The memory of their hands on me, of warmth I haven’t let myself crave but can’t stop myself from missing.
I want to be angry.
Ishouldbe angry.
But all I can feel is that ache in my chest that’s been there since the day I walked away.
Rejecting them was so much easier over the phone.
I sigh, my resolve crumbling. “How about you all come over tonight. Dad’s helping at the station again, so the house will be free.”
Dean’s brows lift slightly, surprised. Then that slow, familiar smile spreads across his face. “That sounds good to me.”
Eli cheers, clapping his hands. “Yay!”
I really hope I don’t regret this.
15
NOELLE
They arrive a little after seven.
The headlights sweep across the snow outside just as I’m lighting the last candle on the mantel.
Before I can even talk myself out of it, I’m at the window, watching their truck pull into the driveway.
The cold night air seeps in through the cracks of the frame, carrying the faint sound of their voices.
When I open the door, they’re there on the porch, bundled against the cold with pink cheeks from the wind.
Each one of them carries something: a gift bag, wrapped boxes, store-bought side dishes, a bottle of wine.
“For your dad,” Grant says, lifting his bag as if it needs explanation.
I fight my smile.
I tell myself to act normal.
To keep my voice even and not let my anxiety show on my face as they kick the snow off their boots and hang their coats on the rack by the door.
But the second they step further inside, the air changes.
The living room feels smaller somehow.
The glow from the Christmas lights winding around the tree, more of them strung up around the banisters, throwing little halos of color against their faces.
The fire crackles in the hearth, and the scent of cinnamon sugar hangs in the air from the cookies I just pulled out of the oven.
It’s supposed to be comforting, having a cozy home set up and ready to use to welcome them to dinner.
Instead, it feels like deja vu.
Six years ago, this same room looked almost identical.
The tree stood in the same corner. The stockings hung in the same order, minus one.
The same roaring fire in the fireplace, its light painting gold across the walls. But back then, everything had been different.
