“It’s called artistic expression, Gram. I was a savant even back then.”
Lucy laughs lightly. Her cheeks are dusty rose and her eyes are bright. She thanks me for the hot cocoa when I hold out the mug. Her fingers brush over mine when she takes it from me, and a zip of pleasure flies up my arm. She sucks in a breath with enough force that I can hear it, which leads me to believe she also feels the crazy, electric connection coursing between us.
What does she want with it, though? Lucy told me in this very house the night of the Cinderella experiment that she didn’t want anything more from me. Has that changed?
I take in the entire scene—Pa, stringing lights around the tree; Lucy, leaning toward my grandmother while Gram prattles on about another homemade ornament’s origin story. Lucy’s face is set in a soft smile, and she brings the mug of cocoa to her lips, nodding at something Gram said. I trace her movements, all velvety and sweet, and it’s like a fire that had turned to ashes inside me ignites with the tiniest flicker of light. I want to pursue her, even though that means opening myself up to the possibility of loss. What I see now is how I’d also have the chance of gaining something truly great.
Chapter 27
Lucy
Sitting in TJ’s living room with his grandparents is the most comfortable I’ve felt in a long time. In the past nine months, certainly, but even before that. It’s not that my stepmom and stepsisters aren’t kind and welcoming. But this—sitting around, talking about old times, laughing and reminiscing, sipping cocoa and listening to Christmas music—is cozy in a way my life in California hasn’t been since my dad passed.
It's simple and sweet, and I’m so grateful.
I look across the room at TJ, where he’s dancing with his grandma to the low strains of Nat King Cole’s “The Christmas Song.” Loretta is about half his height, but she looks like she feels ten feet tall being in his arms. She pulled me aside before and thanked me for bringing their boy back. It made a wad of emotion clog the back of my throat, because I don’t think I did anything. But this—TJ letting me into his home, letting me cut down a tree and decorate it—well, it’s everything to me. He’s letting me play my Christmas playlist, and every song brings me back to a memory I shared with my dad. It’s bittersweet, but more sweet than anything to be given permission to enjoy it all here, surrounded by this family that so obviously loves each other.
I glance at the photo of Tess at the front of the shelf and say a quick prayer of thanks for whatever divine nudge TJ felt today to take a step back into the holiday spirit. I hope it’s been a good step for him. His grandparents seem over the moon. I make a silent vow to continue to honor Tess’smemory in any way I can, and to help TJ do so, too. From everything he’s told me, she seemed like the type of person we could use more of.
My playlist switches to an Alvin and the Chipmunks song, and TJ wrinkles his nose. “Can this song even be considered music?”
I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head in wonder. “You know what? My dad used to say the same thing.”
It might seem crazy to say, but it feels like my dad had a hand in my meeting TJ. Like maybe he’s up there in heaven, and he knew I needed a push. It was his chili recipe that kept the connection between me and the Wilsons going after the Cinderella stunt ran its course. I hope my dad would be proud of me trying to live and find joy despite some less-than-ideal circumstances this year.
TJ’s gaze locks in on mine, and it’s like he can see right through me. He crosses the room and reaches the pad of his thumb toward my face. “You’ve got some glitter here.” The press of his finger is soft as he drags it across my cheek and then holds out the evidence for me to see.
“Thanks,” I say with a shaky breath.
“You okay?” he asks, keeping his voice low.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes at his concern and his awareness. I don’t know how he’s so keyed in to how I’m feeling, but TJ continues to prove himself ridiculously good at reading me.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I’m good. Thinking about my dad and feeling a bit overwhelmed, but in a good way. This has been the perfect afternoon. Thank you.”
TJ shakes his head. His eyes never leave mine as he grabs for my hand. “I should be thanking you.” He squeezes my fingers. “Thank you for holding space for Tess.”
“You should always honor her however you can.”
He flicks his gaze to the photo of her and then back to me. “I know. I will. My grief will always be with me in some way. But I don’t want to stay there, stuck. Today, you helped me see that I owe it to her to live and laugh, which I guess I’ve been doing adecent job of,” he says with a half grin before sobering. “But also, I think I owe it to her to try to love again.”
My stomach does a swan dive to the floor before rocketing back up and settling at the base of my throat. “I—that’s really good for you, TJ,” I squeak out.
Really good for you? Come on, Lu. For someone who considers herself a wordsmith, what sort of pathetic response is that?
In my defense, I have no idea what to say to him. Is he implying that he wants to try to love again … with me?
“It is good, I think,” TJ says slowly, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips.
My pulse pounds in every corner of my body as he leans toward me. My senses are all on high alert. Is TJ going to kiss me, right here in the glow of the Christmas tree light? Would that be sort of perfect? Yes.
Wait.
No.
It would never work. Not with me hiding away and him in the public eye all the time.
Then again … what if itcouldwork?
