Page 45 of Naughty-ish

Smiles light up both our faces. “You can open it now. It’s seasonally appropriate.”

Nick enthusiastically rips the carefully wrapped package, with childlike eagerness on full display. When he opens the box, he’s careful as he pulls out the heavy snow globe.

“The evergreen forest reminded me of the night we went to the Botanic Gardens. The snow-couple are dancing.” Also reminding me of that night. “And I thought since I dressed like a snowwoman for the fundraiser, maybe you’d be reminded of me when you look at them.”

As Nick continues to stare at the item, I’m rethinking my explanation, feeling like it’s rom-com nonsense. He flips the globe to make it snow and the flakes float downward, over the trees, like the lights that danced over us when we were among them.

“And . . .” I reach for the snow globe and wind the key on the underside. My voice lowers, concerned that he’ll think the gift is hokey. “It plays our song.”

A tinny rendition of “Christmas Time Is Here” plays.

After a round of music, Nick slowly looks up at me. “You’re unforgettable, Holliday. Thank you. This means a lot to me.”

His Adam’s apple bobs and his cheeks turn rosy. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he almost looks choked up by the gift, but that can’t be true. No, his expression is the same as that day last summer when I asked him if he was okay. Before he cut my grass and we knew one another. He looks stunned. Surprised maybe, but also a little sad.

Nick steps toward me, softly kissing my cheek. With the kids in the room, it’s more than I would have expected.

“I’ll put it on my mantel where I can see it, and think of you, more than I already do every day.”

“You think of me?” I tease to lighten the moment, but I already feel light, almost giddy, that my gift is having such an effect on him.

“Probably more than I should,” he says as if reading my thoughts. “Thank you.”

When he pulls me in for an additional hug, the embrace is more than gratitude. His firm arms hold tight, keeping me against him. His free hand cups the back of my head. He breathes in at my neck. This is a hug.

Give hugs.

And I can’t remember the last time someone hugged me. Not my children. Not my parents. But a genuine hold-on-to-me squeeze from someone I care about and who might care about me, too.

BE THE FUTURE YOU WANT

Chapter 10

With a house fragrant from baking and a warmth in my belly from another wonderful day being present with my children, Eloise and Nash settle into Nash’s bed, and I read them one of the many versions we own of ’Twas The Night Before Christmas. This is another classic tale, although officially a poem, about a man and the night Santa arrives. What he sees. What he hears. And the cheer brought to him by the experience.

Once I finish reading, I snuggle Nash, peppering kisses over his face and giving him one more hug before turning on his nightlight and leading Eloise to her room.

She climbs into her bed, slips underneath the blankets and sighs.

“That’s a heavy sound.” I tuck the blankets tighter around her chest as she crosses her arms above the comforter.

“Can Santa really get into our house without a chimney?”

I sigh next. “You remember we watched that movie where a fireplace magically appeared in an apartment that didn’t have one, and Santa came down the chimney to leave presents.” I tug the blankets tighter and lean down to rub my nose along hers. “Don’t you worry, Santa will find a way to visit us.”

“Will he break in?”

“Heaven’s no. Why would you say that?”

“When Paige was having too much Christmas excitement, she said Santa will just break into our house to leave presents if we don’t have a chimney.”

What the hell? Suddenly, Christmas excitement sounds like code for too much alcohol, and perhaps Miss Paige was hungover this morning which is why Mitch returned the kids early. But still, what is she thinking to tell a child someone will break into our house like a criminal to leave gifts? I’d call Mitch out on this, but I prefer to reserve my energy for being present and the light for my children. Besides, calling him out would be a waste of time.

“Maybe we should go home for Christmas.”

“Home?” I blink.

“To our house. Where Paige and Daddy live. We had a fireplace there. We can’t even hang stockings here.”