Page 29 of Sincerely Not Yours

“Yeah. What was your favorite, and why?”

“Probably a Lego set I got when I was twelve years old,” he replied, his voice tinged with nostalgia. It was enough to drag Gigi’s stare up. She caught the memory in his eyes. “It was a massive pirate ship. My brother and I had been begging for it all year.”

She smiled, picturing a young Harris eagerly tearing open the gift on Christmas morning.

“It took us an entire weekend to put it together,” he continued. “Our mom helped, too, in between making us peppermint hot chocolate, sugar cookies, and actual sustenance to fuel our work.”

Her grin widened. “That’s a very sweet memory.”

“It is.” Harris nodded, his gaze going back to the lights. “How about you? Do you have a favorite gift?”

Gigi threaded the lights through a loop, untying a major knot. “It’s similar to yours.” She spread the loose strand on the island before starting on the next cluster. “My sister and I got a beautiful dollhouse. It was secondhand from a thrift store in town, but to us, it was a dream house. We spent hours making up stories about the lives our dolls lived in that house. But mostly, it was my favorite gift because of the many memories made with my sister.”

“I love that.” Red, green, and yellow lights reflected across Harris’s fingers and sweater. They sparkled in his unguarded eyes.

“It’s not the gifts that make the season special, right?” she added. “It’s the time spent, and memories made with family and friends. That’s what makes Christmas special.”

“I agree.” Harris shifted his stance before tackling the last bundle. When that was undone, they spread the string of lights over the island.

“Where should we put these?” he asked.

“It’s a longer strand than I thought.” Gigi tapped her chin before completing a spin to check out the options. “How about we hang them around those windows?” She pointed past the couch. “We can drape them on the curtain rod.”

“I like it.” Harris unplugged the lights and gathered them into his arms.

“We could hang your ornaments from the lights too!” Gigi’s voice lifted with excitement at the idea. “That would be perfect!” She walked over to the ottoman and peered into the box, counting the ornaments. There were five—just enough to add some extra sparkle to the lights.

Harris joined her as she pulled out a snow globe. She gave it a gentle shake, and white flakes swirled around a miniature family building a snowman. The globe hung from a red velvet ribbon,and a string of white music notes were painted on the matching red base.

“This is beautiful,” Gigi breathed, admiring the delicate ornament as she turned it over in her hands, finding a tiny gold crank on the bottom. “Does it play music?”

“It used to.” Harris cleared his throat, moving the bundle of lights from one arm to the other. “It’s been broken since I was a kid, but it was my mom’s favorite ornament. I honestly can’t remember the song it used to play, but I vividly remember my mom winding it up each year when we decorated the tree. She’d dance with us boys while it played.” His voice was thick with emotion and Gigi studied his face, trying to decipher his reaction. She knew his father was remarried, but knew nothing of Harris and Dean’s mother.

“That’s really sweet. The globe holds special memories for you,” she concluded, before holding her tongue, giving Harris space to open up further if he wanted to.

“It does.” He caught her gaze. His thumb moved back and forth over the bundle of lights, like it was a worry stone. “My mother passed away when I was twelve. The Christmas we built the Lego ship was my last Christmas with her.”

Gigi sucked in a breath. Her heart sunk, and she set a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

A sad smile hitched one side of his lips. “That’s why I’m not a huge fan of Christmas. It was never the same without her.”

Her fingers slid down his arm, over his sweater, past the collection of bulbs and wire. She found his hand and clenched it, offering silent support for the tragedy he’d endured and the memories he held dear. The gesture eased the pain in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you to decorate.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know,” he allowed, squeezing her hand back. “This is honestly the first Christmas I’ve enjoyed in a long time. Thanks for reminding me that there’s still happiness tobe found in this season.” His sad smile went soft and genuine, stealing breath from Gigi’s lungs.

“Me?” she asked. Her heart wobbled. “I reminded you of that?”

Harris held her gaze, gratitude shining in his eyes. In that moment, Gigi felt their connection deepen, going beyond work and responsibilities. This vulnerable side of him, this raw honesty about his past, tugged at her heartstrings in a way she couldn’t ignore.

“Yes, you did,” he confirmed. “Your enthusiasm for Christmas, your persistence to get me involved in the activities, your willingness to share memories . . .” He shrugged. “It brought a lightness to my heart that I haven’t felt in a long time.”

Gigi’s cheeks flushed. She hadn’t expected her love of the holidays to affect him so deeply, especially since she’d initially forced it on him to make him uncomfortable. But it had done the opposite—it had eased his pain.

And now, all she wanted to do was douse him in Christmas cheer. To make him smile and laugh. To help him love the season all over again—just like she did.

“We need to put your mother’s ornament in a very special place.” Gigi held the snow globe delicately, wanting to honor the memory of the woman Harris loved and missed. “It needs to be seen and appreciated every single day.”

Chapter Twelve

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