All day long, I keep expecting to see Richard’s car pull down the drive.Surely he finally understood what I said.Surely he realized that Sam needshimto give first.She’s worth not having babies.She’senough, all on her own, even without agreeing totry.
And they could have kids.
Their children, if they adopted, may not be able to inherit the dukedom or whatever, but surely they’d be well cared for in any case.Happiness with children doesn’t require biological connections, and it doesn’t require a title, either.All he has to do is realize that, and then he can come back here and salvage the mess he made.
Every car that heads down the long drive has me rushing to the window.For the first time since buying this place, the guests coming and going annoy me.I’m glad there are bookings—a fourth one came in last minute—but I want to seeRichardcome and make things right with my friend.The whole thing between them just seems like such a tragic waste.
Half a day later, after emailing some of the most promising photos to Samantha, I start walking through my checklist of last-minute tasks.I text Mason to remind him to bring the cheese ball and crackers and make sure the puppy’s doing alright.The mushrooms are baking in the oven.The ham’s heating up, the glaze made.The rolls are baking below, in the same oven and at the same temp as the cherry pie.Both my ovens and my toaster oven pull double duty at big holidays.
All my gifts are wrapped, the last ones late last night.The kitchen’s swept, and the counters have been cleaned.I’m fixing the pillows and blankets that my kids seem to take great joy in tossing like they’re part of a salad, when I see it.
I’ve been waitingallstinking day!
A big, dark SUV which I’ve never seen Richard drive pulls down the drive, but it has to be him.The man owns more cars than most women own shoes, and he’s drivingpastthe main house and tearing down the drive—a little fast, if I’m being honest—toward Sam’s place.I can’t contain my smile.I whip out my phone to text Vanessa, who demanded a second-by-second replay of my interaction earlier.
But then, the SUV stops in front of my place instead.
That idiot must know we have plans tonight and think she’s already here.I race outside, waving him forward, but it’s not Richard who gets out of the shiny navy blue Land Rover.
It’s Cillian.
I blink.
Mason has the dog, so if he’s here to ask for him back, he’ll have to go by there to pick him up.“Cillian?”
He’s normally entirely calm, but he looks a little nervous, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets.He’s dressed like he’s just come from work, but he threw on a holiday sweater to make it look more ‘casual.’Ihatehow well it works for him.
“I don’t have the...”I clear my throat.“You-know-what.”I hiss.“It’s coming later tonight.”
He blinks.
“Did you come for it?I decided to keep it, but I’ll pay you back for him.Just tell me how much, and I can Venmo you.”
He shakes his head, his brow furrowed.“No, that’s not—I’m not here about that.”
I frown.“You know it’s Christmas Eve, right?”I glance over my shoulder at the kitchen.I have alotof things I’m cooking right now.“I’m about to burn some rolls.”
“I bought this SUV for you.”He gestures behind him.
“You—what?”I shake my head.“I told you the other thing was wrong, so you got me acar?”
“No.”He’s shaking his head like crazy.“I mean, I sold my sports cars, and I bought myself an SUV, so I have room for you and your kids.”He waves his hands in the air.“I’m not being crazy and trying to buy you something else without asking.This is a gesture.I’m making room for you, so I can be on the animal houseboat.I listed my condo too, and I put an offer down on a cute house just around the corner.”
“You did what?”
“Go inside.”He tosses his head.“I’ll come in there and talk—really quietly.”He grimaces.“Or, we can talk later.I’m sorry.It’s just—I didn’t want to wait.Once you left, I knew.I couldn’t lose you, but I had to do something big to show you I’m not all talk.”
I walk inside, a little stunned.He got a new car, and he’s getting a new house so he can let me and my kids in?Thankfully, I make it inside in time to pull the rolls out before they burn.I slide another pan into the oven.
“Hey, Cillian,” Paul says.“Merry Christmas.I thought you screwed things up with my mom, but I’m glad you’re here.”He high fives him and walks through the kitchen and down the hall, like it’s no big deal.
“I did screw up,” Cillian says.“And I’m so sorry.Look, it’s not any excuse, but I’m an only child.I don’t have lots of cousins to set me straight, either.My family was all like Aunt Clara.No kids or if they were lucky, maybe just one.”
“Yeah, but this?—”
“Can I finish?”His eyes are big and wide, like that ill-advised puppy I couldn’t bring myself to return.
I sigh.“Sure.”
