Page 137 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
"Now for the tricky part," Papet says, guiding Adam to the bench."We're going to shape it."
Together, they work the glass, Adam following my grandfather's instructions with careful precision.I watch as the glowing mass slowly transforms, taking shape under their four hands, Papet's weathered ones and Adam's steady, capable ones.
"A heart," Mamet whispers to me."He wanted to make a heart."
My throat tightens as I remember my grandfather's original heart ornament.The one that shattered last Christmas, the one Chuck tried to use as a weapon against me.The one that survived everything until that night.
"Eve, come help," Papet calls, and I move closer, the heat from the glass warming my face and sweat dripping down my back."This is the part where we add the details."
With tools I can barely name, we work together—my grandparents, Adam, and me—adding swirls and patterns to the heart.
One hour later, we stand back and admire our creation.The heart is beautiful.Deep red with swirls of gold and clear glass.The light catches it differently from every angle, revealing new details each time it turns.
"It's perfect," I breathe.
"Almost," Papet says, taking it carefully with the rod."It still needs to rest.It will still change.Transforms.And be even more beautiful."
As he settles it down, my phone buzzes with a text.I glance down to see Claire's name.
Claire
So, my sources in Chicago are telling me that Jennie has been promoted and has been making a difference.Chuck may actually testify against his father.Still no therapy for him, though.And he still hasn’t been reinstated.
I show the message to Adam, who reads it without comment but gives my hand a squeeze.We’ve both learned that Chuck’s journey is his own—and more importantly, no longer my responsibility.
“There,” Papet announces, holding up our finished creation.“Perfect.”
The heart ornament sparkles in the studio light, stronger and more beautiful than its predecessor.Like me, I think.Like us.
“Oh!I just remembered,” Mamet suddenly exclaims with the worst fake surprise I’ve ever witnessed.“We promised to meet your parents at the beach for that...thing.”
“Thing?”I repeat.
“You know, the...Christmas...beach...thing,” she elaborates with all the subtlety of Dorothy trying to steal socks.
Adam suppresses a smile.“Right.The Christmas beach thing.”
“It will take about forty-eight hours to be ready” the studio owner says, carefully placing our creation in a different oven.“It needs to cool completely before you hang it.”
Outside, the December air hits with a bracing freshness that makes me tug Adam’s scarf higher around my neck.He’s wearing the one I crocheted for him last month, green with tiny pickles that only look vaguely inappropriate if you squint.
“We’ll meet you young folks there.Mamet and I need to...get something from the car.”
“Subtle,” I murmur to Adam as my grandparents shuffle away with suspicious speed.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” he says innocently, tugging me toward the stairs.
The steps down to the shore are dusted with snow, but someone has cleared a path.At the bottom, tiny lanterns mark a trail across the sand, and I can see more lights ahead.
“Did you—”
“I did nothing,” Adam insists, though his eyes tell a different story.
As we follow the lantern path, I can make out figures in the distance.The beach opens up before us, and my heart catches at what I see: my parents standing with what appears to be our entire dog and cat family and our friends: Mike, Claire, and Jamie; Poppy; Tristan; Julie and Landon; Jack and Harper; Kellan and Zoe; Wes, Noelle, and Megan.Blanche is wearing a ridiculous doggy Santa hat, Dorothy has a red bow around her neck, LoverBoy has antlers, and even Mama Bear Sophia (who generally refuses any form of accessory) is tolerating what looks like a tiny cape in one of those carry-on bags she loves.
“How did they—” I start, but Adam squeezes my hand.
“Surprise!”Mom calls out.“We thought we’d have a little Christmas beach gathering.”
