She scoffs but doesn’t say anything, so I continue, clasping her hand tighter, “I owe you more than you think, Blondie, and I never would have been able to start working on myself without your help. But I’m nowhere near the man you need me to be. Please try to understand why I can’t …” I shake my head, willing away the ache in my chest. “I just can’t allow it.”
She bites her lip and stares down at our intertwined hands. “I understand, even though I still think you’re wrong. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”
I hum. “I do, too.”
“Then maybe I won’t stop trying until you do.” She shrugs and shoots me a smug look as she says the last part.
I can’t help it when a short laugh escapes, which only seems to boost her confidence, because she gives my hand one more squeeze before she turns and climbs out of the car. I sigh to myself before giving in and following her.
We both grab a share of the heap of presents from the backseat and stagger into the house where a handful of her nieces and nephews happily relieve us of our burden and begin stacking the gift boxes and bags in front of the Christmas tree in the living room. Her dad comes over next, kissing Daisy on the cheek and slapping me gently on the back when he gives out hugs. It’s not the first time I’ve been over for a LaFleur holiday event, so I’ve already prepared myself for their customary overly affectionate greetings. But when Mr. LaFleur adds that he’s so glad we’rebothhere today, I admittedly have to swallow the lump in my throat.
Daisy leads us into the kitchen to see her mom after that, and Mrs. LaFleur embraces each of us much the same, except she adds a kiss to my cheek as well. Then she holds us both at arms’ length and studies us carefully. “Mais la. Aren’t they feeding you down there in Camellia? You’re both looking toomaigrefor my liking. Can’t either of you cook?”
Daisy and I trade amused glances when she presents the pies we stopped and picked up from the bakery on the way here. “I’ve been trying. But you’re looking at the world’s first home ec teacher who can’t cook anything beyond scrambled eggs,” she admits, and her mom chuckles.
“Pas bon,” Mrs. LaFleur replies and clicks her tongue. “I’ll have to send you home with the leftovers, I guess.” She pats Daisy’s butt. “Put some meat on thatfesse.”
I snort out a laugh, though I don’t think there’s anything wrong with Daisy’s backside, and I’m redirected toward the living room while she gets a baking lesson. Rowan and his brothers are sitting with his dad where they’re flipping the TV channels to find a football game.
“Oh, hey, you guys made it. Thanks for driving Daisy over,” Rowan says, standing to shake my hand. There’s an instant tightness in my chest as I attempt to stifle my guilty conscience.
“Yeah, no worries,” I reply quietly. “I always enjoy a visit to the homestead.”
Rowan smiles and nods, oblivious to the fact that I’ve broken all of my promises, despite my best attempts. He may be the nicest guy on the planet, but I can’t imagine he’d be thrilled to hear that I’m technically his brother-in-law, much less that I’ve had to resort to reciting a list of childhood diseases in my mind to fend off the impulse to pull Daisy in and kiss her so hard she sees stars.
I heave out a guilty sigh and continue to greet the rest of the clan before I join Rowan on one of the couches. His brother Heath and I are chatting about the college football game on TV when Daisy appears, and I can’t help the way my eyes follow her as she walks over to sit beside one of her sisters. I force myself to look away, only to find Rowan watching me carefully. That pressure in my chest returns as the panic sets in.
Rowan continues staring at me, even after I pretend to turn my attention back to the conversation with Heath. I don’t know why I’m so worried about his reaction, since it’s not like he’s got a single mean or vindictive bone in his body. And Daisy was right before—Rowan wouldn’t hold it against me if I truly had feelings for her. But I gave him my word, and I can’t imagine disappointing him, not after all of the times he’s taken up for me or been the only person to tolerate me for the past fifteen years. I also know exactly how terrifying it is to watch your baby sister fall for the one guy you fear could hurt her the most.
“Wait, did I just hear Landry say he wanted to volunteer to be Saint Nick this year?” Rowan calls out loudly, a cocky expression plastered across his face.
I groan. “You must have mistaken my voice for Heath’s.”
“No, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t me,” the second-oldest brother declares.
“Come on, man,” Rowan continues. “Do it for the kids.”
I cringe. “Do I have to?”
“Yes, you do,” I hear Daisy’s voice ring out from across the room. “LandryNicholas.”
I turn to face her, and she’s giving me those puppy-dog eyes, the ones she knows I can’t resist. I press my lips into a hard line, trying to save face and at least give Rowan and the rest of them the impression that I’m somewhat capable of holding my own against her.
“Fine,” I say flatly. “But I’ll need your help with some of the kids’ names.” Then I accidentally smile when she claps and squeals with delight. Rowan lifts a skeptical brow at me when I reluctantly stand and head over to the tree while Daisy climbs nimbly over the pile of children gathering on the floor around me.
“Want me to say the prayer?” she whispers, and I nod. I’d almost forgotten about that part of their family tradition—the LaFleurs pray together before and after everything they do. And I meaneverything—every meal, every competitive event, every medical procedure. It seemed so strange to me at first, maybe even annoying, especially when Rowan used to insist on praying a whole rosary aloud before any big exams or practicals in school. But now that I’ve come to expect it, it’s sort of endearing. And I’m honestly a little disappointed that Rowan never asked me to join him the way Daisy does. I guess he was worried I’d lash out at him.
I clear my throat. “Sure. Thanks,” I answer her, and I turn and motion the Sign of the Cross as she begins a short prayer. The family mimes the same motion at the end, and the kids’ excitement is even more palpable now that we’re done with that piece of business. I imagine it’s like Pavlov’s bell for them.
“Okay, Santa, take it away,” Daisy says with a wide smile. She hands me a box and tilts her head to one side, signaling which direction to face.
“All right, then. Where’s Big Ben?” I turn to the left and lift the box, and Daisy’s four-year-old nephew stands and lifts his hands triumphantly.
“Right he-yah!”
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face as I step through the obstacle course of cross-legged children to deliver Ben’s gift. Meanwhile, Daisy’s already started calling out more names, and I quickly realize she’s saving all of the kids’ gifts for me to announce.
A few minutes later, gift wrap and tissue paper are flying through the air as I hand the last box over to little Zélie, and I bite my lip when I turn to grab the small bag I’d asked one of the kids to hide behind the tree earlier. I’m starting to second guess my gift for Daisy, or at least my decision to give it to her today. It feels more personal than I thought before, especially now that we’re surrounded by everyone. But before I can talk myself out of it, I feel her tapping me on the shoulder.
