Page 124 of Beautifully Messy
“I’ll set an alarm. We’ll wake before anyone notices.” I kiss him one last time and snuggle deeper into his arms.
Another breath leaves him, slower now, softer. His arms tighten around me, and his lips brush the crown of my head. My heart thuds with the quiet, terrifying certainty of it all. And when sleep finally comes, it’s deep. Undisturbed. Dreamless in the best way.
Thirty-Nine
Thesoftchimeofmy alarm stirs me in the blue-gray hush of early morning.
Warmth cocoons me on both sides—Anna’s tiny body curled against my front, and behind me, the solid weight of James. His breath warms the back of my neck as I turn to find him already awake, green eyes drowsy and soft, moving from my face to Anna’s.
“Merry Christmas.” His lips brush mine in a gentle morning kiss.
I lean into him, savoring the quiet perfection of this moment while reality waits beyond the door. We trade whispered plans about sneaking him out, our stifled laughter making us feel like teenagers breaking curfew. In the bathroom, our kiss deepens. His hands thread through my hair until I reluctantly pull away.
“One more day. Then no more hiding,” I say, peppering kisses along his jaw.
“I’m going to reserve a room at the resort for a few nights. Okay?”
I kiss him for confirmation, long and slow, knowing this will be our last for the day. “I love you.”
“God, I’m never going to get over hearing that. I love you, too.” He groans and wrenches his mouth away. “But I should go; others will be up soon.”
With Anna still sleeping, we tiptoe across the room, and I crack the door open to an empty hallway. With a quick nod, James slips out, barefoot and silent. His fingers brush mine, a final tether, before he goes to shower and change into clean clothes.
The moment I enter the living room, my bliss evaporates. Mason sits rigidly, his face tight, focused on the mug in his hands. Ivy chats leisurely with Jules and Tom. Of all years, they decide to show up. At least Anna will get one Christmas with us all together.
I hide in the kitchen until Anna’s excited voice breaks through.
“Did Santa come?”
This year, Santa’s magic is real, and each present under the tree is a marvel waiting to be discovered.
“Merry Christmas, Bug.” I sweep over to the staircase and gather her into my arms. “We have to wait for Beck and Leo, but you can peek at everything under the tree.”
I click on some cheerful holiday music. Anna giggles and twirls, her excitement spilling over as she takes in the stacks of presents adorned with ribbons and bows.
“Mama, where are mine?” she asks, bouncing from box to box.
“Remember what the letter A looks like?” I ask, pointing to the tag. “A is for Anna. Look for those.”
I leave her to take inventory and escape back into the kitchen to settle my nerves with more coffee.
Gradually, the others filter in. Margaret and Gary settle on each side of Mason, careful buffers as his glower only grows. James joins, fills his mug, and takes a corner seat, trying not to draw attention.
Anna flutters among the adults, excitedly bouncing and sharing her thoughts on all things Christmas. Mason, caught in his own world, gives her a forced smile—but it doesn’t take long for her to sense his detachment and half-hearted responses.
“Unca J, can I sit on your lap?” She pivots, knowing where she can turn.
“Of course, Bug.” He sets down his mug as she melts against him. She delivers her Santa report. Cookies are gone, carrots too. He listens with rapt attention.
Once Leo and Beck join the mix, Christmas chaos erupts. Presents fly open in a flurry of paper, and joy briefly lifts the tension.
But the ease of past years doesn’t return.
Even as James and I keep our distance, the truth hums, impossible to ignore. We aren’t doing anything inappropriate, but what’s between us is unmistakable. Every time Anna calls him “Unca J,” every shared smile over her head, every instinctive reach toward each other that we catch mid-motion, it’s all evidence building a case we can’t deny.
I feel Ivy tracking every glance, cataloging every unguarded moment of familiarity. There’s something different in her expression—it’s quieter, more contemplative. It's not animosity or judgment, rather a careful, neutral set to her face as if she’s seeing what was always missing between them.
Mason grips his coffee mug tightly to the point his knuckles have gone white. When Anna moved to James after his disinterest, he immediately saw it for what it was. His face darkened in that possessive way I’ve seen before. His anger simmers, his face hard as granite, even as he sits amongst the joy of the kids opening their gifts.
