Page 48 of Stay this Christmas
Gently squeezing my hand, he laughed again, but it came out more genuine this time. “Harps, that wasn’t for you to fix. I needed to deal with that steaming mess in my own way.”
“I know. But it might have been nice to have a friend to help you through it.”
He watched me a little too long, that one word seeming to put a mile of distance between us on the couch even as we were physically closer than we’d been in years.Friend. I needed to cling to that word, hold it tight against my chest so I wouldn’t forget what we were doing here.
Because without that reminder? I’d have nothing to stop me from wrapping my arms around him and pressing my mouth to his.
FIFTEEN
sam
I heldHarper’s hand in mine, so close and yet still so far away.
That word again.Friend.
I had to take it as a good thing. She’d said it herself, so a big improvement from storming off angry when I’d called her that. But it wasn’t nearly what I wanted. Couldn’t very well lay all that on the line.FYI, Harper, I came back to Magnolia Ridge because I realized I want a home and a family, and I don’t want any of that without you. PS, Merry Christmas.
Would have been true, but way too much. Especially considering I’d just shared more with her than I’d shared with anyone. Georgia understood why I couldn’t stand Christmas, but we didn’t have to talk about it—she’d lived through it with me, of course she got it, even if we’d handled it differently. But I’d needed to let Harper in.
Weirdly, I felt a little bit lighter for having told her just what had happened that Christmas. It didn’t take my dislike away—I still thought it a massively fake time of year, and had chucked all but the true meaning behind it in the pile of made-up holidays meant to sell more stuff—but sharing the reasons for it had been the right thing to do.
“I didn’t know, Sam.” Her voice came out so soft and gentle, it twisted something in my chest. “If all this Christmas stuff is too much, we don’t have to do it. I won’t try to make you like—”
“No.” I cut her off before she could finish offering to spendlesstime with me. I’d had enough of that for a lifetime. “I don’t love all this like I used to. But I want to experience a little bit of it again. With you.”
Would a conversation with Harper ever go by where I didn’t have to ask myselfToo much?at the end? Apparently not. But I couldn’t lie to her and say I magically wanted to celebrate Christmas again. The only thing appealing about the season this year was the chance to spend even a small part of it with her.
“Okay.”
Her gaze darted between my eyes as if she were trying to sort something out. My sincerity, probably. My intentions, most definitely. Both fully genuine, even if she wasn’t convinced of it yet.
I barely moved as the moment dragged out, waiting to see what sort of conclusion she’d come to. I willed her to take the leap and choose me.
“I think it’s been half an hour,” she whispered.
Right. Cookies.
Her hand slipped away from mine, and she leapt from the couch, beelining for the kitchen. Pushing down my disappointment, I followed. I was supposed to be Patient Sam now, even if my whole body rebelled against it.
Harper pulled the chilled dough from the fridge. “You remember how to roll out dough, right?”
“Let’s just pretend I haven’t done it since high school.”
She made a face. “How about I roll the dough, and you cut out the cookies?”
“Deal.”
We worked side by side, the vanilla-sweet smell of her lotion or soap orsomethingdrifting over me. If I stood a little closer than I had to while she flattened the dough, well, I needed to be sure of her technique. Really, I did it all for Christmas.
“How’s your mom?” she asked while I cut out stars and bells.
Took me a minute to drag myself from her maddening scent before I could even think about answering her question. “She’s good. Sold the house here and moved to Houston after Georgia graduated high school.”
Those two years in town after the divorce had been rough on her, always confronted by my dad and his new wife. Selfishly, I’d been able to get away, but Mom and Georgia had stayed to face it all. She rarely mentioned him when we talked, but he loomed over conversations anyway, the elephant in every room. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d moved Georgia to finish out high school somewhere else, but she’d weathered it for my sister’s sake.
Harper put the first batch of pale little cookies in the oven. I pressed the cutter into the dough, slicing out more shapes, thinking about how she used to make sure we left as little behind as possible so we wouldn’t have to keep rolling it out again. The dough got tougher or something. Or didn’t look as nice. I couldn’t remember now.
“Georgia didn’t want to move to Houston after college?”
