“I’ll think about it.”
“Yes!” She claps her hands together and I carry her up the stairs. She may be fiercely independent most times, but at theend of the day when she’s tired or when she’s scared or hurt, she’s Daddy’s little girl.
And knowing how fleeting the years we get to spend with our children are, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. I plan on making every moment count while she still needs me.
I make the last step, and her head lolls.
She’s asleep already. I lay her on her bed, removing her coat and jeans and tucking her into the warm covers. I dot a kiss to her forehead and pad downstairs to lock up and turn out the lights.
At the front door, I flick the locks. Just before I turn back, lights swing into Hank’s driveway. His truck pulls up, the engine idling for a moment before it splutters out.
Celeste steps down from the truck, her groceries in hand. Snow litters her dark hair in a stark contrast. She slams the truck door and trudges through the snow and up onto the front porch. The outdoor light comes on automatically. I’m glad it’s still working. It was one of the first things Marie asked me to help out with after we moved here.
As if sensing me lurking and staring like the damn creep I’m being, Celeste turns and glances at my house. I swear our eyes meet, and I back away from the door. Hank’s front door slams. I chuckle, but there’s no humor left in it, just an overwhelming realization that I’m at a crossroads that I have no idea how to navigate.
And the sight of Celeste burns into my frozen mind as I pad up the stairs toward the end of another long, exhausting day as a single parent, business owner, and world’s shittiest neighbor.
I should try to fix that.
It’s Christmas time, after all.
My gut flips at the thought of being near Celeste again.
But I can only imagine the fire I’ll come under from Maise if I don’t try to give this new neighbor thing my best effort.
She’s all heart, my girl, even more so at Christmas.
Her current excuse for every damn thing she wants me to participate in.
Fucking Christmas.
Chapter
Seven
CELESTE
With my father currently occupied at his biweekly physical therapy session that goes for two hours, I sit in the town library hoping to find something to read, information on caring for a family member with Alzheimer’s, and maybe something on home maintenance. Despite Marie giving me the rundown and the Godzilla of all binders, I still feel out of my depth.
Christmas is not helping.
All the expectations of participating in town events and seeing people I haven’t spoken to in over a decade are resurrecting my long-lost anxiety, that’s for sure. As if the universe is indeed laughing at me, my old principal from elementary school wanders past, stopping short when she notices me at the long central table in the center of the library.
Yeah, right in the center of the library was probably a bad idea.
“Celeste! How lovely to see you home.”
“Hey, Ms. Kincaid.”
“It’s Mrs. Semple now,” she says with a wink, flashing me her ring finger.
“Oh, I didn’t realize. Sorry.”
She pulls out a chair, dropping the three books that were in her arms to the table.
Just great.
“How have you been? It’s been so long. How’s your dad?”
