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Damn.

I hang it near the top of the tree. Right where she’ll see it in the morning. Then I go upstairs.

And take a very cold shower.

chapter

fifteen

Noelle

I make it all the way to my bedroom before I let myself say it out loud.

”Oh my goodness.”

I close the door. Lean back against it. Put both hands over my face.

My cheeks are hot. My eyes are puffy. My nose is probably red, because I am not one of those women who cries beautifully. I cry like a toddler who dropped her ice cream cone.

And I just did it all over my husband’s bare chest. His very bare, very broad, very warm chest.

I peel my hands away and stare at the ceiling. Okay. Let’s review.

At approximately eleven-fifteen, I sat on the floor and cried over a wooden ornament. That part was fine. That part was probably overdue.

Then Maverick came downstairs in nothing but a pair of flannel pajama pants, sat on the floor beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world, and let me tell him about Grandpa’s jigsaw.

Also fine. Better than fine, if I’m being honest.

Then I asked him for a hug. Like a child. Like a lonely, pitiful child who doesn’t understand the very clear terms of her own marriage.

And he gave me one.

I slide down the door until I’m sitting on the rug, knees pulled up, and press my forehead against them.

That hug.

I have been hugged before. I have been hugged a lot, actually. Grandma hugged like it was a competitive sport. Josie hugs like she’s trying to transfer her soul into your body through your ribcage.

Still, nobody has ever hugged me like Maverick.

He didn’t just put his arms around me. He picked me up. He pulled me into his lap and wrapped himself around me so completely that for a few minutes there was nothing in the world except the sound of his heartbeat under my ear and his hand in my hair and the feeling, for the first time in four months, that if I fell apart, someone would be there to catch the pieces.

He held me until I stopped crying. And then he touched my face.

I lift my head. I didn’t imagine that, did I? His hand on my cheek. His thumb under my eye. The way he looked at me, like he was seeing me for the first time all over again.

And for one second, one long, suspended, heart-stopping second, I thought he was going to kiss me.

I think I wanted him to.

No.

That’s a lie. I know I wanted him to.

But then he dropped his hand and said it was late. Like I was a meeting running over.

I groan and drop my head back against the door with a thunk. He felt me lean in. He must have. And he pulled away.