Page 48 of Holiday at Home
The words settle in my chest like warmth spreading through cold hands. I fold the note carefully, tucking it into my back pocket like something sacred.
“I feel like I should ask if you want coffee,” I say to Nora and Robbie, “but I don’t even know where she keeps it. I’m not usually here this early.”
Nora laughs and shakes her head. “Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll make the coffee.” She busies herself by opening cabinets and scooping grounds, humming softly to herself.
I take a seat at the table while Robbie drops across from me, that familiar grin lighting his face.“Man. Ole Si and Vi, back together again. It’s a Christmas miracle.”
“Hopefully not a Christmas mistake.” Nora fills the carafe with water, hitting me with a heavy dose of the side-eye. “Listen. Violet’s been walking a fine line with you. The only way she’s gotten this far is by reminding herself it’s okay to have a little fun with someone who used to mean a lot to her. She’s had a tough year. Don’t lead her on.”
Is that what she thinks this is?
A little fun?
It sure feels like more than that to me.
“I’ll be careful,” I say to Nora. “Violet means a lot to me. These last days together have shown me just how much.”
The coffee maker sputters to life, and the sound fills the stillness like a heartbeat. Robbie chuckles, turning toward his son. “Did you see that, Nash? Your Uncle Simon stormed the living room like a one-man SWAT team. Armed with a shoe. Just because we’re trying to surprise Aunt Violet.”
I could mention that his choice of weapon was significantly less effective but choose silence over violence.
Nash’s eyes widen. “I didn’t know he was my uncle. Is that because he’s gonna marry Aunt Violet?”
Robbie shoots me a look—half amusement, half apology. “Simon’s an honorary uncle. When we were young, he was my best friend.”
Nash looks at me with curiosity, head tilted, studying me. “So what’s he doing here at Aunt Vi’s?”
All eyes in the room laser in on me, equally interested in the answer to that question.
I glance toward the living room, where the Christmas tree twinkles through the doorway—soft, patient light spilling across the floor. My hand brushes against the folded note in my pocket.
Trying not to screw up the best second chance I’ve ever been given,I think.
Out loud, I say, “Having fun with old friends, apparently.”
20
Violet
I walk to the bakery on a cloud of delight. It’s chilly enough to make me wonder about Simon’s newfound love of snow. I happily snuggle into my coat, grinning up at the Christmas lights draping between palms in my neighbor’s yards. They twinkle and sparkle… just like me. Last night was wonderful from start to finish. Zero regrets. Five stars. Would do again.
Willdo again. Promptly upon returning home from work, if I have anything to say about it.
The thought of possibly coming home to Simon has me doing a happy little shimmy. There was something so sweet and right andtouchingabout sneaking out of bed this morning, careful not to wake him, and then tiptoeing around the house, knowing he was upstairs. The only thing better would’ve been the two of us waking up together, taking this brisk morning walk lit by the glow of Christmas cheer together, then working side by side in the bakery.
Together.
But Elizabeth is feeling better, and asking Simon to work on his vacation is just plain selfish. So he’s asleep and I’m daydreaming and she’s waiting for me when I get to Sterling’s, leaning on the window with her arms crossed and a knowing smile on her face.
“What’s with the grin?” I ask, digging into my purse for the key.
“A little birdie told me that you found someone extra special to fill in for me yesterday.” Elizabeth’s grin deepens, a crooked thing, dripping with delight.
I lean dreamily on the wall beside her. “Don’t take this the wrong way because I hate that you didn’t feel well, but… I’m really glad you called in sick.”
A blush flares across my cheeks, not from embarrassment, but from bliss, from life blooming in my veins. Like hot cocoa laced with peppermint, and a solitary cup waiting on my porch one cold December morning.
Like warmth blooming in the heart of winter, proof that joy still survives the cold.
