Page 136 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
"Should we stop him?"Eve asks, flopping onto the couch beside me, her Pickle Christmas sweater catching on the pine garland we'd strung across the furniture.
I sip my cinnamon-spiced coffee."Let's see if he gets to the box with the pickle sweaters first."
"You bought pickle sweaters?"
"They were on sale.And my students insisted.The entire class voted between pickles and dinosaurs wearing Santa hats."
She leans into me, warm and content in the glow of Christmas lights."You're a menace.No wonder your students volunteered on Christmas morning."
"Hmm… they stayed because they like you and our dogs and cat," I remind her.
I look down at her, this brilliant, thoughtful woman who once thought she had to pretend to be something she wasn't, who now navigates social gatherings on her own terms, giving generously of herself without second-guessing herself all the time and without doubting her own worth.Knowing that everyone will like her and she can be cold, warm, funny and serious… she can be herself.
"Me neither," I whisper, and kiss her like there's no crash in the kitchen behind us, like Christmas carols aren't being drowned out by Blanche's excited barking.
Spoiler: there is definitely a crash.
We don't move right away.
"Merry Christmas," I whisper, knowing what I have planned for this afternoon is probably showing on my wide goofy grin I can't help.
"Merry Christmas.I love you," she murmurs back and she kisses me.Like the dogs and the cat aren't running around the house, like we don't have her parents and our friends arriving in a few hours and a whole community celebration.
In this moment, with pine scent in the air and "Silent Night" playing softly, it's just us.
And a box in my pocket that doesn’t feel heavy.But filled with a future I can’t help but smile about.
Chapter forty-four
EVE
AfterawonderfulChristmaslunch with my family topped with laughter and delicious food, my grandparents, Adam and I are in Sandwich Bay's quaint glassblowing studio.
Adam’s students are coming over in four hours.So, we still have a bit of time.The owner is a friend of my grandparents who’s been lonely for years and he’s showing us how to create glass ornaments with a smile on his face.The studio is toasty warm despite the December chill outside.Christmas music plays softly in the background, and tiny white lights twinkle around the workbenches.My grandfather moves with surprising agility for eighty-four, his arthritic hands steadier than they've been in years as he guides us through the process.
"Now, just like that, Adam.Gentle but confident," Papet instructs, his eyes twinkling behind his safety glasses."Glass responds to intention.Hesitate, and it knows."
Adam nods, concentrating with the same focus he gives difficult patients (or me sometimes).His sleeves are rolled up, forearms flexing as he carefully turns the blowpipe, the molten glass glowing orange at its end.
"You're a natural," Papet tells him, and the pride in Adam's eyes makes my heart do that fluttery thing I'm almost accustomed to by now.
"He's got good hands," I say, my cheeks flushing when Mamet, my grandmother, chuckles knowingly.
"So I've heard," she stage-whispers, making Papet snort and Adam drag a hand over his face.
A year has passed since I took the school nurse position, and I've made actual progress in establishing partnerships between healthcare and veterinarians with a focus (for now) on cancer patients.
It's enough that I'm writing grants now.And I'm working with Landon to build a pipeline for students to do paid internships with us, giving them a wage that enables them to live.When I was looking for my first jobs, I ended up dependent on Chuck and I don't want that for them.No one should have to choose between a foot in the door and paying rent.
A year of laughter.Of small arguments over whether the best holiday movie isThe HolidayorWhile You Were Sleeping(why make anyone choose?And yes, While You Were Sleeping may have some issues, but as someone who didn’t tell the whole truth, I guess I get it).Of late-night discussions that somehow circle back to whether Dorothy is actually part gremlin.
A year of iZombie rewatches, because that's still our thing.Of me crocheting an emotional support pickle family and Adam crocheting a couple more to go with them.(They still look like testicles.He insists they're brains.We’ve agreed to disagree.)
Of bigger arguments that we work through, because we both work on ourselves and at showing up for one another.
Because us getting together didn't erase the anxiety that sometimes runs through me or the fear that makes me snappier and less patient.Or the need for him to prove himself useful that sometimes drives me wild.
Of falling asleep together.His hands on mine.His mouth.His...everything.
