by Zoe York
“Merry Christmas no matter what,” he murmured.
She nodded.
He held up the bag in his other hand. “I brought presents. I thought I’d leave Emily’s here for her, but since she hasn’t left yet…”
Natasha’s face softened completely, even as she gave him a reproachful look. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“I wanted to.”
“We got you a little something too, but it’s a token. I hope you didn’t go overboard.”
“Let’s focus on the cookies. Which are, by the way, from Dani, who is desperate to invite you out for a girls’ night, and I need to get that bit of news out of the way before we focus on making a chilly Christmas super awesome.”
Natasha laughed. “Okay.”
“The cookies are really good. We worked together last night and she made them just for you. But I ate two because I’m a terrible person.”
“You are anything but.” She held out her hand and he passed over the tub of cookies. She took a bite out of one immediately. “Delicious,” she pronounced.
He leaned in and kissed her. “Yes you are.”
That got him a real smile.
He followed her into the kitchen where Emily was colouring in a notebook on the floor. He liked that his coming and going was now so normal to her that she just looked up and gave him a big grin before going back to her work.
The oven was on, which gave the kitchen some warmth.
“I’m making a big breakfast, since for once the fact that this ancient oven spills out heat is a good thing.” Natasha said. “Bacon is on, and I’m about to do up some scrambled eggs and toast, too. Are you hungry?”
“Always.” He sprawled out on the floor next to Emily. “I can source electric heaters if need be, too. Jake has a bunch for work sites, and he won’t be using them this week.”
“I hope it won’t come to that.” She frowned. “But thank you.”
He tapped his finger beside the colour book. “Hey, Miss Monkey… Merry Christmas.”
Emily flashed him another quick look. “Merry Christmas,” she repeated.
“I hear we’re having a big breakfast.”
“Mm-hmm.”
They coloured together while Natasha finished cooking, then they ate picnic-style, right there on the kitchen floor. Once they finished, he quickly did the dishes while Natasha wiped Emily’s hands and face.
Then he crouched in front of the three-year-old. “Do you want your present?”
“A present?” She clapped her hands. “For me?”
He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And I have one for your mom, too.”
Emily leaned in, eye to eye with him. “We have a present for you.”
“Where is it?”
“Upstairs.” She disappeared, rounding the corner in a flash before he heard footsteps flying on the stairs.
He got up from the ground and grabbed his bag of gifts.
Emily returned with a small, square box.
He held out one of her presents. “You go first.”
She set his aside and ripped into the paper. This one was for her to share with Natasha. Matching aprons, and Emily held up her mother’s first. “This is too big for me,” she said solemnly. Then she spotted the matching fabric, now on the floor. “Oh! This one is little!”
Natasha, silent beside him, reached out and took her apron—pink, like Emily’s, with Kitchen Boss stamped on the front. “Oh, Matt, these are awesome.”
“Emily’s says Kitchen Boss in Training,” he explained.
“We need to get you one, too.”
“Kitchen 2IC?” He grinned as she gave him a blank look. He tapped on his chest. “As a sergeant, I’m second in command of a platoon. 2IC.”
Her eyes lit up. “Yeah, you could be my Kitchen 2IC.”
He’d order an apron as soon as they had her furnace sorted out.
“Next present,” he said, handing over the next one for Emily. She ripped into this one with even more abandon, and hugged the stuffed moose tight to her chest.
“Now it’s your turn,” Natasha said. She swiped the small box Emily had brought downstairs. It wasn’t wrapped, just secured together with ribbon, and the box itself was beautiful—a faded, vintage world map print all over it. “This is something we saw and we thought of you immediately.”
She handed it over. Her hands were shaking, and he caught her fingers with his. A little squeeze to say that he saw her, that he knew this was a weird first holiday together, and he didn’t have any expectations.
He carefully worked the ribbon open, then lifted the lid.
They’d found him a leather passport wallet.
He lifted it out of the box and realized it wasn’t empty. Inside was a notebook, carefully trimmed to be exactly the size of a passport. He paged through it.
Each page was coloured by Emily, and Natasha had written neat, careful words on some of them. Paris, said the first page. Peru, said another. South Africa, Australia, Hong Kong…
He kept flipping until his eyes blurred.
Then he cleared his throat. “I…” He lifted his head and looked at Natasha, who searched his face, her eyes wide. “Can I kiss you in front of Emily?” he asked under his breath.
She laughed and nodded.
He swept her into his arms and pressed a hard, grateful kiss to her lips. She curled her fingers into his shirt, right against where his heart was pounding a mile a minute.
“We haven’t talked about travel again,” she whispered against his mouth. “But I saw the wallet and wondered if maybe you wouldn’t have one, and might like one…”
“I love it. And I love what’s inside it more.” I love you, he wanted to add, but a knock at the door interrupted them.
He let her go, and while she was answering the door, he crouched down to show Emily how much he liked the present.
“I drew this,” she said as she pointed to the pictures. “And this is a tree.”
The green squiggle was the most beautiful drawing he’d ever seen in his life. “I’m going to keep this forever.”
Natasha returned with an HVAC tech in tow. “It’s in the basement,” she said, “This way.”
He glanced up. “Do you—”
She gestured to Emily. “Can you?”
He nodded. Of course he could. He’d do whatever she needed here.
They disappeared, but they weren’t gone long. And when they came up, there was no hiding how devastated Natasha was.
She took a copy of the invoice from the tech. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch after Christmas.”
“Don’t let it go too long,” the other woman said, and Natasha jerked her head in acknowledgement.
Shit.
She glanced at Emily. “Baby, can you go and grab your stuffies for the trip to your dad’s?”
Emily scurried off, and Matt waited until the tech let herself out before instinctively taking a step closer to Natasha, wanting to at least give her his touch in comfort. “What’s the verdict?”
She bounced up and down on her toes, anxiety rolling off her in waves. “Well, the current issue is the internal thermometer. She cleaned it off and said it should start up again in a few minutes. But I have a much bigger problem. She says the blower motor needs to be repaired, and given the age of the furnace, that might just be pouring money down the drain and I should consider replacing it entirely.” She shook her head, her face crumpling. “I thought the furnace was fine when we moved in, but there’s no way around it, I need a new one, and before winter is over. Fuck, Matt, I can’t afford that.”
He pulled her into his arms. No, he imagined that she couldn’t. “We’ll figure something out,” he said softly into her hair.
She stiffened. “No, I can’t—”
Shit. “You will figure something out,” he corrected. “And I’ll be here for you, as a sounding board. A friend.”
Her chest shook against his as she dragged in a ragged breath. “This is the worst Christmas
ever.”
“You haven’t opened your presents yet,” he said lightly. “And even though I haven’t slept yet, and my girlfriend is distraught, selfishly, this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”
“What?” She jerked her head up and looked at him, her forehead knitted together in concern. “No.”
“Yep.” Which was a super fucked-up realization. “We never really did Christmas in a sentimental way growing up.” He made a face. “I haven’t told you a lot about my dad. He leaves much to be desired in the care and affection categories of parenting.”
“Those are the primary categories.”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Tonight, after a nap and once we’re well into a bottle of wine, I’ll tell you more about my rough and tumble formative years in the Foster house. But the point right now is that while the furnace news is shitty, you did something amazing for me. So, let me try and salvage the day for you.”
Emily came hurtling back into the room. “I have my bears. And Daddy’s here.”
“What?” Natasha whirled around.
From the entranceway, a male voice called out. “The door was ajar.”
She leapt out of Matt’s arms and he took a big step back, too. He hated that they both had the same reaction but he flashed her a reassuring smile anyway.
So he was about to meet the asshole who left Natasha alone and pregnant. Great. Maybe it was going to be the worst Christmas ever, after all.
Chapter Twenty-Three
David had deliberately lied to her when he said he was three hours away, since he somehow, magically, got to Wiarton two hours after he texted. Natasha clenched her jaw, letting herself process that realization.
Did he not trust her to tell him the truth of the situation?
She had nothing to be ashamed of here. And for now, the furnace was working again. Sort of. Tentatively. Guaranteed to break again before the season was out, but whatever. Her ex didn’t need to know that.
Maybe she didn’t tell him the whole truth, but she was as straight-up as she needed to be. And beyond that, her life was none of his business. She kept her nose out of his insanity. Why couldn’t he return the favour?
“Merry Christmas,” she called out as Matt gave her a look she couldn’t quite figure out. Sometimes she really hated her compulsive need to be the better person.
I’m sorry, she mouthed to her boyfriend—and how wrong was it that she hadn’t had time for that lovely new term to settle in before this rude interruption? This wasn’t how she wanted him to meet David.
Matt just shrugged. And then he smiled, his eyes warm, and she felt it to her core.
With a nod, she moved into the living room, where David was standing looking at her wall of ideas. It was the only thing he could look at, other than the red velvet couch, because the room was otherwise completely empty.
“Nice place,” he said completely without humour.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Matt sizing him up. In comparison, David was sleek and urbane to Matt’s honest country boy looks. But the starkest difference was in how they interacted with those around them—David hadn’t even acknowledged Matt yet. He never cared about who a stranger was. Everything was always about him.
“It’s a work in progress.” She turned sideways, including both men in her gesture. “Matt, this is Emily’s dad, David Costello. David, this is Matt Foster. My boyfriend.”
“Emily has a lot to say about you,” David said, holding out his hand.
Matt closed the distance and took it.
Natasha imagined she heard bones crunching, enjoying the testosterone show-down a little too much. Matt had David beat in every single way that mattered, and a bunch that didn’t.
“She says you don’t like tomatoes,” Matt responded. If Natasha were to say that it would sound bitchy, but Matt pulled it off as charming, an invitation for David to bring a bit of self-deprecation to the table.
Her ex didn’t, of course, but he offered a ghost of a smile.
Natasha realized he was alone. “Is Sable in the car?”
“No. Uh…” He made a face. “She made me drive up on my own, first thing, to get Emily. She had some shopping still to do, so she’ll meet us at the cottage.”
“She made you get up early?”
“Woke me up at six with a thermos of coffee.” Another faint smile. “She said if you needed our help, I needed to be early.”
Huh. Maybe the Selfie Queen was more than just nice enough. “Well, tell her thank you. I appreciate it.”
He turned to Matt as if she hadn’t said anything. “Are you helping Tasha with this…house?”
“She’s more than capable on her own,” Matt said, his words just tight enough for Tasha to know he was clipping them. But he still sounded affable and easy-going. It was a mask, she realized suddenly—one he probably had to use all the time at work.
One that had slipped recently, because of stress. Well no shit. Nobody liked to have to constantly pretend.
Just then the furnace kicked in, like the tech had promised it would, and Tasha’s knees threatened to give out. “Ah, the furnace is back online. I’m sorry about the panic in that regard. I should have waited to call you until after I had the appointment. I could have driven her to you after all.”
“Listen—” David looked down at Emily, twirling on the end of his arm. “Is two nights enough time to…” He glanced around her empty house. “Do whatever you need to do? I need to get back to work on the twenty-seventh, but I could take Emily to Toronto. Sable has the week off between Christmas and New Year’s Eve.”
Panic flooded Natasha’s chest. She wasn’t ready to be separated from her daughter that long. Not yet. Not ever. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t have any furniture, and you called me last night, freaking out because your house didn’t have any heat. Are you sure you’re fine?”
Where was Sable to put him in his place when Natasha needed her? “One thousand percent fine. Okay, you guys should go. See you in two days. Have a wonderful time, baby girl.” She crouched down and held her arms out. Emily flew in for a hug and Natasha tried to block everything else out. Skinny little arms around her neck, sweet kisses on her cheek. Nothing else mattered.
As she helped Emily into her snow pants, Matt gestured to her wall of ideas. “It’s pretty impressive, isn’t it?”
“It might be if I knew what it was,” David said.
“Renovation plans.” She stood up and patted Emily in the direction of the front door. “Put your boots on.”
Matt shot her a quick look.
Was she telling David the whole plan? She was genuinely torn. She wanted to show him she had a plan, but she also didn’t want to open herself up to criticism from someone whose opinions didn’t matter.
Actually, no. She didn’t want to show him she had a plan. She wanted to show that she had vision.
And not for him—his opinion of her no longer mattered.
For herself. Because she was proud of what she was doing here.
“I have two rental units on the back of the house,” she said. “Small studio apartments, really. Not small by Toronto standards, though. I’m renovating them. That’s why I don’t have much furniture on this side. Most of my energy is being poured into those.”
David looked at Matt, and in that moment, she wanted to punch him so hard, right in the mouth. It didn’t matter what another man thought.
He glanced at the wall again, and finally to her. “Rental units, eh? You used to talk about having an inn. Is this the more realistic version of that idea?”
She laughed. “No. This is the first step in the very realistic plan to eventually get to that inn. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I—” He cut himself off and nodded. “Okay. See you in a couple of days.”
They followed him to the entranceway, where Emily was still tugging on her second boot. Matt got a hug goodbye, then Natasha got another before Emily put on her coat and mitts and hat.
She cocked her head and swore under her breath. “Did the furnace die again?”
It did.
“It mother-fucking-did,” she whispered. “On Christmas Eve. After I paid—” She swallowed a cry as Matt pulled her in close for a hug.
“I don’t think I’ve heard you swear quite like that,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. We’ll fix it.”
She laughed slightly hysterically. “How?”
“I can go down and see if I can figure out where the thermometer is inside it. Or…here’s a radical thought. It’s going to warm up tonight. The house is fine to get a bit cool. How about I take you back to my place? It’s warm and I have a big bed.”
“Your plan is to distract me with orgasms?” She gave him a wide-eyed look. It wasn’t the worst idea, but she needed to get her furnace fixed. She couldn’t just hide out under his covers, no matter how nice that sounded.
“No distraction. Just a bit of dedicated care while we figure out a plan. Plus you still need to open your presents.”
Another laugh burbled up from deep inside her. He’d brought her presents, and she’d forgotten all about them. She took a deep breath. He hadn’t slept after his shift yet, and the thought of his bed sounded pretty good to her, too—with or without orgasms. “Can we save those for after a nap? I want a do-over on Christmas Eve.”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
While Natasha went upstairs to pack a bag, Matt jogged downstairs to look at the beast that was distressing his girlfriend. He didn’t know shit about furnaces, but a quick Google search explained that a failing blower motor would make the furnace turn off instead of overheating. While he was down there, it fired up again, worked for a few minutes, and shut off.
Back upstairs, he found Natasha putting away the dishes he’d washed.
“I heard it come back on,” she said. “I guess it’s going to just cycle like that until I fix it?”
He held up his phone. “I did a quick search and that sounds about right. But it is working, at least intermittently.”