Page 116 of Dream Chaser

“Might take me forever to get it all running, but it’s worth a try.”

Nothing was holding me back anymore. Now I relied on myself, and I loved the freedom it gave me.

***

In the morning, Scarlett stumbled into the kitchen, yawning. I smiled at her checkered red-and-green Christmas PJs that matched mine—one of her gifts—and handed her a cup of coffee.

“Mmm.” She sniffed it. “You spiked it.”

“With Baileys,” I said. “And there are pancakes.”

“You know you didn’t have to do any of this, right? Girl Christmas doesn’t mean spending hours in the kitchen.”

“I did it for myself too. Sleep well?”

Scarlett took a sip of her coffee. “Like a baby. What do you want to do later?”

“I don’t know.” I leaned against the counter, clutching my mug. “A marathon of Christmas romcoms? Or we could go out and take some Christmas pictures. I’d love to add some to my portfolio.”

“Sounds like a great plan. Then I’ll make lunch since you took care of breakfast.”

“Deal.”

As I loaded pancakes onto a plate for Scarlett, the buzz of the doorbell echoed through the apartment.

“Are we expecting guests?” Scarlett asked.

I shook my head.

“Let’s go see who that is,” she said, following me to the foyer. On the intercom screen, a delivery guy stood holding two boxes.

“I didn’t order anything,” I said.

Scarlett lifted and dropped a shoulder. “Might be a gift.”

I let the guy in. “Unfortunately, divorce paperwork wouldn’t come in such big boxes.”

She chuckled. “Could it be from your mother?”

“When she didn’t even bother to call and wish me a merry Christmas? I don’t think so.”

“I’ll never understand that woman,” Scarlett said as the elevator’s door slid open and the man with boxes stepped out.

“Delivery for Nova Lockhart,” he said, panting as he set the boxes on the floor.

“Are you sure? I didn’t order anything.”

“It’s marked as a gift.”

He extended the scanner to me. I tapped the screen, and he smiled. “Merry Christmas, ma’am.”

“Merry Christmas,” I said.

As he headed for the elevator, Scarlett lifted the box on top. “God, it’s heavy.”

“Does it say who it’s from?” I asked, taking the other box and carrying it into the apartment. We set them on the living room floor. I sat, cross-legged, and Scarlett handed me a pair of scissors I’d used to open her gifts last night.

“No, it doesn’t. A card or something must be inside.”