Tate releases me and Holly gives me a bone-crushing hug. My arms are pinned to my sides.
“Come on,” she encourages, “your arms go around me.”
I huff a tiny laugh as I hug her back.
“Thank you for defending my girl,” she says, before she pulls away to look into my eyes. “And you’re right. He was arat-faced fuck.” She perks up, gesturing for us to follow. “Come on in.”
After dinner, Bea opens her presents. When all of them have been opened except mine, she gives me an expectant look. “I saw you carrying a bag.”
“Bea,” Holly chides, and I laugh, even as nerves churn in my stomach.
“Nothing gets past you,” I tell her, and slide the smaller wrapped package over to her.
With a gleeful smile, she tears the paper off before recognition lights up her face.
“It’s me!” Her gaze roams the image. “And Phoebe.”
Something bright and happy expands in my chest. It’s an illustration of Bea reading a book under the tree in their yard, with Phoebe curled up in her lap, snoozing.
“Oh,” Holly says softly, leaning over to look. “That is lovely.”
Bea stares at the picture. Does she hate it? What was I thinking, getting a kid adrawing. “I know it’s a boring gift but?—”
“It’s not boring,” Bea says suddenly, with wide eyes. “I love it. Phoebe will love it, too.”
Phoebe doesn’t have three brain cells to rub together, but okay. Relief crashes over me and I can feel myself smiling.
“I actually got you another gift, too.” I glance between Holly and Jeff and Tate with a wince. “Sorry. I couldn’t help it.”
“She has that effect on people,” Holly says with a sigh, but her eyes sparkle.
I set the larger gift box on the table in front of Bea and she tears the paper off.
“My own record player,” she hollers.Rumoursby Fleetwood Mac is on top of the box. “And my favorite record!”
“We can go to the store and get you more.” I squeeze my hands together beneath the table. “I just wanted to give you one to get you started. And I can set it up for you and show you how to use it.”
This model is newer and simpler to use, according to the woman at the record store. It should be better for a kid but still last her years.
“I know how much you like listening to music on mine,” I say as she beams at the box. “And now you can listen to it in your room. Or you can bring it here.” I press my lips together, a weird ache behind my heart. My gaze flicks to Tate, and he’s studying me with his own strange expression, something intense and determined.
“Wow.” Holly beams at Bea. “Those are some incredible gifts. Somebody really cares about you. What do we say?”
I flush with embarrassment. Holly must think I’m ridiculous, spoiling a kid I barely know. Before I can make an excuse, though, Bea launches at me and I’m enveloped in her hug, her arms around my neck.
“Thank you thank you thank you,” she says, and I laugh, hugging her back. “I love it.”
A happy delight squeezes behind my ribcage. “You’re so welcome. Happy birthday, Bee.”
I didn’t mean to call her by her nickname. It just slipped out. It felt right, though.
“Thank you, Jordan,” Holly says with warmth before studying the drawing with a wistful look. “This is so freaking cool. Did you hire an illustrator?”
I nod. “Someone local.”
She hums. “I’ll have to look her up. She’s talented.”
Him, I don’t say, and he doesn’t have any information online about being an artist. I caught him doodling on the plane, and he only did the illustration with my promise to take his secret talent to the grave.
