They don’t. They’re just there, bold, undeniable, staring back at me from my marble counter while “Jingle Bell Rock” plays faintly from downstairs. My throat tightens, and tears spring hot and immediate.
“Oh my God.” I press both hands to my face and laugh-cry because what else do you do when your entire world shifts on Christmas Eve and the love of your life is on his way to the airport in blissful ignorance?
“Merry freaking Christmas, Hailey.”
I glance at the clock—4:22 p.m. He’ll be home in less than two hours.
And I have absolutely no idea how to tell Cole Bristol he’s about to be a dad.
By 5:57, my nerves are a ticking time bomb.
The house smells like cinnamon and rosemary and a mild existential crisis. I’ve changed my outfit three times, cried once, and almost dropped the ham because my hands were shaking. The test is hidden in my nightstand drawer like a classified document, but I swear it’s glowing through the wood.
Every time I pass by the mirror, I whisper, “You’re fine. You’re just… hosting Christmas dinner. With a side of possible motherhood.”
I light a candle. Blow it out. Light it again. Then headlights flash across the window and my heart leaps into my throat.
Cole’s home.Oh God.
I hear doors slam, the muffled laughter of family, the thump of luggage on the porch. My hands are trembling so badly I almost drop the wineglasses. By the time the door opens and his deep voice rumbles through the entryway, “We’re here!” I’m standing frozen in the kitchen, gripping a dish towel like a weapon.
Maddie barrels in first, snow-dusted and dramatic. “Oh my God, it’s like a Christmas card threw up in here.”
“Mission accomplished,” I manage to croak.
Then Cole appears behind her, cheeks pink from the cold, arms loaded with bags. The moment his eyes find me, something in my chest steadies and explodes at the same time. He’s grinning, relaxed, totally unaware that I’m seconds from fainting.
“Hey, baby,” he says softly, setting the bags down and leaning in to kiss me. “Miss me?”
“Uh-huh.” My voice cracks.
He pulls back just enough to frown. “You okay? You look a little pale.”
“Me? No, I mean, yes. I’m… fine. Totally fine. Just, you know, Christmas.”
His brows pinch. “You been running around too much again?”
“Maybe a little.”
He presses the back of his hand to my forehead, concern creasing his face. “You’re warm.”
“No, I’m just… hot from the oven.”
He glances toward the perfectly fine ham, then back at me. “You sure you’re alright?”
The words are out before I can stop them. “I took a test.”
His expression shifts, brows lifting, mouth parting, but he doesn’t move. “What kind of test?”
“The… kind that tells you you’re pregnant.”
Silence. Thick, stretching, terrifying. He blinks once. Twice. “What?”
I swallow, voice barely above a whisper. “There were two pink lines.”
For a split second, I think he didn’t hear me. Then his breath catches. “You’re serious?”
I nod, tears pricking my eyes again. “I wasn’t sure at first. I thought maybe stress or the holidays or that bad yogurt in the fridge, but then I did the math and?—”
