All three of them do.
And when my brother crosses the room to kiss her without hesitation, the same expression blankets his face. I follow, pressing my lips to her forehead, breathing her in. The now familiar smell of honey and sage is invading my senses.
I take a second longer than I need to, letting myself get lost in the moment.
Because right now, somehow, it feels… different.
Not perfect or simple.
But real.
It feels like something I might be lucky enough to keep.
The cinnamon rolls barely make it to the table before Beau’s tearing into them like he hasn’t eaten in days.
Abigail laughs, bright and unguarded, tucking her legs beneath her on the rug as we all settle around the tree. The lights shine softly, casting color across her hair, and something abouther in this moment—her here, with us onChristmas—hits me harder than I expect.
Lawson hands out another round of coffee, topped with more Irish cream, while Beau hands out unsolicited commentary.
“This feels suspiciously domestic,” he says.
Jas snorts. “You say that like you’re not the one who suggested the matching pajama pants.”
Lawson rolls his eyes, but when Beau pulled them out of wherever he had them hidden, after he got up this morning, my brother was all too willing to put on the festive plaid pants. Especially after he saw Abigail’s face light up at the sight of them.
“They’re festive,” Beau defends.
Abbie grins, reaching for a small stack of gifts tucked behind the tree. “Okay,” she says, suddenly looking shy. “I didn’t go big or anything, but… I wanted to get you all something. You’ve done so much for me. You’ve helped me feel like I got my freedom back and—” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears as her voice cracks. Softly shaking her head, she continues. “I know this will never equate to how much you’ve given me, but I wanted to do something.”
She hands one to Lawson first. He opens it carefully, and when he sees the leather recipe book, his breath catches just slightly. His finger brushes along the words on the front, and from my spot next to him, I can see the words “Sunday Dinner” on the front. He flips it open, and when he finds one single card tucked inside, he freezes. I smile at my brother as his eyes scan the recipe for homemade pasta sauce and noodles tucked inside.
“Abigail…” he says her name quietly.
She smiles softly at him. “I thought we could add to it every week. Even on the nights when you pretend to be annoyed with all the chaos,” she says with a wink.
Lawson doesn’t speak for a moment. He just closes it and presses the thumb into the leather before looking over at her. Setting the book down, he leans forward until he’s on all fours. Abigail meets him in the middle of our makeshift circle and presses a small kiss to his lips. “Thank you, Honey,” he says softly.
“You’re welcome,” she replies before they go back to their spots.
She gives Jasper his next. He opens the small box and stares at the silver charm in his palm. His fingers curl around it, gripping it tightly as he looks up at her. “Red,” he murmurs. “This is—”
“It’s the birth flower for May. Lily of the Valley. Joe said you’d like it. I just thought… You have the tattoos of your and your sister’s birth flowers… I thought maybe you’d want mine with you, too.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he just reaches around his neck, clasping the new silver chain and charm firmly in place next to the one his sister gave him all those years ago. He stares at Abigail in wonder as he softly places his palm over the charm.
Beau opens his gift next. It’s a small brown leather notebook with his name stamped in simple letters on the front. “For the quiet moments you pretend you don’t need,” Abigail says.
Beau’s quiet for a moment as he turns the books over in his hands, swallowing harshly. Then, he sets it in his lap and holds Abigail’s face in his hands as he whispers, “You see me.”
“I do,” she replies with a soft smile.
Then it’s my turn.
I take my time opening it, like if I rush, I might miss out on something important. When the paper gives way, I slide the box free and lift the lid.
It takes my brain a second to register what I’m looking at.
And when it does, my chest locks up.
