Page 65 of Holiday at Home
Love.
27
Simon
The house is steeped in the hush of Christmas morning.
The tree glows in the corner of the living room, a hundred tiny lights casting gold across the room, glittering off the ornaments and the glossy ribbons curling down the mountain of presents below. Stockings hang heavy from the mantle, stuffed, full, promising. The air smells faintly of pine and sugar cookies, of the night before and everything that’s still to come.
I move quietly through it, careful not to wake anyone. There’s one last gift I want to tuck under the tree before the day begins.
I had no idea how Violet would react to the conversation we had in the kitchen last night. Sure, I had my hopes and my dreams and had planned for several of her possible answers.
This present?
It’s my favorite possible outcome.
The next important question in a stream of important questions.
I kneel, sliding it into place, then sit back on my heels to admire the scene. It’s perfect.
I should go back to bed, but sleep’s impossible. I’m buzzing with anticipation. Coffee, it is. I turn toward the kitchen…
…and nearly leap out of my skin when a small shadow launches off the bottom step.
“Aha!” a voice cries, triumphant and high-pitched.
“What in the—” I stumble backward, reaching for a throw pillow. If a Navy SEAL considered it an appropriate weapon against intruders, who am I to question?
A mop of messy brown hair pokes up from behind the couch. “Uncle Simon?”
“Nash?” I lower the pillow, exhaling. “What are you doing up, little man?”
He rubs his eyes, his pajama shirt twisted sideways. “I heard noises and thought it was Santa. I wanted to catch him and prove his name isn’t Roger.”
I grin and gesture toward the tree. “Looks like youjustmissed him, bud. But I think he left you a few things.”
Nash turns, his mouth falling open as he takes in the sight. “Whoa.” He spins toward me, eyes wide with wonder. “Can you believe it, Uncle Simon?”
That look—pure, unguarded joy—hits me square in the chest. I ruffle his sleep-wild hair. “Pretty amazing Christmas, huh?”
He glances up at me with his father’s nose and his mother’s eyes and the strangest feeling twists in my heart. What must it be like to look at a little face and see both yourself and the person you love most in the world?
What would it be like to look at my child?To see Violet’s eyes and my lips… my mother’s smile?
I clear my suddenly tight throat and head for the kitchen. “I was just about to make coffee. Want some?”
“Mom says I’m too little for coffee.”
“Your mom’s a smart lady. We should probably listen to her.”
“Yeah. Dad says that all the time.”
I pour water into the machine, the gurgle filling the silence. “Your dad’s a smart guy, too.”
Nash grins, proud. “He says he got smart by listening to Mom.”
I chuckle, grabbing a second mug. “You know what I think?”
