“You know I never had a choice in law.”
“Right.And that’s why you’re ditching the field for a start-up?”
“That’s one of a million reasons.”I rise and adjust my suit.
* * *
Nothing changes.My father hosts a Christmas Eve party every year, inviting colleagues and a few close neighbors.The line of cars along the street in front of our house says the party’s been going on for a while.Guests keep arriving, just like he hoped.
I tighten my coat and clear my throat.My steps take me across the street—not for the party, but to persuade and reassure my girl that I still love her.
A green-and-red wreath hangs on the white door.Unlike my place, the Baxter house looks quiet.No noise, no cars parked out front, no staff rushing around with trays of champagne.
I press the doorbell once.The faint chime rings inside, and not long after, the door opens.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs.Baxter,” I say with a wide smile.
“Oh, Laird!Merry Christmas!”she says, wrapping me in a warm hug.
“A Christmas gift for you.”I lift a bouquet of romance novels mixed with flowers, wrapped in green ribbon and red glitter paper.
“Thank you!Oh, you tease!Come in, you naughty boy.”She pulls me into another tight hug.
When she finally lets go, she gives my arm a playful tap as I step inside.I set the bouquet down on the living room table, and that’s when she appears—coming down the stairs, looking like trouble wrapped in comfort.
Her hair’s in a messy bun, her face covered in a green mask instead of makeup.No jewelry, just a small towel hanging around her neck.And instead of a sexy red dress, she’s wearing a long-sleeved pink pajama set with bunny prints.God, I miss her.
“Oh, God.Laird?!”
Her eyes go wide.She freezes, panics, then spins around and bolts back upstairs.I can’t help but laugh.I missed her—missed all her ridiculous little habits.I’d even hug her right now if she hadn’t run off.
“Aren’t you coming to my dad’s Christmas party?”I ask Mrs.Baxter while she goes to the kitchen to pour a glass of the best eggnog in the universe.
“Later.It’s rare for Fenella to be home on Christmas Eve.She hasn’t spent one here in five years, so I want her to enjoy it while it lasts.”
“Yeah, but you should still come.My dad’ll look for you and lose his mind if you don’t show up.He might storm over tomorrow morning, demanding more eggnog than you could ever make.”I give her a crooked grin.
Sharon just waves a hand, unimpressed.“Let him.What’s the point of going just to hear him brag or lie about you, Lloyd, and his little mistresses?”Her hands are busy spreading cinnamon powder with a small spoon.
I snort.“I thought he already made up his mind last year about—what was her name?Mary?Alicia?”There are too many to keep straight.
“This time her name’s Riley.She’s twenty-five.A new nurse at the hospital where your father goes for checkups.They met last summer, and your father said he rented her a luxury apartment near the hospital for a year.”
“A year?”I lean back on the sofa.“I doubt she’ll last that long.”
Sharon shakes her head, half-laughing.“Tell him that.I’d even bet Lloyd’s the one driving her home now and then.”
“That’s how Lloyd gets rid of those women.”I shrug.
Sharon sighs, clearly done with all our family drama.“Drink up, Laird, while it’s still warm.”
I take the glass and sip the drink.The sweet rum, the spice, the creamy warmth—it all hits just right.The chill in my chest fades in an instant.
“How’s it taste?”she asks.
“Still perfect,” I say, raising the glass.
“Glad to hear it.”She chuckles.“Be careful, though.That drink already burned one poor man today.”
