Page 52 of Tied Up In Tinsel
“Will you stay here when you visit?”
“That’s up to your mom.”
“Can we get a picture of us with Santa framed?”
“Absolutely.”
Ruby held out her hand.
“We have to shake on it.”
So I slid my large hand into her small one and sealed the promise that I’d come back, that I was her friend, and that I wouldn’t leave these two behind.
Annie
Christmas was only two days away, and somehow, I’d managed to wait until the very last minute to wrap Ruby’s gifts.
The living room looked like a Santa-sized bomb had gone off—shredded rolls of paper, tangled ribbon, and glittering bows scattered across the hardwood. I felt buried in the chaos, but at least I wasn’t alone. Brooks was here, sitting cross-legged on the floor with me, both of us armed with tape and scissors, two half-empty glasses of wine within reach.
The fire crackled in the hearth, soft Christmas music floated through the air, and the tree glowed with twinkling lights, its tinsel catching every flicker of flame and starburst of color. For all the mess on the floor, the room still felt magical, as if the season itself had slipped beneath my skin and was humming through my veins.
Brooks concentrated hard on the package in front of him, tongue caught slightly between his teeth as he folded the corners just so. I’d already learned he had a surprising amount of patience when it came to things like this. He wanted it perfect, just like the others stacked neatly beneath the tree.
I looked at the growing pile. Where on earth was I even going to hide them all? Usually, I stashed presents in the spare roomBrooks had been staying in. The thought of asking him to take on that responsibility, too, made me hesitate. I knew if I asked, he’d say yes without a second thought.
That was the thing about Brooks. He said yes. Always. Not because he had to, but because he cared. Really cared.
Like the other night with Ruby. I’d been ready to step in when she was upset, but Brooks had gone instead. He sat down on her floor, wrapped her in patience and quiet strength. Their laughter carried down the hall moments later. The sound had melted something deep in me, and maybe broken something too.
Because Ruby was attached to him. She’d grown close—closer than I’d expected—and now, he was leaving. The guilt sat heavy in my chest. If I’d known how much of an impact he would have on her…on me…would I have ever asked him to take this job?
It wasn’t regret. Not at all. But the thought of saying goodbye felt like it might hurt more than I’d prepared for.
Still, he didn’t have to be here tonight. He didn’t have to help me fight through ribbon that refused to curl or paper that kept tearing at the seams. He could’ve gone to bed, called it a night, and no one would’ve blamed him.
But here he was.
Brooks inspected the box he’d just finished with a critical eye before setting it on the pile, looking more than a little pleased with himself.
Long legs stretched out across the rug now, his weight supported by the couch as his presence filled the room, steady and grounding.
“I don’t think I’ve ever wrapped this many presents in my life,” he admitted, his voice warm with amusement.
“Christmas with the Cringle girls is never a dull moment,” I said, with a crooked grin.
Brooks returned it with one that sparked in his eyes, too. My heart tripped over itself at how easy he made everything feel.
“But my fingers need a break.”
“You don’t have to stay up, you know,” I said softly, though a part of me desperately wanted him to. “You’ve already helped me so much.”
Brooks shook his head without hesitation. “Oh, no. I’m seeing this one through.”
The firelight danced across his face, throwing shadows along his jaw, catching in his hair. And in that moment—with the mess of wrapping paper all around us, the warmth of the wine in my chest, and his easy determination anchoring me—I realized that no matter how temporary this was supposed to be, Brooks had already wrapped himself into everything that mattered.
I needed a break, too. My fingers were stiff from folding corners and pulling ribbon, and my head felt fuzzy from too much focus and maybe from the wine. Pushing myself to my feet, I stepped carefully around the battlefield of paper scraps and bows littering the floor. With a soft sigh, I plopped down on the rug beside him, close enough to feel his warmth radiating, the fire crackling directly in front of us.
The room seemed different now. The music hummed low and sweet, the fire popped and hissed, and the wine settled deep in my chest like a glow I didn’t want to shake off. The mood had shifted, subtle but undeniable.
