Page 37 of Crazy About Love (All About Love)

“I heard that, traitor!” Jace calls from inside, and once Theresa has unloaded the presents from my arms I’m able to take the petite, elderly woman into my arms for a hug. Her short, curled hair tickles my five o’clock shadow, and she smells strongly of pumpkin spice. It reminds me of home in Pennsylvania, which gives me feelings of nausea and nostalgia in equal measure.

“You’re putting on some muscle here, aren’t you?” she says, patting my arm as she pulls away.

“You’re being kind,” I answer with a grin, reaching for Theresa to help her out of her coat. The warmth on the material from her body heat sends an unexpected jolt through my stomach. It’s an uncontrollable reaction I get from time to time; I’ve just learned to deal with it. I have trained myself to believe that it is all because she is one of my closest friends, and that the response could very well happen with anyone. I’m just in her company the most often, especially lately.

After hanging up our coats and rolling up my sleeves, I relieve Jace from his pathetic attempts at starting a fire and get embers going in less than a minute. Boy Scouts; I don’t advertise it, but it sure comes in handy.

Theresa and Jace are poking around the tree, trying to find the one lightbulb that’s made the entire strand black out. Grandma Carver clinks something in the kitchen, reminding me of last year when Theresa passed me a full plate of turkey and let go before I had a good hold on it. The dish crashed to the floor, and Theresa and Lizzie scurried to pick up as many pieces as they could within the ten-second-rule timeline.

“Found it!” Theresa shouts, holding up a bulb between her delicate fingers. Jace hands her a replacement light, and I watch, a bit mesmerized by the care she takes and her victorious smile when the strand glows to life, lighting her Christmas-sparked features.

Before I become all too enamored with my best friend again, I quickly look at Jace, who is currently trying (and failing) to get the window clings to stick. I give him props for endurance, because I’d have given up after the third or fourth snowflake fell to the floor.

Grandma Carver shuffles in, clapping her hands at the fire and the tree. “Ah, it’s perfect,” she says.

“I can’t get these damn things on,” Jace says with a laugh. He pounds the Santa against the glass, only to have it unstick and fall to his feet seconds later.

Grandma Carver waves a hand at him. “Don’t mess with those silly things. And language, dear.”

“Like you give a sh—” He stops guiltily at his grandma’s stern look. “Uh…hoot about language.”

“On our good Lord’s birthday I do.” She reaches around to untie her frilly apron. “So, presents or food first?”

Jace says presents, I say food, and Theresa pushes up off her knees, that smile still spread wide on her lips, and says, “Both.” Since Grandma Carver is the deciding vote, she goes with food first. I’ve always liked her.

I pick a spot next to Theresa, on purpose because sitting across from her is too distracting, but also because we pick off each other’s plates. Yeah, we’re all eating the same thing tonight, but we figure our two plates equal one giant one, so we can get one of everything in a single go. Our arms bump and our forks dance around each other, and Jace eats like this isn’t going on, mostly because he’s used to it by now. Grandma Carver, however, watches us with fascination.

Theresa and Jace are too excited about ripping into the wrapping paper to let us clean up first, so we leave the empty dishes and pull our full bellies into the living room. The present I stuffed into my coat pocket is still there, and I consider retrieving it, but I think I’d rather give that one in private. Too many misconceptions are at risk in front of an audience.

Grandma Carver sits in her modern high-backed chair, sipping on her apple cider, grinning at the gift Jace enthusiastically sets on her lap. Most of the presents under the tree are from “Santa,” with the exception of the special ones we got for each other. There are several crocheted wonders from Grandma C., including a beard that I open with a hearty laugh and put on for about half the night until Theresa steals it. I have been cursed with a very light facial hair growth, so the red yarn actually matches her more than it does me. The pictures go up on Instagram almost immediately.

The pile diminishes dramatically, and Theresa’s brow furrows deeper and deeper as we get down to the last few. She has two left, and I can tell the hard frown on her lips is because of the lack of a gift from me. I play it oblivious.

“This one is actually for both of you,” Grandma Carver says, gesturing to the one Theresa picked up. “And careful!” Her eyes widen at Theresa’s enthusiasm with the wrapping paper. “It’ll tear.”

Theresa bites her lip in her adorable “whoops” face, and slides closer to me so I can help get it open. Not that she needs it.

“I found these during the last storage unit clean-out,” Grandma Carver tells us as several books of sheet music fall into our laps. “My husband was a wonderful piano player. He collected all his favorite pieces from plays and concerts. ‘Deck the Halls’ was always his most cherished piece, which is why it looks so well used.” She laughs, smiling at the Christmas book Theresa is flipping through. “He’d play that song mid-July just to drive me batty.”

Jace snorts, reaching over to pat his grandmother on the knee. “And he’d play it louder and louder, standing up, banging like a madman on the keys. I thought he was going to break your poor baby grand.”

“We had to replace keys on that more often than I cared to.”

They laugh, and I chuckle until Theresa’s arm brushes mine and one of those unexpected thrills rushes through my skin. She whispers low in my ear, warming me to the very bone.

“I don’t think I can take these. I’m not very close with Jace’s grandmother, and these are…they’re important, aren’t they?”

In lieu of stroking a thumb across that rosy cheek (which is what I’d really like to do, but I’m unsure how that small caress will affect the platonic vibe I’ve worked extremely hard for), I settle a hand on the sheet music and nod.

“Grandma, I don’t think we can—”

“Oh, please take them.” She waves me off. “I can’t play worth a lick, and they should be put to good use.”

I open my mouth to argue again, but Theresa places a soft hand on my wrist to stop me.

“Thank you, Grandma. We’ll put them to alotof good use.”

Grandma Carver smiles behind her mug, and Jace kicks a present over to Theresa.

---