Page 32

The idea of getting up and facing them again made my body feel weighted to the bed. Every second I spent in this house felt like being reminded of another life lived by someone else. Like the house itself remembered every version of me that had ever lived inside it, and none of those versions were someone I particularly wanted to be right now, maybe weren’t even someone I could be anymore.

Harry was fast asleep beside me. I was still shocked my mom hadn’t said anything about him sleeping in my room. She was a firm believer in not sharing rooms when you weren’t married—sex before marriage being a sin and all that. I couldn’t decide if her silence was because she was giving me grace, or because she just didn’t care enough about me anymore to bother.

I glanced over, my gaze tracing over Harry’s strong body that I’d rarely let myself admire. He was on his back with one arm thrown across his eyes, and his breathing was slow and even. He was wearing his matching navy pajama set that I always teased him about, although I’d seen him enough times in the middle of the night to know he didn’t normally sleep with the shirt on. Too many nights, we’d all woken up to help Drew with his baby daughter, Rory, and the times when Gordy had held that sweet tiny baby while wearing only the navy pajama bottoms were burned into my memory. That man was going to be a sexy-as-fuck DILF.

A familiar ache radiated from my chest, and I turned away to stare back at the ceiling. I couldn’t think about him like that. He was one of my best friends, but that was all. We couldn’t be anything more than that.

I didn’t deserve it.

I watched the ceiling until I couldn’t anymore, and then I got up. I couldn’t stay in this room until Harry woke up. I needed to be able to face my family without him standing beside me giving me his strength all the time.

I pulled on the first thing I found—my black leggings and Harry’s hoodie from where it was sitting in the chair in the corner—and made myself go downstairs.

When I stepped off the last step, I stared at the living room that had been pristine last night but was now full of boxes.

I stopped in the doorway and just looked at them for a second. They were stacked three and four high, labeled in my mom’s handwriting. LIGHTS. NATIVITY. GARLANDS. God, I’d almost forgotten about these boxes, and the sight of them again after so long had my eyes burning. They were filled with thirty years of Christmas, organized, categorized, and packed away in the dark for eleven months, waiting to be needed again. As a kid, I’d loved helping my mom sort through them all. Christmas had been my favorite time of year.

My mom was already in the middle of it, unwrapping ornaments from tissue paper. She looked up when she heard me, and while her lips pulled up into a smile, it was a little too forced and unnatural looking, similar to when a photo is taken a half second too late and captures everyone mid-blink with slipping smiles.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Morning. Are you decorating today?” It felt like a stupid question to ask because that’s obviously what was happening, but I wasn’t sure what else to say to her.

Before my mom could answer, Eric came around the corner from the kitchen with a bowl of cereal, pointing his spoon at me.

“Don’t tell me you forgot about the twelve days of Christmas.” He was so much taller than when I’d left. Broader too. He wasn’t the awkward little brother I’d loved to tease anymore, but he still had that playful twinkle in his eyes, and right now that felt like a lifeline I was all too eager to grab on to. “Today is tree decorating while drinking hot cocoa and watching Christmas movies all day. Tomorrow is Snowflake Lane.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “The full schedule is on the fridge. Mom laminated it.”

The memories washed over me so quickly it felt like I was being swept away by a tsunami. The annual twelve days of Christmas tradition that my parents had been doing my whole life. Every day was filled with something festive that we were all expected to participate in.

“Eric, don’t eat in the living room,” my mom said, without looking up from the ornament she was unwrapping.

He took one pointed bite of cereal and then set the bowl on the coffee table anyway, and my mom pressed her lips together, choosing not to fight it. Well, at least some things didn’t change. Eric was still getting away with breaking all the house rules because he was the baby.

The sound of the stairs creaking caught my attention, and I turned to see Harry dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, running his hand through his black hair as he stepped off the last step. His eyes darkened with something I couldn’t quite name as he stared at me for a beat too long. My cheeks heated when I realized he was staring at his sweatshirt that I’d commandeered this morning. I nibbled my lip and gave him a little shrug and a shy smile. He closed the distance between us and leaned forward, placing a tender kiss on my forehead that had my breath catching in my lungs.

“Want some coffee?” His voice was still a little rough with sleep, and it made tingles break out all over my body.

“Yes, please.”

He kissed my head again and then walked toward the kitchen. I watched him for a moment longer, letting myself for just the tiniest second believe this could be real, before I remembered that he would never really be mine. He deserved so much more than I could give him.

He deserved better than me.

I focused back on the boxes and thought about the ornaments inside them. Some were generic balls you’d get from the store, but most were handmade ones we’d made as kids. Those were my mom’s favorites.

Or at least they used to be.

Harry materialized beside me with two mugs of coffee. I took mine without looking at him and wrapped both hands around it like it was the only warm thing in the room. But that wasn’t entirely true because Harry’s warmth emanated from his body, making me feel stronger than I’d felt when I stood here alone.

“So,” Eric said, around a mouthful of cereal. “I’ll do the lights and then we can all do the ornaments together. Jordan should be here by then.”

“I thought Dad always did lights,” I said.

“Nope. He hauls in the tree and I’m in charge of lights now.” He was already pulling a tangled strand from the nearest box with both hands, holding it up to assess the damage. “Things change, Sammy.”

He wasn’t wrong about that.

A few minutes later, my dad carried in the tree they’d apparently picked out when Harry and I had been visiting with Mira yesterday. Jordan showed up while Eric still wrestled with the lights, refusing anyone’s help because he “had a system” or so he claimed.