Page 46 of Wrapped Up in Christmas Hope
He chuckled. “True that.”
“Mommy, look at this ornament that Grammy found,” Greyson said, coming back into the living room from where he’d been helping her grandmother. “She said you made it when you were a little girl.”
Morgan smiled at the clothespin angel. “That was a long time ago. I can’t believe she still has it.”
She suspected she’d be that way and someday she’d be pulling out handmade ornaments from decades ago, possibly the ‘stained glass’ church that Greyson had made, to show his children. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of how quickly time was slipping by. That “someday” would be here much too soon. The thought made her a little light-headed. Good thing she wasn’t up on the stepladder.
“Grandmas keep those kinds of things,” Andrew said as he admired the angel. “Forever.”
Thankful for the distraction from her runaway thoughts, she asked, “Ruby has ornaments you made?”
He gave her a look that said, You’re kidding me, right? “Dozens. She has a tree dedicated to the ornaments her kids and grandkids have made for her over the years. It’s not the prettiest, compared to the glitz and glitter of the others she puts up, but she swears it’s her favorite.”
As Ruby was a sentimental woman, Morgan imagined the tree full of precious memories really was her favorite.
“I’d like to see them someday.” As soon as the comment left her mouth, she clamped her lips closed. Seriously? What kind of comment was that? She did not want to see ornaments he’d made as a little boy. Wanting that implied things that shouldn’t be implied between them.
“Did you make an angel, Andrew?” Greyson asked, handing the clothespin angel over to him to look at.
“Not one like this.” Andrew ran his fingers over the downy white feathers glued to the back to make the wings. “Your mom was talented even back then. That must be where you get it.”
Greyson turned big green eyes toward her. “Is it?”
She gave a small smile at the memories hitting her. “Maybe. Your dad didn’t like to sit still long enough for most kinds of artwork.”
Trey had appreciated beauty in various forms but had always joked that Greyson and any future children would be the only things of beauty he’d ever make. But there had been no future children.
“I must get that from him,” Greyson said, causing everyone in the room to laugh and pulling Morgan from the past.
“You get a lot from him. Like this,” she admitted, reaching out to play-pinch Greyson’s nose. She didn’t think he’d welcome her scooping him up for a hug with Andrew watching. He might only be five, but he was already having more and more independent moments when he didn’t want to be loved on publicly. “You definitely have your daddy’s nose.”
Which must have been just the right thing to say and do as Greyson giggled and squirmed around next to her as if trying to get his nose back.
“Phew,” Grammy said, coming back into the living room from where she’d been upstairs. “I can’t believe your grandfather missed the most important box of ornaments when he was carrying things down yesterday.”
“I didn’t have you here to tell me what to do,” Grampy teased, coming back into the room carrying a hand-painted flowerpot soldier that was almost as big as Greyson.
“Wish I’d been here to help,” Andrew said. “I’d have been glad to carry all these down for you.”
The sincerity in his voice had Morgan looking at him with a bit of awe. He hadn’t seemed to mind one bit that her grandmother had put them to work the moment lunch was cleared. Instead, he’d jumped in and seemed to be enjoying himself.
“I’ll keep that in mind next year, son,” Grampy said, shooting a meaningful look toward Andrew that had another whoosh of lightheadedness hitting Morgan. Would Andrew be around next year? “Greyson,” he continued, “will you get the front door so I can put this on the porch?”
First grabbing his ‘nose’ from where Morgan’s fingers were still clinched as if she held it, Greyson went to the door to help his great-grandfather, asking questions about the painted soldier as he went. Morgan could feel Andrew’s gaze on her, but she avoided looking at him. Mostly, because she knew Grammy was watching them with an eagle eye and probably had her phone recording a live feed to share with the other Butterflies. Did Andrew feel as awkward as she did over the way her grandparents were assuming that they were on their way to becoming a couple?
They weren’t. They weren’t anything.
Only, him being here with her and her family didn’t feel as if it wasn’t anything. It felt like something. Something big and important and exciting.
And scary.
“The tree looks great,” Grammy said, walking over to run her finger along a branch. “I’m making note of it for future reference: you two are officially our annual tree-trimmers.”
“Are you putting up another live tree today, Grammy?” Morgan asked, to emphasize that today was the only time she and Andrew would be trimming Christmas trees together.
“No, I meant—” Grammy paused, then waved her hand. “Oh, never mind. Don’t you just love the smell of a live tree?”
Morgan did, but wasn’t sure if she should let her grandmother off the hook that easily. Then again, she should probably be thankful her grandmother hadn’t pulled out mistletoe to dangle over her and Andrew’s heads. She sure wouldn’t put it past her if she thought that was what was best for Morgan.
