Page 97 of Red Hot Roaster

“I’m not sure I’m hungry right now. Rose, I need to tell you—”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Rafe!” She puts a fist on her hip and points the spatula at me. Ready to take me on.

“Okay, okay. You choose—whichever you decide to have.” Maybe I’m not too late.

She motions toward a stool at the island, and I plant myself on it, Princess and Pirate settling at my feet. Hoping for a handout, but I know that chocolate is bad for dogs.

“Bacon’s in the oven. It wouldn’t be Christmas morning breakfast without bacon and truffles.”

“And coffee.” Going with the flow.

“Of course.” She pours me a cup from the French press with her free hand and passes it my way.

“Your very own Santa Paws blend, Rafe.”

I toast her, trying to wait patiently until she sits down. Hoping I’m not too late.

Rose flips off the burner and switches off the oven. She pulls out the bacon, piling it high on a serving dish. She struts over with the skillet to scoop out a half dozen dark chocolate truffles on each of our plates. The dogs spring up when she lands the bacon dish between us.

“Toss them some strips, Rafe, and take some for yourself.”

She gets her cup off the counter and comes back to sit down.

Finally. I open my mouth to tell herI’m sorry I hurt you. I was wrong. You make me better. I want to come home.

I need you. I love you.

Before I can get my words out, she presses her fingers over my lips. Her sad smile doesn’t reach her sadder eyes.

“You’re right, Rafe. We can’t do this again. It’s too late.”

Rose, the dogs, the kitchen, all melt away. I’m on my knees in front of her house. Too late, I recognize what she’d been singing—an Elvis favorite, “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” If only in my dreams...

A cold nose nudged the side of my face, hard. I was flat on my back in bed, my cheeks wet. Had Princess been licking me? No. Tears had slid down onto my jaw and neck too.

A whimper had me shifting my eyes to the right. She sat on the other pillow, frowning at me with worry like dogs do.

“It’s okay, baby girl.” I dragged myself up to sit against the headboard and scrubbed my face with my palms. She whimpered again, and I pulled her in for a hug, twisting to the left to make sure the framed photo was still there on the nightstand.

It was normally the first thing I saw in the morning and the last thing I saw at night, but this was not a normal morning, and last night had been anything but normal.

My sleep had been fitful, at best, and I’d kept reaching over to light up my phone. No joy then—and none now—when I grabbed it to check for messages, voice mails,anythingfrom Rose. My screen informed me it was Sunday, 9:22 (or 8:22 Portland time), and that was it.

Radio silence, again. I closed my eyes and slumped over for a few minutes—until the chiming started.

One alert sounded after another, after another, after another. I opened the phone to see texts from Finn, Mateo, Lauren, Jean-Luc. Hell—I was surprised I didn’t see one from Pirate.

Finn’s set the tone for all the others:

Sunday * 9:42 a.m.

Finn

What The Fuck, Rafe? Why is my mother crying her eyes out? She says it was her decision. I thought you were going to do the right thing. WHAT THE FUCK?

Running downstairs, Princess on my heels, I made one last decision on my own. Then I replied to everyone’s texts:

Sunday * 9:54 a.m.

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