“I wanted to.”
I lower myself to the edge of the bed and begin to unwrap the gift carefully, peeling back the tape. Inside the box is a journal—soft, leatherbound, a shade of dusky rose. When I open it, I find the first page already inscribed in bold, slanted handwriting:
You don’t have to write it all down. But I hope you’ll try.
I look up at him, eyes stinging.
“Sienna said once that you liked to write. I thought it might help,” he murmurs. “With everything.”
My voice is barely a whisper. “Thank you.”
He shrugs one shoulder, suddenly looking anywhere but at me. “Don’t read too much into it.”
Too late.
I close the journal, running my fingers over the smooth leather one last time before I set it gently on the bed.
“I… I got you something, too,” I say quietly.
Lorenzo raises an eyebrow, caught off guard. “You did?”
I nod, rising from the bed and crossing to the dresser. I definitely don’t tell him that I used his card last night when I was trying to teach him a lesson. But the moment I saw it, I knew he needed to have it. From the top drawer, I pull out a small square package wrapped in deep blue paper and tied with twine. It’s not fancy. It doesn’t sparkle. But my heart is in it.
I hold it out to him with both hands. “It’s not much. But it’s from me. And it’s sort of from Sienna, too.”
That makes him pause. His expression shifts—softening, bracing, grieving—all in the span of a second.
He takes the package with care and unwraps it slowly. Inside is a brass keychain. The kind that’s weighty and warm to the touch. Attached to the ring is a round token stamped with the phraseDrive like someone loves you.
He stares at it for a moment. “This was hers?”
“No,” I say. “But she had one just like it hanging from her rearview mirror. She found it in a gas station one night when we were road-tripping. Said it was ugly as sin, but it reminded her to slow down. Because someone was waiting for her.”
He swallows hard, fingers closing around it.
“I thought…” I clear my throat. “I thought maybe you could carry it. Just to remember that someone cares. That someone’s waiting on you to come home.”
Silence stretches between us.
Then he nods, jaw tight. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”
I try to smile, but emotion is thick in my chest. “Merry Christmas, Lorenzo.”
He doesn’t say anything right away. Just pulls me into his arms and holds me like I’m something fragile and precious. Like he’s afraid letting go might break us both.
After a bit he says, “Rest. I’ve got big plans for us this evening.”
Unable to help myself, I lift on my toes and brush my lips against his.
“I can’t wait.”
At seven, a knock on the door pulls me from the edge of sleep. I rub my eyes and shuffle over. When I open it, Rosa stands there holding a long white box tied with a red satin ribbon.
“This is from Mr. Conti,” she says with a smile. “He’s always loved dressing up for Christmas dinner.”
She passes me the box and adds, “Merry Christmas, Miss Miller. Dinner’s at eight.”
“Merry Christmas, Rosa,” I murmur, cradling the box like it’s made of glass.
