Page 119 of Daddies' Holiday Toy
Every so often, I catch him watching me out of the corner of his eye, like he’s about to ask about theotherthings but every time, he seems to think better of it.
A wise choice.
We hit the block where Holly lives just as another familiar set of headlights swings in from the opposite end of the street.
Jack. I’d know his truck anywhere.
He slows, parks neatly against the curb.
Reece pulls in right behind him, the engine ticking as he shuts it off. My pulse thumps in my throat.
Not just from whatever we’re about to walk into, but from the fact that it’s the three of us here.
I knew I’d have to face Jack sooner or later. I just figured it would belaterlater.
The snow’s thicker now, drifting sideways in the wind by the time we climb out of the warm cab.
Our boots crunching in near-unison, and for a moment we just wait in front of Holly’s apartment building, like this is some awkward reunion nobody wanted to plan for.
The streetlight above throws halos of light on our breath.
Jack’s the one to break the silence first. “Evening.”
Reece nods once, shoving his hands into his coat pockets, and flashes him an uneasy smile.
I just watch Jack, reading the slight tension in his shoulders and catching how his eyes flick to me for the briefest second before moving on.
No one moves toward Holly’s building right away.
After another long moment, Jack clears his throat and says, “Shall we?”
We fall into step without another word.
It’s almost muscle memory now, the route up to her place.
The same turns stepping off the elevator, the same scuffed corner where the carpet frays by her door, the same neighbor whose shadow moves below their door as they peek through their peephole.
By the time we reach her door, she’s already there with her door pulled open.
The warm light from inside spills into the dim hall, catching the edges of her hair and making them look golden.
Whatever tension’s been riding between the three of us gets shoved to the background the second we all see her face.
She’s smiling, sort of, but it’s one of those smiles that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
Something about seeing it doesn’t sit right with me.
“Hey,” she says softly. “You all made it. Good. Come in.”
The warmth inside her place wraps around me like a blanket, chasing away the last remnants of the bitter sting from outside.
I breathe in deeply, expecting to smell her scent lingering in the air but then garlic and rosemary hits me instead.
My eyes wander and spot a table set in the center of her small dining space.
Roast chicken, mashed potatoes so creamy they gleam under the light, green beans slicked with butter and dotted with slivers of almond all take up the small space.
Real plates with cloth napkins are set at four different spots.
