessing my decision to give us another try. Our breakup did a number on me, and it’s going to take time. It’s not like I can change the cautious stripes I’ve grown into overnight. He will have to earn my trust while I learn to trust my feelings and his.

I flash him a genuine smile, and his lips slowly lift as we go telepathic. He speaks first.

Just checking to make sure you don’t regret it.

Not a minute, sir. I’ll prove it when we’re alone later.

Relief covers his features as I smile into my glass.

Content, I divert my attention to my squealing nieces and nephews.

“What’s this?” Gracie asks, walking over to an Elf on a shelf perched on the dining room table. Next to it sits three huge gift tags attached to long ribbons that seem to have no end. She picks up one of the tags and reads it.

I look over to Mom, knowing this is something right up her alley, and she shakes her head. I dart my gaze over at Serena, who shakes her head in similar denial, just as clueless.

“What does it say?” I ask Gracie.

“It says ‘Gracie, follow me,’” she giggles. “There’s one for Peyton and Conner, too.”

Conner races toward the table, and Peyton slowly approaches at Thatch’s urging. Gracie passes out the tags and immediately begins following hers as she zig-zags around the room where the ribbon seems to be wrapped around dining chairs—no end of it in sight.

Curious, I set my glass down and go to help as Peyton immediately starts yanking on his own ribbon. Giggling, Conner, and Gracie begin to follow theirs as well—which leads them into the kitchen.

I glance over my shoulder to see Eli, Thatch, and Brenden sharing knowing grins. Ahhh, the culprits.

Intrigued, I follow Peyton, and when we turn the corner, I gawk. The kitchen is covered in three distinct colors of ribbon, which are strung intricately throughout, their paths different. Peyton and I continue to follow our designated path as I unhitch the ribbon, which has been looped loosely around the cabinet handles.

Conner and Gracie giggle hysterically as they follow their own paths in a zig-zag pattern from room to room.

Peyton’s ribbon leads us in and out of my parent’s bedroom before disappearing beneath the runner rugs of the hallway and back to the front door—where Gracie stands now, before opening it. “Oh my God!”

Excitedly, Conner joins her at her side. “Oh my God.”

“Oh my dawd,” Peyton repeats as the three of them shriek, staring in awe as each of their ribbons end in bows attached to three shiny new bikes. Peyton turns to Thatch. “Bike, Da da, bike! Mine?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Thatch chuckles as he opens the door, and the three of them race to their new wheels. Thatch lifts Peyton onto a flame-decorated tricycle as Serena joins me at the door, the sparkle in her eyes accompanying the new diamond on her hand as she stares fondly after Thatch. All three kids’ faces are lit with ecstatic smiles as Thatch rings the bell on Conner’s bike, doing his best to cater to each of them

“Whose idea was this?” Serena asks. “So awesome!”

“Right?” Brenden chuckles behind us as he glances out at the three of them.

“Did you do this?” I ask.

“We all did,” he nods over his shoulder, “but it was Eli’s idea.”

I glance behind me to see Eli staring out of the glass door, his glacier blues lit with mirth at the kid’s reactions.

“Fantastic!” Mom says with a laugh from her recliner. “So well done, kid.”

“Rudolph for the win,” Brenden nudges Eli as we crowd the door.

“Wow,” I say, looking over at him, fingers itching to touch. From his reaction last night, it seems he wants to keep us a secret for the moment. Hell, it’s been mere hours since we recoupled. I wrestle with the urge to touch and the indecision to act. I lift a brow in question, and he gives me a wink.

I send my telepathy back out to him, and he presses his lips together and averts his eyes, giving me a busy signal.