She swipes her sunglasses from the dash and slides them on, shaking her hair back. Tilting the rearview mirror down, she glides the pad of her finger over the corner of her mouth, perfecting her deep-red lipstick.
Admittedly, I know nothing about makeup, but from my minimal knowledge of it, I’m willing to bet she wears barely any.
Except that her lush lips are always coated in a tantalizing, bold color that draws my attention way more than it should.
That fucking lipstick has featured in way too many fantasies over the years.
As she pulls down the driveway, I study every detail of her. The smooth curve of her jaw as she checks the mirrors, the movement of the bones in her hands as she grips the steering wheel, the shift in her legs as she pushes the brake.
“You really don’t have to watch me that closely,” she says. “I promise I know how to drive.”
I snap my attention forward, and my cheeks quirk in a grin. “Says the woman who ran into a stop sign with her own mother in the car.”
She scoffs and sends a glare in my direction that I feel searing into my skin even through her sunglasses. “That wasone time. And it was her fault for trying to convince me that Pierce Brosnan is the better James Bond. SheknewI’d get worked up about that.” She lets out a sharp breath like the memory is firing her up all over again. “Have youseenDaniel Craig? Hello, Daddy?”
A loud laugh barks out of me before I can stop it, and her returning smile is dazzling. Pink cheeks and tiny lines bracketing her mouth. Exactly the way I remembered.
It flashes me right back to my first Christmas morning in the Santoses’ house, when that smile was just for me.
Five in the morning. I’m wide awake, like every day at this time, unable to sleep any later since my eighth year of life. That’s when I had to train myself to wake up before the sun to complete the list of chores my foster family wanted me to finish before school.
Sliding out of the guest bed, I get up before everyone else and make a pot of coffee for the adults, since three-month-old Penelope will be waking them up earlier than they hope.
I sip my coffee and scroll through the news on my phone while powdery snowflakes fall outside the massive living room windows.
When soft footsteps pad down the stairs a few minutes later, I peek over my shoulder, and I’m met with the most adorable sight. Lena is dressed in a baggy flannel pajama set, her hair in complete disarray over her head as she rubs her eyes. She pulls her hands away and blinks a few times like she’s trying to clear her vision.
And when she focuses on me, she gives me a radiant smile that lights up the whole room. Maybe the whole house.
That smile sends my heartrate galloping in my chest.
“Merry Christmas, Gav,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from sleep.
I dip my chin with a small grin. “Merry Christmas, Lena. There’s coffee in the kitchen.”
Instead of making her way toward the caffeine, she plops on the couch beside me, dropping her head to the cushion behind her. “Too sleepy to make it right now,” she says, her lashes fanning over her cheeks.
“I’ll make it for you.”
“My coffee requests are too complicated,” she murmurs.
“I’m sure I can figure it out,” I offer, not quite sure how to tell her that I already know how she fixes her coffee from seeing her do it for days. “Or you can go back to sleep. I’ll make sure you don’t miss the festivities.”
She shakes her head and whispers, “I’m the one who gets up early on Christmas morning. I make the coffee and start the cinnamon rolls.” She yawns, so big that she falls to the side until her head hits the pillow between us. “I have to check that all the stockings are done and the fire is going. Need to make sure everyone has a perfect day.”
Amid a few more murmurs about stockings, her breaths deepen, and she drifts off to sleep.
I’ve spent the last few days witnessing her organizing family games and keeping the festive music going, making sure everyone is laughing and having a great time. She’s the bright light at the center of this family—the one everyone looks at in complete adoration.
But she’s obviously exhausted, so I down the last sip of my coffee and sneak into the kitchen. I don’t know much about stockings, but I pop open a can of cinnamon rolls and start a fire before everyone wakes up.
“I need some coffee. And food,” Lena announces, shoving me out of the memory. “I can feel the hangry coming on.” She pushes her sunglasses up into her hair as she slows down in front of Bear Creek at the edge of Juniper.
A cozy coffee shop and bakery sits at the front of the property, with lit garlands adorning the windows. Beside it rolls a field of Christmas trees that’s bordered by a row of rental cabins.
“That sounds great,” I tell her, thankful for the break from the tension in the car. It should be lethal in this dosage, and a small breather before the rest of the drive to Fern River would be a welcome relief.
5
