I’m not. When I was going off to college, I had my entire wardrobe packed almost a month before I left, leaving me to hunt through boxes every time I needed an outfit. And every time I’ve moved, especially recently, I’ve had things packed before the sun went down on the day I made the decision, regardless of when the move was going to happen. I’ve always been one to over-anticipate, over-prepare, over-pack. So why am I not doing it now?
“I have extra boxes in the garage. You’re welcome to them.”
His offer makes me sad. The man who was asking me to stay sixteen hours ago is now pushing me out the door?
“I can help you pack if you want.”
I shake my head. “I’m good. We don’t have much more than what we came with.”
He points to the ceiling. “You might change your tune when you see the size of the box that just got delivered for you.”
“Oh, no. Really?” My shoulders slump, knowing exactly what was delivered.
His head tilts. “I’ve never seen someone look so disheartened over a huge package. It looks like it could be a piece of furniture.”
“The package is for you, not me. They were supposed to putyourname on it. And it wasn’t supposed to arrive until after I’d gone.”
“For me?” Confusion has obviously set in. “What is it?”
Amelia comes bounding out of the bathroom, and the moment she sees Carter, she runs over and hugs him. His face lights up when they embrace.Stop it, I tell my melting heart.
He ruffles her hair and thumbs up the stairs. “Christian just started on dinner. He could really use a helper to sprinkle garlic salt on the bread.”
As always, Amelia turns to me for permission, eyes wide and expectant. She loves ‘helping’ make dinner, even though the rest of us know her main contribution is making a colossal mess.
I nod. “Go ahead.” Once she’s up the stairs and I hear voices, I turn back to Carter, who’s glaring at me.
He strides over, puts his hands on my upper arms, and guides me back to the wall, trapping me against it. He holds my stare. “What’s in the box, Kenna?”
“Why don’t you go open it?”
“I’d rather you tell me.”
“Seriously? What’s the fun in that? You must be a thrill to be around on Christmas morning.”
His lips form a charming half-grin. “You could stay and find out.”
Okay, so hewasn’tpushing me to leave? He was just being chivalrous?
Staring into his eyes, I have flashes of a Norman Rockwell Christmas morning, the four of us sitting on the floor near a brilliantly lit tree, taking turns opening our treasures. And his gifts to Amelia will be nothing like what Cyrus gave her on the one and only Christmas of our marriage. Poor kid pulled plain tissue paper out of gift bags—and seriously, gift bags on Christmas for a preschooler?—to find age-inappropriate toys that were choking hazards, and impersonal items such as clothes that didn’t fit or gift certificates.Whogives an almost three-year-old a gift certificate?
No. I’m certain the man gazing deep into my eyes right now would be the complete opposite.
I push the perfect family portrait aside and declare, “I’ll be building snowmen out of sand come Christmas.”
I’m not sure if those words are to remindhimthat I’m leaving… Orme.
He sighs, sadness all over his face. He recovers quickly though, and I wonder if the same thing will happen as soon as I’m gone. Out of sight, out of mind. Will he finally go out on a date with that woman from the carpool line who seems to have her sights set on him?
A pang of jealousy momentarily debilitates me.
He leans in. “Answer the question, Kenna.”
“Uh… what question?”
I stumble over the words, because with him so close, his sexy, manly scent infusing me to my core, I can’t seem to remember my own name.
His quiet burst of laughter displaces the hair on the top of my head before he slouches down to my eye level. “What’s. In. The. Box?”
