“Normal pancakes shaped like Christmas trees. And you can add toppings to decorate it. It’s a thing we do.”
His smile was blinding. “Then yes.”
“Ooh,” I said, remembering. “Your gift. Would you like it now? Or should we exchange later?”
He grimaced again, suddenly awkward. “Well, I . . . what I got you . . .”
“Will be perfect. What you’ve given me already today is all I could ask for, Deacon.”
He seemed somewhat relieved. “Good. Because I got you a scarf that is the colors of the asexuality flag but without the dog wormer logo, and a flat pack bookcase, which now seems grossly inadequate.”
I laughed. “Really? That’s perfect!”
“It will fit along the wall you wanted it to,” he added. “I thought we could make it together.”
It was my turn to grimace. “Well, my furniture building skills are non-existent, but I can hand you the tools and offer moral support and cookies while you build it?”
He chuckled. “Okay.”
I took his gift from under the tree. “Speaking of grossly inadequate gifts, I have this for you. It’s okay if you want to take it back or exchange it for something else. I kept all the receipts.”
He opened the gift slowly, perfectly, and pulled out the box and then the items in turn.
I explained as he inspected them.
“They’re noise-canceling headphones. In case we have to go somewhere where there’s a lot of noise and people. I’m sorry if they’re inappropriate, but I thought they could help. If you don’t like them, I?—”
“I like them.”
“I asked your dad if I should get in-ear or over-ear and he told me,” I added quickly. “I don’t want you to think you need them or that I think youshoulduse them, because I don’t. I just read that some people find them helpful...”
He smiled at me. “I’ll try them. Thank you.”
The next was a journal, pages blank. “I thought we could make our own keepsake journal, of us, to keep on your bookcase. We could take photos, or stick in movie stubs, or an awesome shaped leaf we find, or little quotes, or hearts. There are special pens as well, and some different washi tapes and crafty things to make them pretty. It’d be like your tray of keepsakes but in book form.” I shrugged, uncertain.
His eyes met mine. “I love this so much. This idea. This journal.” He swallowed hard. “You.”
My heart skidded and thumped, my breath caught.
He just . . .
He just said that . . .
“I love you too,” I whispered.
“Christmas pancakes are ready, boys,” Ro called out from the kitchen. “Fresh coffee too.”
I gave Deacon’s hand another gentle squeeze and let out a shaky breath so I could speak. “Merry Christmas, Deacon.”
“Merry Christmas, Winter.”
EPILOGUE
WINTER
Spring had arrived earlyfor Valentine’s market day. It was unseasonably warm, though the air had a chill, the sky was blue, the sun was warm.
It was gloriously beautiful.
