Page 82 of Just Between Us

She blinks at the sudden shift. “Day after New Year’s. Why?”

“And you’re coming to dinner at Mom’s that night?”

“I plan to. Penny said everyone will be there.”

Good. This makes planning easier.

“Hang out with me after. Just us.”

Her eyes narrow, suspicious now. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing.”

“Liam. You’re a terrible liar.”

“One of my very few flaws.” I give her my most innocent smile, and she rolls her eyes, but I catch the smallest upturn of her lips.

“Fine. If you’re planning something, don’t get too crazy with it.”

“When have I ever done something crazy?” I ask with a straight face.

“Liam.”

“Kidding.”Mostly.

She shakes her head but she’s still smiling. We talk for a few more minutes about everything and nothing. Things that don’t matter, except it’s her voice and I get to hear it. I flip my camera so she can see the snow outside and when I flip it back, she yawns for the third time. It’s time to wrap this call up.

“It looks like someone needs some sleep.”

“Mm-hmm,” she agrees, dreamily. “Good night, Liam.”

“Night, angel.” I pause. “And happy birthday.”

Her smile softens. “Thanks.”

The screen goes black and I’m staring at my reflection in the dark glass. I sit for a minute, phone still warm in my hand, then I’m up grabbing the notebook. My eyes linger on the poem for a beat, but then I’m flipping to a blank page.

At the top I write:

Cassie’s Birthday is December 24.

Pen in hand, I start my list:

Favorite cake (ask Penny)

Music

Gifts: Something personal. Something only I would think to get her. But what?

I tap the pen against the page, thinking. What do I give this woman who means so much to me? Who I’ve pushed away for weeks, but I’ve now accepted I can’t keep doing that.

My truth. My story.

I’m on my feet so quickly I startle Mutt, and after a few head scratches I move to my bookcase where my poetry books are. My hands find my own leather-bound journal like muscle memory. I started writing poetry of my own after Julie died. It was the only way I knew to get my feelings out.

Cassie needs her own journal. A clean slate.

It’s been a while since I visited the bookstore, but if my memory is correct, I saw the most beautiful burgundy leather journal last time I was there. Tomorrow is Christmas, but surely they’ll be open the day after. That’ll give me time to sort what exactly goes in Cassie’s copy.