Page 35 of Not In The Christmas Plan
The absence hits like a sudden drop in temperature. My throat tightens, my vision blurs, and the cheer drains out of me.
“Are you still down here?”
I swipe at my eyes and sniff at the sound of Grant’s voice.
He takes one look at me and crosses the room. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s stupid, but I just realized I didn’t get a present for my dad.” My voice wavers. “I’ve had all year to get used to it, but somehow it’s hitting me now.”
The tears spill over before I can stop them. Grant doesn't hesitate to wrap me in his arms, and I make noattempt to fight him. I bury my face in his chest and let the grief roll through me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper once the tears slow. “We’re supposed to be celebrating the season, and here I am falling apart.”
Grant tilts my chin so I’m looking at him and his brown eyes full of compassion and warmth. “I never want you to apologize for missing your dad. Or for falling apart. My arms are always free for that. And actually”—his mouth lifts in a small smile as he brushes away some of my tears—“I consider it a sign of progress when you're not trying to hide your emotions from me.”
“You know, you're the only man I've ever fallen apart in front of like this. Twice now.”
“That tells me I must be doing something right then. And I want you to know it's an honor I don't take lightly.”
In not so many words, he's still me what I've already suspected—my heart is safe with him.
His hands slide from my back to my shoulders. “Now, I have something I want to give you.”
He digs through one of his bags from the market and pulls out a small, gift-wrapped box I don’t remember seeing.
“Where did that come from?” I ask.
“I got it while you were haggling with the scarf lady.”
“Oh, the same scarf lady who I was able to talk down enough that you got enough scarves for your whole familyandDestiny’s dog?”
I’m not about to go off again about how ridiculous it is for someone trying to oversell ‘homemade’ scarves they know full well they got from Temu in bulk. They were pretty enough, but nothing close in quality to the one I purchased for Grant.
Grant smirks. “That’s the one.”
I wipe my face one more time, then make grabbing motions until Grant hands me the box.
There’s barely any weight to it. I untie the red ribbon, lift the lid, and gasp. “It’s a snow globe ornament.”
Inside sits a tiny snow-covered house with a red truck in the driveway and snowman in the yard. When I shake it, white flakes swirl about.
“You didn’t have to,” I whisper.
“I know, but you love them. I saw the ones in your room and remembered how you told me you and your dad bought one every year. I thought this might help you think of the good times.”
Good times. Like the year we built the tiniest snowman with an inch of snow, hands stuffed in two layers of Dad’s thick socks because we weren’t prepared for actual wintery conditions.
My eyes water again.
Grant cups my hands around the ornament so we’re both holding it. “It could be the first one on the tree this year. For him.”
“That would be amazing.”
We approach the tree together and Grant stands back while I hang the snow globe near the top, my fingers lingering.
“Lights?” Grant asks.
“Wait. Mustic first.” I connect my phone to the speaker and warm, soulful Christmas tunes fill the air.
