Page 49 of Take Me Home

Hazel busied herself clearing a spot in the corner, and Ash helped her hoist the enormous tree into the stand, crawling under the scratchy, low branches to tighten the pegs. Sometime during this process, her father eventually drifted back from the door without another word.

While Ash crawled back out and took in the tree—leaning only slightly—Hazel sat heavily on the bed and covered her face with the too-long sleeves of Ash’s coat. With caution, he sat beside her, sinking into the mattress and tilting her into him, hooking an arm around her back. His heart hammered. He wasn’t entitled to hold her like this, but what else was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just sit there.

“Don’t look at me,” she whispered.

“I’m not,” he said, his heart tugging. “I’m looking at this adorable photo of you in a beret.”

She tried to bolt from the bed, but he pulled her back. She’duncovered her face, and he saw the tear streaks, the wet eyelashes she’d tried to hide.

“It’s so embarrassing,” she said, sniffling and ducking her head.

He squeezed her shoulder, tucking her into his side. “It’s cute as hell.”

After a few breaths, her resistance gave. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, blew out a shaky sigh. “You can go whenever.”

He rubbed his hand up and down her arm. She smelled like mint and vanilla, and he hoped a trace of her stayed on his jacket. “I will. But not yet.”

Chapter

Eleven

“How about this one?” Hazel held up a T-shirt with a sequined cat eating a donut.

Ash doubled back from a rack of sunglasses, many of which had been jammed in haphazardly or dropped on the floor by the frenzy of Christmas shoppers. He made a thoughtful face over the throng of people between them but shook his head. “Seems a little young. Lucy’s fifteen, you said?”

Hazel refolded the shirt and tossed it onto the table, where another shopper immediately snatched it up. A mass of shopping bags clobbered her in the back, and as she attempted to extricate herself from the sea of people closing in around her, someone else stepped on her foot. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

Ash waved at her, then pointed at the front of the store. She met him outside.

“This is ridiculous.”

He made a sympathetic face. “It’s five days before Christmas.”

“Did you find anything?”

“No. You?”

An entire family pushed their way between Hazel and Ash, making them stumble apart. Ash jerked his chin toward a landscaped alcove nestled between two candy-colored Vintage Square shops. The place was overrun with holiday shoppers and kids insweaters waiting to meet Santa in the gazebo. She plopped down on a bench. “I don’t know these people. How am I supposed to shop for them?”

That morning, Hazel had ventured from her bedroom late, hoping she’d missed breakfast and could fix herself something quick then retreat to her room, and instead, she found everyone gathered in the living room, assembling another artificial Christmas tree. A mountain of presents wrapped in brown paper with red ribbon covered the hearth and overflowed onto the floor beside it. Her name was written on several of the packages.

Five stockings had been added to the hooks over the fireplace as well, fancy embroidered ones similar to the Peruvian fiber art pieces she assumed were Val’s in the formal living room. The one with Hazel’s name on it had the same colors and motif of the others, though it looked newer, stiffer. It stopped her in her tracks. Someone hadmadehers to match. She assumed the elaborate stitching had been commissioned months ago.

Val perked up at the sight of her. “Oh, good. We were just going over today’s agenda. I’m picking up our suits and dresses from the dry cleaners later, and I realized I should have asked if you need your dress cleaned.”

“My dress?” Hazel said slowly.

“For the wedding.”

“I didn’t— I thought it was, like, a backyard thing.” Hazel looked to her father, who was snapping the top tier of the fake tree into place. “I’m supposed to have a dress?”

“Ah, I may not have been clear in my email.”

Email? Hazel pulled out her phone, scrolled through the mostly one-sided history of her and her father’s communications.

Hey, kiddo. In case you don’t get a spare minute to talk before finals, I’m passing along that the ladies’ dresses shouldbe cranberry for the wedding. Wear any style you like. Hope you’re keeping your head above water. Dad.

“Oh,” she said, too embarrassed to look up from her phone. She remembered this message, remembered skimming it quickly between tutoring sessions, irritated at the oddness of him informing her what “the ladies” were wearing. It hadn’t even occurred to her thatshewas one of the ladies. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood.”

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