1
“Tell me the truth. You rigged the Secret Santa to draw Keene’s name deliberately, didn’t you?” I ask my husband.
Phil’s innocent look doesn’t fool me for a minute. “I’m shocked that you would think I’d rig something as important as Secret Santa, Jace. That would be unethical,” he huffs, throwing his nose in the air.
“Changing Ali’s work password to ‘Phillipa<3u’ so she would consider naming their baby after you isn’t unethical?” I retort.
“That was merely a minor faux pas, my love. I meant for it to be ‘Phillip<3su.’ I was so happy to have her back after she was gone.” He blinks his long-lashed blue eyes at me so innocently, I’d believe him regardless of what he said or did.
It’s not the innocent face or the words that come from his lips. It’s his hands. And they’re jammed in his pockets, so I can’t determine the truth.
Phil and I have been together for ten years, since the summer he and his sisters moved from the South to Collier, Connecticut. He fell into my life when one of his youngest sisters, Corinna, pulled him into Candlewood Lake. Phil’s fall into the water was only fair as he was trying to throw Corinna in it at the time.
Years haven’t dimmed the love I have for this man. In fact, every day that passes, I wake up even more blessed when I see the perfect ripples of his muscled back lying next to me in bed. And regardless of what ungodly hour I have to wake up to leave to drive to the hospital for my shift, my husband is at the door, sleepily handing me a to-go coffee and a kiss to carry me through the long, and often heartbreaking, hours until I can see him again.
Medicine was my first love, and despite years of sacrifice, exhausting hours, and hospital bureaucratic bullshit, it astounds me every day that I’ve been blessed with a miracle.
Phil is my miracle. God showed his humor when he crafted the only man I’ll ever love. A man with the face of an angel, but a will that would try the Devil himself. He created a man with a sense of honor so profound for those he loves—Phil sacrificed everything for his adopted sisters, but none so much as he did for his oldest sister, Cassidy, who we recently found out is Keene’s biological sister.
There’s been tension between the two men as they’ve learned to adapt to the changes in their shared sister’s life—including her falling in love, finding out who she really is, her recent marriage, pregnancy, and the birth of her beautiful twins.
Phil supported Cassidy as she blossomed into her womanly strength after her early years stripped it from her. Keene is still struggling with the years he missed since his Cassidy was taken from him when she was four—years he can never recover. And that is why, Keene isn’t comfortable with what Phil sacrificed to save his sister, because he feels it should have been him.
Lord knows I wasn’t when I first found out, but I soon realized if it wasn’t for the gift Phil gave Cassidy, the chain reaction of events that happened never would have occurred: Phil and Cassidy would never have found an unspeaking Emily in a park after her parents were killed. They wouldn’t have connected later with Alison, Corinna, and Holly, who were living in a battered women and children’s shelter after being rescued from a human trafficker.
He never would have moved to Connecticut with his “family,” fallen into a lake, and he never would have met me.
I love this man from the bottom of my soul, but some days, even for me, it’s hard to reconcile the Phil who sacrificed so much with the Phil who relentlessly needles Keene about sex. Which brings me back Phil’s Christmas gift for Keene. If I volunteer to go pick up Phil’s gifts, maybe I can intercede if Santa’s most devious elf went too far off his rocker. Traipsing around the mall sounds like punishment to someone like me, who’s been done shopping since before Thanksgiving, but I’ll do it. Not exactly how I planned my first day off, but why the hell not? If I stick around the house, I’m sure Phil’s going to come up with a “honey-do” list full of crap we absolutely don’t need done before Christmas morning.
“I’m off until after the holidays, babe.” A holiday miracle unto itself. Seven full days starting today where I’m not expected at the hospital. Forget gifts—this is all I need. Taking a sip of coffee from one of the white mugs, I sink into our leather couch. “I can go shopping this afternoon.”
Phil scoots closer from his side of the sofa. “Well, since you volunteered…”
“Anything for you.” And to save all of us celebrating Christmas. “Just tell me what you need.”
A wicked smile crosses Phil’s face. My stomach lands somewhere around my bare feet, which are being rubbed. “I’ll text you what I need. But later.”
Placing his coffee mug on the floor, my husband prowls over my body and engages me in a long kiss that eliminates all thought from my brain except one.
Mine.
By the time Phil tugs my sweater over my head, I’m no longer worried about Christmas. The only thing I give a damn about is feeling the heat of my husband’s body sliding over my skin, the way his lips crashing against mine. I quiver when I feel the strength of his lean muscles in my hands. Seeing the surprise in his bright blue eyes when I roll him over to trail my lips down the muscles bisecting his chest is better than any gift that will be opened on Christmas morning.
* * *
I swearI’ve been had—and not in the way Phil took me on our couch this morning.
Goddamnit, who in their right mind leaves all of their Christmas shopping until three days before Christmas? With a mental sigh of resignation, I answer myself. My husband. That’s who.
The list he handed me, with a lingering kiss, was a page long. Typed. While I gaped at him, he was at least able to tell me everything was ordered and paid for. All I had to do was brave the Danbury Fair Mall to pick everything up.
With that encouraging news, he strode around muttering about making another “damned wreath with holly and bloodying his hands.” Since this is the one time of the year where Phil’s being a florist actually causes him physical pain, I held him just a little closer before letting him race out the door.
I thought I’d get a jump on the holiday shoppers, but I should have known better. People are insane. Then again, right now, so am I.
I’m following—honestly, stalking—a woman as she pushes a stroller laden with packages to her car. I’m driving myself nuts between the blinker sound as cars whip around me looking for a space and my fervent prayers that this woman doesn’t cut between cars to another aisle. All the while, my radio continues to play chirpy Christmas music, which started out cheerfully but now has me wondering if I’ll need a dental appointment after the new year from clenching my molars so tightly.
It’s two long minutes later when she stops at an SUV. I see my prey open her trunk. Oh, God, it’s filled with packages. What if she’s not leaving? I begin to panic, sweat dripping down the middle of my back. No… Yes! She’s leaving! She quickly unsnaps her baby carrier and plops her child into the car. As a doctor, I approve of her taking care of her baby’s needs first.
