Tom frowned. Lauren had, and Tom hadn’t been able to stop her. Their house currently looked like Santa’s workshop had exploded—garlands, bows, tea towels, wreaths on every door. Glitter that turned up in his socks. The kind of thing that made him cringe every time he walked in the door.
He couldn’t wait until she grew out of it.
One day she’d look back at her acrylic snowflakes and hot-glued ornaments the same way he looked back at his college designs—embarrassed.
Jake tucked the necklace box into his jacket and gave Tom a mock salute before heading out, humming a Christmas song under his breath.
Tom tugged his gloves tighter and headed back to the build.
One more hour before they lost the light. Then he’d have to stop off at the mall.
God, the mall. On Christmas Eve.
Fighting through chaos to buy some token present.
Then home to the craft explosion.
Tom shoulderedhis way through the mall entrance, the blast of overheated air hitting him after a day out in the cold. The place was a madhouse—shoppers clutching bags, kids running wild, holiday music blaring too loud from overhead speakers.
Every surface screamed at him: flashing lights, plastic holly, inflatable Santas sagging. A riot of color and chaos that made his teeth ache.
It looked like Lauren’s living room multiplied by a thousand.
But he wouldn’t have to be at the mall very long, whereas Lauren’s decorations would drag on in his life for weeks.
His father would take one look at their house tomorrow and?—
Tom shook his head, refocusing. He only needed one thing. Lauren's gift.
Everything else under their tree was “from Tom and Lauren.”
A jewelry kiosk caught his eye, and Tom slowed. He thought of the necklace Jake had bought for Mia. Maybe Lauren would like something like that, too. He drifted closer to look at one of the pendants.
The price made him wince.
He made good money working for his father's firm—better than most architects his age. But there was no reason to waste it on something as pointless as this.
The paycheck had been the whole point of taking that job in the first place. Stability. You couldn't ask a woman to build a life with you if you weren’t sure about next month's rent.
And he’d wanted to marry Lauren more than anything.
His father had been right in the end. His college portfoliohadbeen childish. Bold for the sake of being bold.
The queue at the till snaked halfway down the aisle. Tom rubbed a hand over his face, weariness dragging at his shoulders. The smell of cinnamon pretzels mixing with perfume samples was too much. Oversaturated everything—music, color, people.
He just needed to grab something and get out of here. A box of chocolates, maybe?
He shifted, irritated. The thought of standing in line for an hour for overpriced candy seemed ridiculous.
Besides—everything would be half-price in two days. Lauren could pick up something for herself then, twice as much for the same money.
He’d write her a check. Easy. Done.
Tom turned toward the exit. His boots thudded against the floor, the noise swallowed by “Jingle Bell Rock”. The couples he passed were bickering, arms loaded with bags, looking exhausted and irritable.
He didn’t blame them.
Christmaswasthe worst. And Lauren?—
