Page 35 of Tied Up In Tinsel
The words knocked the breath from me. My heart lodged in my throat as I stared at her, my brow furrowed. Family.
She must have noticed my confusion because she leaned closer, dropping her voice to a whisper, yet it was still loud enough for both Brooks and me to hear. “I don’t want Brooks to leave. Can’t he stay forever?”
My throat tightened, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. My gaze lifted to Brooks, and the soft look on his face nearly undid me. Those deep brown eyes held mine, steady and unspoken, and for a heartbeat, I was lost.
Lost—and found—all at once.
“I don’t know about that, kiddo,” Brooks finally said, his voice gentle as he rescued me from the silence. “Once the holidays are over, you’ll be back in school, and you won’t need me anymore.”
The ache in my chest sharpened. Ruby’s smile faltered, but she nodded bravely, even as she pulled away from me.
And just like that, the reminder hit—our little bubble, this fragile holiday miracle, wasn’t meant to last. Soon, life would slip back into routine. Brooks would leave.
But for now, I clung to it. To the warmth of Ruby’s laughter, to the comfort of Brooks in my kitchen, to the flicker of holiday magic I hadn’t felt in years.
For the first time in a long time, the season didn’t feel heavy. It felt alive. It felt like hope.
Brooks
Fuck.
Ruby wanted me to stay.
That one line—so small, so innocent—hit me right in the chest like a sucker punch, knocking the breath straight out of me. I wasn’t prepared for it, not even close.
I was happy here. More than happy. It felt damn good to be surrounded by this kind of warmth, this kind of family-shaped feeling, especially around the holidays. Usually, Christmas meant packing up whatever town I’d passed through, another cheap motel room, another highway exit. As of lately, my holiday tradition was the blur of taillights and the hum of my truck.
Why I chose this year to make a pit stop in the most Christmas-soaked town the internet could cough up, I didn’t know. But I was so damn glad I did.
I loved Christmas, I always had. The lights, the food, the music, the excuse to eat sugar cookies before breakfast. But over the years—especially after I drifted apart from my family—the magic dulled. The season became something I observed through other people’s windows, not something I lived.
I guess I needed a reset. A reminder. And I’d found it, right here, in this house with Annie and Ruby.
We were at the dining room table now, all three of us. The plates were heavy with Ruby’s chosen menu—Parmesan-crusted chicken, mashed potatoes, and sautéed green beans. Not bad for a seven-year-old. In fact, better than not bad. Pretty damn impressive.
Where she got that idea beat the hell out of me.
I wouldn’t put it past this kid to watch the Food Network or steal one of Annie’s cookbooks for fun.
Ruby had stood on a chair earlier with me at her side, helping slice the potatoes into pieces small enough to mash, her little brow furrowed in concentration, her tongue poking out like she was handling a chef’s knife on a cooking show. She’d picked the recipe because the wordParmesanwas in the title, and that girl loved cheese like it was oxygen.
Now, she shoveled a forkful of potatoes into her mouth and asked, “Are we still going to take pictures with Santa?” Her words were muffled, potatoes clinging to her chin.
“Of course,” Annie said gently, giving her the Mom Look. “But maybe finish chewing before you talk.”
Ruby groaned as if her mother had asked her to clean the entire house. “But I just have so much to say.”
A laugh ripped out of me before I could stop it. She was too much.
Ruby turned her head, narrowed her eyes at me, and winked. A wink. At seven. I nearly choked on my green beans. This kid was dangerous and loved to get a rise out of me.
She swallowed, gulped down milk in a rush, and asked, “When are we going?”
“This weekend,” Annie answered.
Ruby held up her fingers, counting aloud, “One, two, three, four, five…” Her face pinched with concern. “But that will only be five days away from Christmas! Santa should be getting back to the North Pole by then. We won’t miss him, right?”
The sheer panic on her face was almost comical, but I swallowed my grin with a sip of milk. Ruby insisted I drink it, too, since it was Santa’s favorite. And honestly? When she looked at me with those serious eyes, I would’ve drunk anything she put in front of me.
