Page 46 of Tied Up In Tinsel
But this one? This kid officially held onto a piece of my heart.
Of course, the moment couldn’t last.
Ruby snatched a leftover snowball and smacked me in the shoulder.
“Hey!” I growled.
She grinned, already running. “Truce is over!”
I chased her across the yard, laughing despite myself, letting her think she could outrun me. Her squeals rang through the snow-covered lodge grounds, and for a moment, I let myselfimagine what it’d be like if this wasn’t temporary. If she really did have me around all the time.
The thought scared me half to death.
And warmed me all the same.
Annie
As Christmas crept closer, unease tugged at me in quiet, relentless ways. Usually by now, I’d be running on fumes—barely present for myself, hanging on only because Ruby needed me. Most people wore their joy easily this time of year, stringing up lights and humming carols as if merriment were stitched into their bones. For me, the season had always carried a different weight.
This year, though, the heaviness had held off longer than usual.
I couldn’t help but wonder how much of that had to do with Brooks.
He was a distraction in the best and most unexpected way—a steady hand when my days blurred with responsibility, an anchor when my thoughts wanted to drag me under. With him around, I could breathe just a little easier, laugh just a little more often.
But tonight was different.
During a long, grueling meeting with the Mayor’s board, I’d swear I heard my mother’s laugh. Just for a second. Clear as day.
The sound had hit me like a freight train, scattering my focus, leaving me rattled and raw. I kept my composure, nodded at theright places, even managed to string together rational words—but the ghost of that laugh followed me home.
Now, in the quiet, the ache sharpened. I missed her. Missed my dad, too. No matter how many years had passed, Christmas hadn’t been the same without them, and I doubted it ever would be. And when I layered that grief with the betrayal of catching my husband cheating not long after their deaths—well, it was no wonder the holidays felt more like a storm than a celebration.
It was almost cruel, living in a town where joy was practically the brand. Where people sang in the streets and decorated every porch like it was a contest. All that cheer only served as a reminder of what I’d lost.
“I can see something’s on your mind,” Brooks said quietly.
I glanced at him. He was kneading slow, firm circles into my foot, his head bent in concentration like he was determined to undo more than just knots in my muscles. My other hand cradled a glass of wine—also his doing. He’d poured it the moment I’d walked in late, drained and brittle.
Ruby had been long tucked into bed, so I’d kissed her forehead, whispered goodnight, and then collapsed here, unwilling to move further. Food had no appeal, though Brooks wasn’t thrilled about that. It had taken negotiation—me promising to let him rub my feet instead—for him to relent.
“This time of year is just… hard,” I admitted at last, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.
He nodded knowingly. “You’ve mentioned your parents before, and that buffoon of an ex-husband.”
I snorted despite myself. “Exactly. Not exactly a recipe for holiday cheer. I used to love Christmas, but somewhere along the way, it lost its spark.”
Brooks’ lips curved into a sympathetic, tight smile. “You miss them.”
I swallowed, the truth sharp in my throat. “Not my ex-husband—my parents.”
“I figured,” he said, his thumb pressing into the ball of my foot just right. The tension in me cracked, and I let out a groan, tilting my head back. God, it felt too good.
“What’s bringing it up tonight?” Brooks asked after a beat.
I lowered my gaze to the wineglass in my hand, tracing the rim with my finger. “I thought I heard my mom’s laugh today. Just for a second. I’ve been holding it together so far this year, but that…” My voice faltered. The familiar sting gathered in the corners of my eyes. I tried to blink it back, tried to hold myself steady. I didn’t cry in front of people. Especially not in front of men. My tears were for the dark and the quiet, for spaces where no one else could see me unravel.
But Brooks noticed. His hands stilled. He gave my foot a gentle tap, as if asking me to meet him halfway.
