Marcus examined the ring. “I can promise you; he won’t freak out.”
Jazz’s shoulders relaxed, but uncertainty still lingered in his eyes. “It’s not too soon? After everything?” He looked at me, and in that moment, we silently acknowledged everything we had experienced together—the things we’d witnessed, the actions we’d taken, and how it had altered us both forever.
I cleared my throat. “I haven’t known you and Alex long, but I can see how much you love each other.” I dipped my head. “It seems to me some people spend their whole lives looking for what you two already have.”
Jazz rested a hand on my shoulder. “Thanks, Tyler. That means a lot.”
Marcus handed the box back to Jazz with a warm smile. “He’s right. You two have history, sure, but you’ve also got something real. Don’t overthink it.”
Jazz nodded, tucking the box back into his pocket. His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. “That’s Alex now. We’re meeting my daughter and her fiancé for pizza, and he’s heading there straight from the accountants.” He hesitated, then pulled me into a quick, unexpected hug. “Merry Christmas, Tyler.”
I stiffened briefly before returning the gesture, trying not to appear awkward. “Merry Christmas.”
After Jazz left, Marcus returned to his cooking, stirring the contents of the pot, lost in thought; then, he checked on me, a small smile playing on his lips. “A year ago, I wasn’t sure Jazz and Alex would ever find their way back to each other. And now…” He shrugged, turning back to the stove. “I’m happy for them.”
“You sound as if there’s a ‘but’ hidden in there,” I said.
Marcus shook his head, stirring tomato sauce in the pot with more focus than necessary. “Not a ‘but.’ Just thinking about time, I guess.” He looked up at me, his expression unguarded. “How quickly things can change. How people can find each other even when it seems impossible.”
Something in his tone made my chest hurt. I stood and moved toward him, drawn by an invisible thread that always pulled me in his direction.
“Are you talking aboutusas well?” I whispered.
He smiled, soft and a little sad. “Maybe.” He turned off the burner, put a lid over the tomato sauce, and gestured at the door. “I want more time with you, but I don’t know if I’mallowedto think that far ahead yet.”
My hand found his, our fingers lacing. Fear suffocated the words I wanted to say to him. Would I ever be ready to tell him I loved him when I was still figuring out who I am?
“I think about the future, with you in it,” I admitted, and he cradled my face, his thumb tracing over my scars. The tenderness in that simple touch made my throat tighten with emotion.
“Yeah?” he whispered, eyes searching mine.
“Yeah,” I confirmed, surprised by how steady my voice sounded despite the hurricane of feelings inside me. “I just don’t know what that future looks like yet.”
Marcus leaned forward, and our foreheads touched. “We’ll figure it out together. No rush.”
Voices in the hallway made us step apart—so much for keeping our secret, we’d nearly been caught—then, the kitchen door swung open, and Daniel walked in, followed by Emily. They were mid-conversation but paused when they noticed us.
“Smells amazing in here,” Daniel commented, nodding toward the stove.
Marcus flourished a wooden spoon, tomato splattering the tiles. “Christmas Eve pasta!” He lifted the lid to let the mouth-watering aroma of hisgarlic and herb tomato sauce fill the room. “Plenty for everyone who wants it!”
Daniel patted his belly and elbowed Emily. “You want to stay instead of going to the cafe?”
She smiled. “Count me in.”
Marcus tapped the spoon on the pan. “Hey, Dan, Em, can you see if anyone else wants to join? There’s no pressure. I can always box their meals up as usual.”
By the time dinner was ready, the kitchen had filled with people—Daniel and Emily, Carl-the-money-guy, with his partner who’d come to visit, and out of the tenguestsstaying at Guardian Hall, six of us found ourselves downstairs, seated around the table. Daniel and Emily carried the conversation for us all, but Marcus wasn’t shy about filling gaps by starting discussions on everything from stars on a tree to whether pandas hibernate.
Apparently, they weren’tthosekinds of bears.
When Alex and Jazz returned from their pizza date, they joined us, and the room hummed with conversation and laughter as we ate pasta, garlic bread, and enough salad to feed an entire warren of rabbits. I was quiet, just watching, absorbing the warmth and community around me. It wasn’t that I felt I couldn’t talk—quite the opposite. For the firsttime in forever, I felt included without the pressure to perform or contribute.
After dinner, there was a mass tidy up, and then, people began to drift away. Marcus caught my eye across a dishcloth. He tilted his head toward the door, a silent question in his eyes. I nodded, and we slipped out together, heading toward the dark music room. Marcus flicked on a small lamp rather than the overhead lights. It cast a golden glow across the piano and the carefully arranged instruments along the wall.
“I’ve been practicing,” Marcus said, his voice soft in the quiet room. He sat at the piano, patting the space by his side. “I wanted to play something for you. For Christmas.”
I slid beside him on the bench, our shoulders touching. “I’d like that.”
