I’ve had my fair share of scares from him over the years—waking up to voicemails with the truck’s sirens screeching in the background as he told me he wouldn’t be back till the morning, texts halfway through my school periods letting me know not to check the news because it would scare the hell out of me.
When Dad finally retired, I thought I’d get a break from feeling my heart in my throat every other day.
I figured the adrenaline of the late-night calls and the gnawing fear that he might not come home one day would all finally ease up.
But I guess the universe had other plans for his so-called retirement.
“Be careful,” I tell him quietly, shifting the phone against my ear. Then, before I can think better of it, I add, “And don’t worry, I’ll keep your friends entertained.”
He laughs, the sound warm and a little wry. “Good. Lord knows they need babysitting. I’ll hopefully see you in the morning. Call me if you need anything.”
“Will do,” I say, smiling despite the worry pressing in around my ribs.
When the line drops, I lean back against the wall and let out a soft breath that’s half a laugh.
“Oh, if only he knew,” I mutter, shaking my head.
If only he knew that his grown daughter was standing here trying to keep herself from doing something monumentally stupid like jumping over the table and crawling into one of his friend’s laps.
A part of me wants to blame them for looking like they just stepped out of one of those vintage Christmas commercials with the ruggedly handsome-as-sin actors playing the parts of the three potential love interests, while another part is convinced I need to find myself a chastity belt before it’s too late.
Pushing off the wall, I make my way back toward the dining room to relay the news.
“Dad’s not coming home tonight,” I announce as I enter, tucking my phone into my pocket. “He said there’s a fire situation that’s still going, so they’re keeping everyone overnight.”
Grant sets his fork down, muttering something that sounds sympathetic under his breath. “He should be taking it easy and stop running himself so ragged.”
“I don’t think he knows how, honestly,” I reply.
Cal gives a slow nod, his expression thoughtful. “That’s your dad, though. That man has never known how to sit still.”
Dean claps his hands together, grinning widely. “Well then, looks like the night’s ours. What’s on the agenda, Noelle? Anything fun?”
I laugh, settling back down into my seat. “Honestly, I was planning to just relax. Well, before you guys came over.”
“Boring,” Dean declares immediately, flashing me that mischievous grin again. “You can’t just leave us unsupervised. We’ll get into trouble.”
I shake my head at him.
Eventually, “what’s next” turns out to be something I hadn’t planned at all: taking the boxes of Christmas decorations down from the attic.
It starts as a joke, with me mentioning how bare the house looked when I got in and somehow ending with the three of them insisting they help me retrieve the decorations and set them up for my dad to come home to.
I protest at first, insisting they don’t need to do all of that considering they’d come here on a vacation, but I should’ve known better.
Ten minutes later, I find myself standing at the bottom of the rickety steps leading down into the crawl space while they fish around it with flashlights.
Three dusty boxes emerge in their hands, along with the faux tree carried under Grant’s arm.
We dig through the boxes when we get them to the living room.
Tangled lights, ancient ornaments, half-melted candles, and old decorations from when I was little sit inside the boxes untouched from the year before.
Callum finds an old plastic angel with one broken wing and holds it up like a sacred relic.
“Hey, look.”
Dean, naturally, is the one that turns putting it on top of the tree into a performance.
