Page 72 of Holiday at Home
“I did too. But it just kept feeling wrong.”
“Oh come on! A trip to New York? Ice-skating? Big fat snowflakes falling as you pull the box out of your pocket? That has Simon Holiday written all over it.”
I shrug. “I wanted it to be special.”
“And that wasn’t special enough for you?” Robbie sits back. “Sheesh. Talk about high standards.”
“Come on. What wouldn’t you do for Nora?”
“I’d go to the ends of the earth for that woman.”
“Exactly.”
Robbie frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that standing there, under the Christmas tree, I had a better idea.”
“Better than Rockefeller Center?”
“Way better.”
Violet
Christmas comes and goes.
No ring.
I tell myself maybe Simon will propose on New Year’s.
Alas…
No ring.
He’s still a jittery mess, but I’m starting to think that has more to do with our grand re-re-opening than anything to do with us. After a year of planning and dreaming and late-night brainstorming over flour-dusted counters, we finally closed Sterling’s for two weeks in December to renovate—then reopen as Holiday Coffee & Cake.
Sure, that’shisname, not mine, but it was our shared dream from the start. Using it felt special. Like a full circle moment. And since the business belongs to both of us now, I didn’t just accept the name. Iwantedit.
I half expected Simon to protest—he always puts me first—but he didn’t. Which, honestly, only fueled my suspicion that aproposal was coming. After all, the name would fit if we were engaged.
But here we are.
The morning of our grand re-re-opening, and my left hand is still heartbreakingly bare.
The alarm goes off before sunrise. The house hums with the sound of the coffeemaker sputtering to life, cinnamon and roasted beans already drifting through the kitchen. Simon’s as jittery as his namesake brew, moving around like a man with too many thoughts in his head and not enough air to hold them.
He pours my drink and slides it toward me, the steam curling between us.
“In case I haven’t said it yet,” I tell him, wrapping both hands around the mug, “you were right. Coffee is so much more than brown water. I don’t know why I fought you on it for so long.”
Simon smiles, downs his espresso in one practiced motion, and refills his cup. I wait for a witty comeback, something about converting me to the dark roast side.
And wait…
And wait…
And—
“You about ready to go?” Simon asks instead, setting down his cup. “I wanna check the new sign, make sure everything’s perfect before we open to the public.”
