Page 10 of The Night Before Grumpmas
I had nothing to add to their conversation. So, I just sat there, nodding like a half-dead bobblehead, throwing out the occasional grunt or muttered, “I feel for you, poor bastards.” Which, apparently, they took as sympathy instead of the blatant sarcasm it was.
I nursed my whiskey like it was the only sane thing in the room. Their lives have turned into Pinterest boards come to life, and here I am—grateful as fuck that I can book a flight anywhere without asking for permission. Or, God forbid, coordinating schedules with someone else’s Pilates class.
Yesterday, I spent the day babysitting Emma so the happy couples—Max, Zoe, and the rest of their little lovefest—could go party with Caleb and Emmersyn in New York. Mom insisted I tag along to the party, probably to shove me in front of some poor, unsuspecting woman and start planning our wedding on the spot.
I took the “good son” route. Which, yes, is another lie. I wanted to avoid that blind-date-perfect-match situation like the plague. I overheard them talking—there were “friends” they could introduce me to. As if I’m just one cute blind date away from signing up for happily ever after.
The whole “you must be in love too” campaign my siblings and friends are on is too fucking exhausting. They’re like one big group of relentless matchmakers. It’s as if my singlehood is some kind of disease they’re trying to cure with excessive amounts of love and joy.
Here’s an idea, Liam and Audrey move into my apartment next to Ms. Holiday and I’ll head to the middle of nowhere where no one can find me. No little sister and brother-in-law swooping in from San Diego. No Max, Ethan, or Caleb dropping by from this side of the East Coast. No neighbor next door trying to . . . what is she even doing? Does she think food will magically fix my personality? Because the woman keeps dropping off food and baked goods like she’s trying to single-handedly solve world hunger.
It doesn’t matter. I’ll be away from all of them. Just peace and quiet.
No fucking blind dates. And definitely no soft, gooey, chocolate-chip-loaded, melt-in-your-mouth cookies that practically dissolve on your tongue and make you wonder if you’ve ever tasted happiness before.
They’re annoyingly perfect—crispy at the edges, warm in the middle. But I’m not letting a cookie, no matter how good it is, pull me into her festive little trap.
Noelle Holiday is the reason why I sit at Max and Zoe’s dinner table on a Sunday evening. Everyone’s here—well, everyone but Caleb and Emmersyn, who stayed in New York after last night’s party. I could easily slip out, not like they’d notice I was gone. I’ve always felt a little out of place in these moments.
Max and Zoe are sitting across from me, heads close together as they quietly laugh about something. Zoe looks at Max like he’s the only person in the world. And in exchange, he looks back at her like she hung the moon.
I’ll never understand how that happens—how people just know they’re meant to be together, like everything just clicks into place.
In my arms is baby Emma who gurgles and kicks her tiny feet, her big eyes watching me like I’m the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen. I’m not a kid person, never have been, but Emma . . . she’s different. I grin at her despite myself when she coos and grabs at my shirt with her chubby fingers.
“Hey, Em,” I murmur, leaning closer to her. “You gonna give your Uncle Jacob a break tonight, or are you gonna spit up on me again?”
Emma’s response is a happy squeal, her whole body bouncing with excitement. I chuckle softly, adjusting her in my arms. It’s ridiculous how much I adore this tiny human. There’s something about her—her innocence, maybe—that makes her the most lovable person in the room or maybe the world. It’s like she doesn’t have expectations and just loves you because you’re you.
“You’re a natural, you know,” Max says, smirking from across the table, watching me bounce his daughter on my knee like I’m some kind of baby whisperer. “You ever think about having kids of your own?”
“He needs todate—or at least knock someone up—before that can happen,” Liam throws in, leaning back with a shit-eating grin.
I glare at them both, biting back the urge to tell them to fuck off because, well, I’ve got Emma in my arms and I don’t need her first word to be a curse. “Yeah, Max, because between work and everything else, I’ve got so much time to settle down and start a family.”
Max rolls his eyes, like my very valid point is somehow ridiculous. “You say that like it’s impossible. We all have busy lives.”
“You’re the only one with a kid,” I mutter, but before I can fire off anything else, Audrey chimes in.
“We’re trying,” she says casually, then adds with a grin, “Well, I mean, we’repracticing, so maybe next year we’ll be making a baby.”
Liam, of course, has to pile on with his smug face. “Practice makes perfect.”
I groan, shooting a warning glance at him. “Shut up. The last thing I need to know is that you’re ‘practicing’ with my sister.”
Audrey snickers while Liam looks like he’s two seconds away from some smart-ass comeback, but I shake my head, tuning them out. I’ve got my hands full—literally—since Emma decides now’s the perfect time to grab a fistful of my shirt and gurgle like I’m her favorite person on the planet.
“One day you’ll find someone to settle down with,” Max says, like he’s delivering wisdom from on high.
I don’t respond. Just focus on bouncing Emma on my knee. Max doesn’t get it. None of them do. The whole idea of settling down—finding someone who actually wants to stick around, who doesn’t bail the second things get tough? It feels more like a myth than a reality.
They’ve all got it figured out, sure. But me? I’m not buying it.
I thought I had that once—with Chloe, back in college. We were going to take on the world together, or at least that’s what I thought every time I showed up at her door with coffee after her late shifts or sat through endless rants about her professors. I was there. Always. The good guy.
Then one day, I walked into her apartment—flowers in hand, no less—and found her tangled up with her roommate. The guy I shouldn’t be concerned about, he was disgusting. Apparently, he wasn’t disgusting enough or I wasn’t enough for her.
And then came Julia. I’ve been working for two years at the sports agency and just had my first promotion from associate agent to agent. She was driven, smart, and I liked that. I’d bring her lunch when she couldn’t leave the office, help her make connections in the sports world—hell, I introduced her to some of my clients. I thought we were on the same page. Turns out, she was just using me to climb her way up. The second she became an agent and started dating one of the high-profile athletes I helped sign, I became old news.
