Page 53 of Seeds of Christmas
The silence that follows feels significant. Full.
“Me too,” she says finally, and her voice is so soft, I almost miss it.
“Good night. For real this time.”
“Good night, Carter.”
I lie there in the darkness, listening to her breath slowly even out. And for the first time since Dominic died, I let myself imagine a future that isn’t just “get through college and figure it out later.”
What if I don’t finish the geology degree and go to grad school because that’s what Dominic would have done?
What if I actually start thinking about whatIwant?
The following morning,we quickly clean up together—in this weirdly domestic, comfortable rhythm we’ve somehow built. She washes, I dry. My hands ache from the cold water, even though we warmed it on the stove, but it feels grounding.
When the last pot is done, she hands it to me, and our fingers brush under the water. Not a dramatic brush—just a little unexpected spark that neither of us knows how to handle.
We both freeze for a second too long.
Then we pull away like the pot is about to explode.
She clears her throat, wiping her hands on a towel. “It’s so odd. Being… here. With you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “With me?”
“You know what I mean.”
She gestures vaguely between us. “We barely knew each other three days ago. And now, we’re sharing dish duty like a married couple in a Hallmark movie.”
I snort. “Bold of you to assume I’d be the one doing the drying if we were married. I’d be sitting on the couch. I’ll take the blue jobs.”
She laughs. “You’re not bad at the dishes. You can do them.”
“High praise.”
“It is,” she teases. “I don’t give out compliments lightly.”
I lean against the counter, studying her. “So what compliments do you give out lightly? About me?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t start.”
“I’m curious.”
“No, you’re fishing.”
“Am I catching anything?”
She tries—and fails—to hide her smile. “You’re unbearable.”
“Again,” I say, “high praise.”
She drops her gaze, running a thumb over a drip of water on the counter. “I mean… you’re not completely horrible to be stuck with. Even if you do hog the fire and snore.”
“I do not snore.”
“You do.”
I step closer. “Pretty sure I’d know if I snored.”
