Page 13 of Not In The Christmas Plan
Grant’s fork clatters to the table as I slap the paper down, pie crumbs landing on his shirt and his eyes going wild like he’s under attack.
“Woman, what are you doing?”
“I’m showing you my plan.” I plant my hands on my hips and raise an eyebrow. “Since you’re determined to stick around, you can help me get the house ready for Ivy and the babies.”
“And Braxton.”
“And Braxton.”
He leans back, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “A plan, huh? This feels like a trap. What, are you going to ask me to get something from outside in the middle of the night in nothing but my Christmas boxers, then locking me out?”
My brain short-circuits, picturing Grant in tight boxers covered in Rudolph heads with glowing red noses. Is that what he sleeps in?
I shake my head to get rid of the image. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a simple list. But if you find it too daunting, don’t feel obligated to stick around.”
Grant picks up the paper, studying my words like they’re evidence in a courtroom. “Bake cookies twice?”
I cross my arms. “I’ve never made these cookies before. It was always Dad and Ivy, so I need to do a practice batch…or three, to make sure mine come out perfect.” Grant already knows the kitchen and me don’t get along, but my cheeks still burn explaining the why of it. “You know what? Don’t judge my methods.”
“Trust, I’m judging,” he says before singing, “She’s making a list, checking it twice…”
I resist the urge to snatch the paper back. The list is organized into three phases: baby prep, house prep, and Christmas prep. It’s thorough and maybe even a little on the ambitious side, but I need to make sure we don’t miss a thing.
Going by Grant's narrowed his eyes, it might be too extensive for him to handle. And if it is, good. He can go home and leaveme to it.
“I’m pretty sure this list is just your way of bossing me around,” Grant grumbles.
“Hey, you know I run a tight ship.”
“Of that, I am aware.” He laughs low and easy, and something flutters in my chest. I used to roll my eyes at that laugh, the way he seemed content with his laid back, go with the flow routine. Staying out late, sleeping in. I always wondered how someone who seemed to thrive on little planning and structure could be a successful basketball player turned financial advisor.
Grant’s never been like Eddie, who appeared disciplined, always turning in early, especially when he was out of town, claiming he needed rest for work.
Of course, I turned out to be wrong about Eddie.
The dryer buzzes again and I march to the laundry room, eager to shake both the memory of Eddie and the warmth from Grant’s laugh still prickling my cheeks.
Grant follows, munching on another bite of pie. “So, Your Honor, what’s first on your grand plan?”
I decide not to comment on the old nickname he uses. He knows full well I'm no judge but thinks it's a funny way to call me bossy.
“Laundry,” I say, then begin transferring clothes from the dryer to the basket.
When it's full, Grant shoves his plate at me and grabs the basket before I can. We move to the living room and station up at the couch, Grant on one side, me on the other, and the basket of clothes on the ground between us. I’m too far from the trash so Grant’s plate goes on the coffee table. Then we get started.
When I grab a onesie, Grant follows suit, and for a while we fall into an easy rhythm, folding the small clothes into even smaller rectangles. I blindly reach down and my hand lands on a pink sock that so tiny it doesn’t even span the palm of my hand.
“It’s hard to imagine anyone being this small,” I say and Grant hums in agreement.
I find the sock’s sister and fold them over each other before reaching for a white long-sleeved onesie. Before folding it, I bring it to my nose and inhale. It smells light and soft, making me think of soft fur and warm kisses.
I’m so happy Ivy has the family she always wanted, but I can’t help that persistent ache in my heart while folding clothes for her babies instead of my own.
I stayed with Eddie for too long. Wasted so much time on someone who wasn’t all about me. And now, I wonder if I’ll ever have the life I dreamed.
I fold the onesie, tucking the sleeves back then folding it in half until it takes on the same square shape as the one before and place it beside me.
I look over to Grant’s side to see how he’s coming along and pause when I see him looking at me. I can’t fully read the expression on his face, but his eyes have grown soft in a way that makes my heart constrict.
