“Rush, you know what my family’s like. We’re chaotic and nosy. I can handle anything.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “What about your family? The Harts must have Christmas plans?”
“We have dinner tonight with the whole family.” She hesitated, wanting to invite him, to bring him into the center of all that chaos and warmth, but she sensed a wary edge still clinging to him. He’d opened up so much last night—she almost let the words die there, afraid of a brush-off, but she made herself say, “I’d like you to come.”
Instead, he nodded. “All right.”
She smiled. “We’ll have to stop by Evie’s apartment. I can’t exactly show up to meet Pop in a red satin dress.”
That earned her a grin. His gaze dipped to her bare legs under the hem of his T-shirt. “He wouldn’t mind if you did.”
She tossed a napkin at him, laughing.
While Rush cleaned the kitchen, Lily took a quick showerand tried very hard not to snoop in his room. It wasn’t difficult—most of his life was packed in boxes along the wall. Still, a few things caught her eye.
On the dresser, leaning against a lamp, was a photo in a simple black frame. Rush couldn’t have been more than twenty, all sharp shoulders and buzz-cut hair, with two younger girls by his side, looking up at him like he hung the moon. Rachel and Sarah. He had an arm hooked around each of them, protective even back then.
Next to it, tucked beneath a stack of mail, was the picture Chloe had drawn him. She smoothed a curled edge, her eyes prickling. He’d never mentioned it, but it had meant something. For all his gruffness, Rush carried the weight of these people who loved him, and he took it seriously. She touched his face in the photo, wondering what else he carried silently… and if he’d ever let her in.
Sleepovers, breakfast, and now—meeting Pop.
For something she kept reminding herself was temporary, it felt dangerously close to everything she wanted.
Chapter Forty
The smellof antiseptic and bleach hit Lily the moment she and Rush stepped into Canalside. Sharp and sterile and fighting to cover the lingering trace of last night’s dinner. Instinctively, she tucked herself closer to Rush’s side, but the brush of her shoulder against his made him even stiffer.
The ride into town had been strangely tense too. The closer they got to the nursing home, the more Rush seemed to withdraw. Lily had asked if he still wanted her to meet Pop, thinking he’d changed his mind, but Rush had just looked at her, unsmiling. “Of course,” he’d said, but the morning’s intimacy had faded the closer they got to town.
Riggs trotted ahead, his nails clicking on the linoleum as they followed him into the nursing home’s lobby, which was lit with a little Christmas tree in the corner, its twinkle lights doing double time to make the space cheerful.
They passed a cluster of residents chatting near the nurses’ station. A woman rocked a swaddled baby doll as tenderly as if it were real. A man dozed in a chair in front of a gas fireplace. The place was trying for holiday cheer—there were garlands strung over the doorframes and paper snowflakes tapedto the walls, but the sadness of the place was unmistakable. No amount of tinsel could disguise the fact that these people were waiting. Lily absorbed it all quietly, tucking the feeling somewhere she wouldn’t forget.
Riggs padded straight into a large dayroom with a sitting area in the center and tables surrounding it and wove his way to a man in a wheelchair by the window. A plaid blanket was tucked over his knees, and his eyes were closed; his chin dipped to his chest.
Riggs put his long nose in Pop’s lap and snuffled under the gnarled hand sitting loosely in his lap.
“Pop,” Rush said, crouching down beside his chair.
The old man’s eyes opened, softening when he saw Rush. “Boy,” he said gruffly. “Merry Christmas. Hi, Riggs.” He gave Riggs a rub on his head.
“Merry Christmas, Pop.” Rush’s shoulders eased almost imperceptibly.
“And who’s this pretty thing?” Pop’s bushy white eyebrows rose as he caught sight of Lily.
She stepped forward quickly to shake his hand. “Hi, Mr. Callahan. Lily Hart. It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Don’t ‘Mister’ me,” he said, shaking her hand warmly. “Call me Pop, the same as he does.” His smile turned sly. “It’s about time he brought a girl like you around.”
“Pop,” Rush started, his own cheeks flushing a bit.
Lily smiled, undaunted by a little family teasing. She was a Hart, after all. “I’m glad to be here.”
Up close, she noticed other similarities between them. Both were large framed, although Pop’s frame was much thinner, devoid now of the powerful muscles of his grandson. Both had the same square jaw, Pop’s covered in white bristles and Rush’s in black.
Rush reached into his coat pocket and set a small package in Pop’s lap. “Brought you something.”
Pop’s gnarled fingers opened the paper until the top of a green bottle peeked through. His eyes lit up. “Bay rum,” he said with a smile. He uncapped the cologne and inhaled deeply. “Joanie always liked it when I wore this out to dinner.”
