Page 114

"Kieran, you're the reason a dream I've had since childhood is coming true. Don't downplay it."

"Okay, I won't." My lips curl into a grin. "Does it earn me a piece of chocolate?" I stick out my tongue at her.

"No, it doesn't." She giggles and leans her head back against my shoulder. "I mean, I guess in theory it would, but I don't have chocolate on me. And I'm not sure if pavloving you would be effective if you know it's happening. I'll have to read up on it. Either way,” She nods at the present. "Go on. Open it."

"You didn't have to—"

"Shut up and open it, Kieran." I pout, even though she said it with a loving smile.

"Okay, okay." Carefully, I try to open the paper without tearing it, but I'm not very successful, so finally I give up and tear it off.

"It's a..." I turn it in my hands. "Book." A beautiful book. Hardbound, a nice, heavy weight, and even a built-in bookmark. There’s no title though, or author for that matter, but undoubtedly quality work.

"It's a recipe book," she explains and opens the book. The title page reads ‘Emily’s recipes for dummies’.

"Mom made them for all of us kids. You know, all of her recipes, with the instructions dumbed down so much that even Hudson can cook them. Apart from her Thanksgiving mac and cheese, she said she’ll take the recipe to her grave."

Her family recipes.

I let my fingertip glide over the cold cover. "Damn, this must have been a lot of work."

She reaches over and opens it to a random page. I chuckle. It's the chicken soup I suspect she made for me when I had my fever.

"She gave them to my brothers and me five years ago, but she always kept one for you around," Brooke continues casually, as if she’s not currently turning my whole world upside down. "Last week we went to the city, and I tried to find, you know, a proper Christmas present for you, but nothing felt right.” She lets out a deep sigh. “You are difficult to shop for. You have everything you want."

"No, I don’t," I correct her and set the book on the coffee table to spare it from rabbit poop or dog saliva. "Thank you, Brooke. This is so much better than anything you could have bought at a random store."

"I figured." Her face lights up and she hugs my arm to her chest. "I'm glad you like it, Kieran."

"I wonder if you will still be so glad when I slice my finger off, trying to follow one of the recipes."

She shakes her head, but I can see the corners of her mouth twitching.

"Merry early Christmas, I guess." I pull my arm from her grasp, put it back around her shoulders again, and press a kiss to the top of her head, earning a happy sigh.

"Merry early Christmas, Brooke."

We remain here, not moving a muscle. Just breathing. After a while, the dogs get up and rest their heads on her legs. We watch the snow fall, though I'm more focused on her reflection in the window and the blissful smile curling her lips.

Epilogue

Kieran

When I wake up, the world, including Brooke, is still asleep. My bedroom is pitch black, not a sound making its way inside.

I'm cuddled against Brooke, my head on her shoulder, hand on her boob – hell yes, unconscious me - and one leg over hers, as if I'm trying to stop her from disappearing. Her hair tickles against my nose, but I couldn’t give less of a damn.

She insisted on keeping one of the windows ajar for the night. No idea why she needs the room to be ice cold, only to sleep with a damn hot water bottle by her feet.

But what Brooke wants, Brooke gets, and if I’m being completely honest with myself, toasty feet in bed are not the worst idea she’s ever had. At least she doesn’t need to warm the ice cubes her feet become on my calves that way.

I wish I could watch her if I’m awake at this ungodly hour, but it’s too dark.

The curtain rustles slightly in a breeze, and goosebumps run down my spine, the wind a soft whisper that might as well be a scream in the silence.

Today is my birthday. Thirty-fucking-one.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, centering myself before the inevitable freak-out comes.