Lauren’s Christmas.
Tom sat cross-legged on the rug.
He’d told himself he’d bring the boxes back to her. When she was ready. When she’d forgiven him. When he was back in the house he’d built, back living with his wife.
He reached out and tugged the top off the first box. The scent reminded him of her: cinnamon, glue, pine, and something faintly sweet—her hand cream, maybe.
He pulled out a length of garland, the gold ribbon catching in the lamplight. Then the red stocking with his name stitched in white letters. He traced the loops of thread with his thumb.
She’d made this for him. Every year, she’d madeeverythingfor him. He’d treated it like clutter, like childish excess, and she’d kept doing it anyway.
Because that’s who she was. She built wonder out of scraps.
He opened another box. Pulled out the angels, the spray-painted pinecones, the glittered snowflakes with photo cutouts. The Elvis jumpsuit.
Every ornament carried a fingerprint of her heart.
He pulled them out one by one.
She had done this for him every year—quietly, lovingly. And he’d never praised her. Never taken a moment to appreciate that she was filling his life with joy.
And he’d never once thought how he could give it back.
He remembered Christmas, remembered how alive it had been. Warm. Messy. Real.
He picked up one of the felt stockings—her name stitched across it this time.
If he couldn’t undo the Christmas he’d ruined, he would give a new one. One that was full of light and color and joy. One that was worthy of his wife. One that would make her happy.
He clutched her stocking in his hands. But suddenly he didn’t feel hopeless. He felt… determined.
“I’ll make it magic,” he murmured. “For you.”
A laugh caught in his throat—half misery, half madness. “Guess it’s my turn, huh?”
CHAPTER 67
Lauren
The shops had gone pink.Heart-shaped displays in every window, satin ribbons curling around boxes of chocolates, roses stacked in buckets like stockpiled ammunition.
Lauren crossed the street, the wind biting at her cheeks. February. The month that had once meant Tom and romance and decorating the house with too many hearts.
She wanted that again.
InsideMuse, the office was buzzing. Wren had queued a playlist full of love songs; Rina had brought cupcakes topped with edible glitter. Even in a workplace as effortlessly cool as this, no one could resist a theme.
“The Valentine’s Day feature is killing it online,” Zoe said, dropping into the chair opposite her desk.
Lauren looked up from her desk.
“It’s iconic,” Zoe grinned. “You look amazing. Fierce. Rich divorcées everywhere are going to want one of your pieces to hang in their foyers.”
Lauren smiled, but her stomach turned with a complicated mix of pride and discomfort. The piece had been a commission—someone else’s message, someone else’s declaration.
Lauren wasn’t divorced AF. Lauren was ready for her husband to come home.
She turned back to her computer, scrolling through messages from potential new clients.
