Page 22 of Tied Up In Tinsel
I shrugged. “Work. Bull riding was my life. Never had time to settle down, never wanted to slow down. But life… has a way of humbling you.”
I thought of all the recklessness, the risks, the parties, the adrenaline rushes that used to keep me alive. Then I thought about the fall that changed everything. About how I’d stayed as close to the sport as I could without climbing back onto a beast determined to throw me.
“So you never pictured yourself with kids?”
I shook my head. But, that didn’t mean I couldn’t be easily swayed.
“That’s a shame,” she said softly. “You’re pretty damn good with Ruby.”
We fell into easy conversation after that, talking about the Christmas party she was catering, the menu, her excitement. I liked listening to her. She spoke with her whole body, her eyes sparkling, her hands moving in the air like they were painting her words.
My hand never left her leg. Her leg never pulled away. If anything, she leaned into my touch.
I let my fingers trace a lazy path up and down, memorizing the warmth, the softness, the way the air between us seemed to hum.
By the time we’d drained our glasses and stood, there was a moment—just a heartbeat—where neither of us moved.
She lingered there, close enough for me to see the faintest part in her lips, like she was about to say something. But instead, she turned away, shuffling in her socks toward the sink.
I watched her go, every sway of her frame committing itself to memory, until she disappeared down the hallway with a final wave goodnight.
Brooks
“This?” I asked, staring at Ruby, who was holding out a princess gown.
“Yes,” she said with the kind of confidence only a seven-year-old could muster. “You have to wear this.”
I arched a brow. “Ruby, that won’t fit me.”
“Pleeeaasseee,” she drew the word out like she was auditioning for a soap opera. “This is the one my Uncle Ollie wears. He won’t mind sharing.”
I eyed the pink gown again. Layers of tulle, sparkly trim, a faint scent of plastic. Not my usual style. Then Ruby’s face lit up like Christmas morning when I took it from her tiny hands, and she clapped with excitement.
She’d talked me into a tea party instead of going outside in the snow this afternoon. No snowball fights, no sledding—apparently, today was for gowns, tiaras, and grape juice served in the “good” cups. She’d woken up with her hair a wild mess, pajamas hanging crooked on her little frame, and announced the day’s plan like it was law.
“Fine,” I said, holding the dress up with a sigh. “I’ll give it a shot.”
“You can get changed in my mom’s room because I have to use the bathroom.”
She took off running toward the downstairs bath, her ball gown trailing behind her.
I could have gone upstairs to my room to change, but a small part of me feared that if I got stuck trying to wriggle into this thing, I’d be stranded up there like some glitter-covered casualty. So, taking Ruby’s suggestion, I made my way into Annie’s room.
Taking advice from a 7-year-old about going into her mom's room felt like a bold move, but I did it anyway because curiosity also won out.
I knocked, even though I knew she wasn’t in there, before easing the door open. Stepping inside felt… intimate. Like I’d crossed into a space that wasn’t mine.
The room smelled like her—cinnamon and sugar with just enough spice to make me curious. The bed sat in the middle, a nightstand on each side. I wondered if this had been the same bed she’d shared with her ex-husband. The thought made something twist low in my chest. Knowing what kind of man he’d turned out to be, part of me wanted to rewrite the history of this space, give her better memories here.
Before Ruby came knocking with that impatience only kids possess, I stripped down to my underwear and stepped into the pink tutu gown her uncle apparently wore without shame. Just as I expected, I managed to pull it up, but the zipper gave up halfway.
It would have to do.
I stepped out into the hallway, only to find Ruby waiting like she’d been guarding the door. In her hands, she held out a rhinestone tiara.
“This one goes perfectly,” she said solemnly.
I took it, the delicate band cool between my fingers, and settled it on my head. My unruly black hair nearly swallowed the thing whole, but I still gave her a grin. Then, because I was fully committed at this point, I dipped into a slow, exaggerated curtsy. She giggled, then mirrored the motion with perfect princess poise.
