Page 84 of Holiday Interference
“Better,” I tell her. “Trust me.”
She cocks a brow, teasing. “That’s a bold claim, Reid.”
“Yeah, well.” I hand her the wine, fingers brushing hers. “Guess you’ll have to stick around and see if I’m right.”
She lifts the glass and takes a slow sip, eyes on mine over the rim.
“Pretty sure you already know the answer to that.”
The heat in my chest spreads lower, deeper.
Home doesn’t feel like walls anymore—it feels like this.
She sets her wineglass on the counter, the sound of glass on quartz soft and final. Then she leans back, arms braced behind her, her toes curling against the hardwood like she’s trying to stay grounded in the moment.
“Do I really have to wait?” Her voice dips playful, but there's something gentle beneath it. Something like hope.
A smile tugs at my mouth, slow and warm. “Come on.”
The air shifts as I walk ahead of her, the buzz of string lights humming low from the living room. My pulse kicks the closer we get.
I’m not nervous exactly, but there’s a weight to this—like offering up something fragile and hoping she won’t break it.
She lets out a soft laugh when she sees the sheet I rigged in the corner like some DIY magician. “Really? A dramatic reveal?”
“It’s tradition now,” I say, trying for dry but feeling like a live wire.
I reach for the edge and tug it down. The sheet falls with a softwhoosh, revealing the tree behind it.
It’s small, a little bit crooked, but real. The scent of balsam pine fills the air.
Her breath catches. One hand drifts up to cover her mouth.
“You got a tree,” she whispers.
Something cracks open in my chest. Deeper than I was ready for.
My fingers twitch at my sides, like they want to reach for her, to steady both of us.
“I haven’t wanted to have a tree since…my mom died.” My throat feels thick. “Thought maybe we could change that.”
She turns to me slowly. Her eyes are shining. Not crying—but close enough that my ribs ache from the sight.
“I love it.” Her voice catches and breaks. “It’s perfect.”
“It’s not even decorated yet.”
“I don’t care. It’s perfect because you got it.”
The words hit somewhere under my sternum and don’t let go. I swallow, nod once, afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll say something too big for this room.
She steps closer, close enough that the hem of her sweater brushes the back of my hand. Her fingertips skim a branch like it might vanish if she touches it wrong.
Then she tilts her face up to mine, eyes soft and steady. “You know what this means, right?”
I shake my head, unable to speak around the knot in my throat.
She grins. “You’re officially not allowed to act like a grinch anymore.”
