by Robyn Grady
“Are all incredible. Addictive is the word. But Wynn isn’t interested in strings.” She fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “He doesn’t want the hassle.”
“He might change his mind.”
No. “I need to get on with my life.”
Grace’s cheeks were hot, her throat thick. She sucked down a breath and, determined, pulled herself up. She was moving on.
“For now,” she said, calm again, “that means helping you bring Santa’s presents in from the garage.” Swiping April’s gift from the quilt, she headed for the door. “One extra-special Christmas coming up.”
* * *
Wynn jingled the ornament at the overdecorated tree, which was set up in a prime corner of his apartment’s living room.
“This is the very last bell.”
Tate pointed to a spot on a lower branch. “Here.”
After securing the bell in place, Wynn pushed to his feet, flicked a switch and the tree’s colored lights blinked on, flashing red and green and blue.
Tate squealed. “We did it!”
“Of course we did! We can do anything.”
They jumped into a “dice roll” move and finished with a noisy high five.
“Now, we need to put out those cookies for Santa,” Wynn said, shepherding Tate toward the open-plan kitchen.
“And take a picture to send to Mommy.”
Tate dropped some red tinsel on the special Santa plate while Wynn broke open a new batch of cookies. When the milk was poured, they moved to the dining table and set the snack up. They took a photo and sent it through to Australia. Within seconds, they got a reply.
Looks delicious! Love you, baby.
Tate read the message ten times over. When he said, “Send it to Grace,” Wynn hesitated. He’d sent her a couple of messages during the week and when she’d shown up that afternoon at the rink, frankly, he’d almost begged her to stay. And then things had gone a little far afield. At first he hadn’t been sure what she’d said. He’d only known the word love was involved.
She’d put it out there. What she’d wanted had changed. Or shifted one hell of a lot forward. At Cole’s wedding, before that explosion, he might have been swayed. Knowing he was at least in part responsible for the possibility of his father’s marriage ending—knowing the added crap this small boy would need to endure if that union ultimately broke down for good... Why the hell would he, would anyone, knowingly risk that much? When things went south, it just freaking hurt too much.
His jaw clenched tight and he lowered the phone. “How about we send the snap to Grace in the morning?”
Hopefully, with everything else happening and their visitors arriving, Tate would forget about it.
“Won’t Grace like the picture?”
“Well, sure. She’d love it. It’s just getting late. She’s probably already in bed.”
“She could still find it in the morning when she wakes up.”
“Which is why we ought to send it then.”
“We might forget.”
“No way.”
Tate blinked. “Please, Wynn.”
Wynn took in his brother’s uncertain expression, the mistrust building in his eyes. “You’re right,” he said, thumbing a few keys. “There. Sent.”
They waited. No reply came through. But Wynn simply explained, “See. Told you she’d be asleep by now. We should be, too.”
Picking up Tate, he swirled him through the air until his brother was giggling madly. Then they moved to the guest bathroom, where Tate brushed his teeth. After Wynn had bundled his brother into bed, he saw the distant look in Tate’s eyes. Was he thinking of his home?
“Do you miss your Mom, Tate?”
He fluffed the covers. “Daddy, too. But I’m kinda used to it.”
“Being away?”
Tate nodded. “I had lots of fun with Dex and Shelby. With Teagan and Damon, too.”
“Damon’s Tea’s friend, right?”
“He likes Tea a lot. Like you and Grace. They hold hands and laugh.”
Wynn cleared the thickness from his throat. “Sounds good.”
Tate’s head slanted sideways on the pillow. “Why didn’t Grace want to come home with us?”
“It’s Christmas Eve. Grace is with her family.”
Tate flashed a gappy grin. “I’m glad I’m here with you.”
“Things must seem a little...mixed up back home.”
“That’s not why I wanted to come. I thought you’d be lonely. I thought we could hang.”
Wynn smiled but then sobered. “Why did you think I’d be lonely?”
Tate frowned but didn’t say anything.
“Things aren’t as good as they could be back home,” Wynn said. “But you need to remember that everyone loves you very much—your parents, your brothers, Tea. Me. Family’s very important.”
“If that’s right, Wynn, why don’t you want a little boy of your own?”
Wynn stopped breathing. “Why would you say that?”
“You said so. You don’t want to have a son like me, or family, or anything.”
“Did you hear that at the hospital?”
“Tea wanted something hot to drink. I ran ahead. You and Grace were there, talking.” He fluffed the covers again. “It’s okay. I don’t want to be a dad, either. Kids only get in the way. Mommies only ever sleep or cry.” His voice lowered. “Mommy says it’s all your fault. Don’t know why.”
Wynn did. If he’d kept his big mouth shut, Guthrie wouldn’t have overheard his bleating to Dex about Eloise coming on to Cole.
Tate pushed out a sigh. “I’m pretty sure it’s my fault though. That’s the other reason we should have Christmas together. No one else has to feel mad or sad when we’re around.”
It felt as if a giant hand was squeezing the life from his windpipe. Tate thought it was his fault?
Wynn’s voice cracked as he said, “I’m so sorry about what’s happening at home.” He’d never been more sorry about anything in his life.
“Aw, Wynn. Don’t cry.” Tate reached to cup his big brother’s face. “You’re perfect.”
A serrated knife twisted high in Wynn’s gut. He ran a hand over his little brother’s head. So soft and sweet and unreservedly worthwhile. His own childhood had been great. He’d known he was loved and adored by both parents. That’s why he’d been so sure about having a family of his own. Then Heather had done him in and all of that no longer mattered. Except...
Now, looking deeper, that hadn’t changed. In this moment, that dream seemed like the only thing that did matter. What the hell was the point of being here if he couldn’t be with the person that he—?
That he what exactly? Just how deeply did he feel about Grace?
“I want you to know that if ever I had a boy of my own,” he croaked out, “I’d want him to be just like you.”
“That’s not what you said. You said if you never had a family of your own, you wouldn’t miss it.”
“You’re wrong.” Drawing back, Wynn shook his head. “No. I was wrong. I was sad and confused. I haven’t, well, been myself lately. But I do want a son.”
Tate touched his big brother’s cheek. “I think Grace is mad at you, too.”
“I don’t blame her.” Wynn found Tate’s hand on his cheek and set his jaw to stem the emotion. “We’re just going to have to fix it, is all.”
“Do you think that we can?”
“Of course we can. Remember?” Wynn smiled. “You and I can do anything.”
Sixteen
Early the next morning, with all the presents opened, April was twirling around the Munroe’s twelve-foot tree showing off the new pink princess costume that Santa had brought. There were coloring books and puzzles and a bike wit
h training wheels, too. Grace liked to think her niece’s favorite gift was the big crystal ring she’d received from her aunt. When she’d opened the box, April’s eyes had bugged out. The ring hadn’t left her finger since.
Now Grace sat on a couch sampling a perfume that Tilly had hoped she would like—sweet and sassy, just like her younger sister. Her father stood by the window that overlooked the vast backyard and, beyond that, a park. Children had constructed a snowman there—hardly anything new for this time of year. Still, this morning the sight created a giant lump in Grace’s throat.
Wynn and that long-ago Christmas were in her thoughts constantly. After seeing him with Tate yesterday, she’d barely been able to sleep. She imagined she heard his laugh. She closed her eyes and saw his sexy, slanted smile. She felt so filled with memories, she wondered if her family could see them mirrored in her eyes. Smell them on her skin.
April twirled over and presented a large gold and crimson Christmas bonbon.
“I’ll let you win,” April said.
Grace grabbed an end and angled her wrist just so, but when April tugged hard, the gold paper ripped and she won the prize—a green party hat and tiny baby doll.
Rochelle was checking out the foot spa Grace had given her. “My toes can’t wait to use this,” she said, wiggling her slippered feet.
“And I can’t wait to wear these.” Her mom was showing off a silk scarf and sapphire drop earrings.
Grace forged her way through a sea of crumpled paper to join her dad. He had three new ties slung around his neck.
“More snow’s on the way,” he said, surveying the low, gray sky.
April’s voice came from behind. “Didn’t stop Santa last night. Mommy, can I ride my bike?”
Rochelle was studying the titles on a CD, a gift from Tillie who, earphones in, was tapping her foot to a tune belting out of her new iPod.
“It might be too slippery.” Rochelle pushed up and crossed over to the duo parked by the window. Then she poked her nose closer to the pane. “That’s a mighty fine looking snowman.”
April squealed. “Can I go see?”
Grace turned around and tapped April’s tiara. “I’ll take you. I want to see him, too.” She crouched before her niece. “But our guy looks as if he’s missing a hat and pipe.”
“That’s my job.” Grandpa headed off. “I put them away in the same place every year.”
She and April pulled on their boots, shrugged into coats and worked their fingers into mittens or gloves. April took the hat from Grandpa, Grace the pipe, and together they headed out down a shoveled path rimmed with glistening snow. As they passed through the side gate, April scooted on ahead.
“Be careful!” Grace called out. “Don’t slip. You don’t want to get your princess skirt wet.”
When Grace caught up, April was skipping about the snowman.
“He’s so tall!” Her niece held out the hat. “I’ll put it on.”
Grace lifted April high and she very carefully positioned the battered fedora on the snowman’s head. When Grace put April down, the little girl stood back. With her mittened hands clasped under her chin, she inspected her work.
“It’s crooked.”
“I think it lends him character.”
“What’s that?”
“It means snowmen are more fun when their hats don’t sit straight.”
But if Wynn were here, Grace thought, he would want to straighten it, too.
“You can do the pipe.” Examining the snowman, April tilted her head and her beanie’s pink pom-poms swung around her neck. “Put it in crooked.”
Grace slid the pipe in on one side of the snowman’s mouth, and then flicked it up a tad.
April danced around the snowman again, her pink princess skirt floating out above her leggings while she sang. Then she stopped and trudged closer to their man.
“Something’s up there.” April pointed. “On his broom.” She gasped. “Presents!”
Grace trod around and looked. Sure enough, two wrapped gifts were dangling from the rear of the snowman’s broom. She leaned in closer. Were they tied to shoelaces?
“Whatever they are, we should leave them be.” Grace took April’s hand as she reached for the gifts. “They don’t belong to us.”
“They do, too. Santa left them.” April glanced around. “Maybe he left more.”
“They’re for decoration.”
April wouldn’t listen. Only her eyes appeared to be working—they were wide, amazed. Grace sighed. If April was disappointed when those boxes ended up being empty, perhaps Aunt Gracie could leave something special out here later to compensate.
Grace untied the gifts and handed them over. April would accept only one.
“That one’s for you,” April said.
Grace peeled off her wrapping while she kept an eye on April. They both got to their boxes at the same time and flipped open the lids. April let out a sigh filled with wonder.
“It a Christmas watch!”
When April tried to slide the white leather band off its looped holder, Grace helped. April slipped the oversize watch over one mitten, and then held her arm out to admire it.
“It has a Christmas tree,” April murmured.
“And Christmas balls at the ends of the hands.”
“What about yours?”
Wondering now if they ought not to have opened the boxes—clearly these were meant for someone else, perhaps the neighbors—Grace examined her watch face. “Mine has a snowman—” she blinked, looked harder “—with a crooked hat.”
“Why did Santa leave them out here?”
Grace was about to admit she had no idea when a voice replied for her.
“He wanted to let us know that it’s time to count our blessings—past, present and, hopefully, future.”
On suddenly wobbly legs, Grace turned around while April crept forward.
“Gracie, someone’s standing behind our snowman.”
Wynn stepped into view. He wore a black sweater and windbreaker and pale blue jeans. With his dark hair ruffling in the breeze, he’d never looked so handsome.
When April whispered “Who is he?” Grace was brought back to the moment and replied, “I think he must be lost.”
Wynn stepped forward and his one-in-a-million energy radiated out. The wind was cool and yet she might have been standing on a hot plate.
“I don’t feel lost. Not anymore.” He glanced at the sky. “Snow’s coming—any minute, I reckon.”
Smooth. He was after an invitation. “I’d invite you in, but—”
“I brought someone with me,” he cut in, and nodded toward a vehicle Grace hadn’t noticed until now. Tate was waiting by the hood. All bundled up for the weather, he arced an arm over his head, waving.
April tugged her aunt’s jacket. “Do you know him? Is he nice? Can I say hi?”
Wynn answered April. “I’m sure he’d like that.”
Still, April looked to her aunt with pleading eyes. Giving in, Grace straightened April’s beanie.
“Sure. Go ahead.”
Her tiny boots crunching in the snow, April trundled away. When she stopped before Tate, April hesitated before extending her hand to give him a look at what Santa had left.
Grace had put it together. “You built this snowman.”
“Me and Tate.”
“How did you know I’d come out to have a look?”
“I’d like to think I know you pretty well.”
When he edged closer and reached out, Grace was ready to push him away—no matter how much she might want to, she wouldn’t change her mind about rebooting their affair. But he only gestured at the watch.
“You like it?” he asked. “They’re matching his and hers.”
As in y
ou and me? “You’re not going to get that watch back from April.”
His crooked grin said, of course not. “Tate brought a gift especially for your niece.”
Near the vehicle, Tate was holding the watch, inspecting the face, while April ogled a necklace decorated with huge sparkling blue and clear “jewels.” The two kids began to talk, and then laugh.
“That’s a good sound,” Wynn said. “Reminds me of when we were kids.”
“I don’t remember you laughing very often.”
“Perhaps because I expected too much.”
She crossed her arms over her coat. “I don’t expect too much.” She only knew what she needed. What she’d accept.
She didn’t want to sound harsh but neither would she back down. What they had shared had been a wonderful but also brief journey. He wanted the fun times to go on. She’d made herself a promise. She needed to get on with her life. And Wynn didn’t want to be a part of that. Not in the long term.
Wynn was studying the snowman. “Tate and I had a talk last night. It opened my eyes to a lot of things. Honesty can slog you between the eyes,” Wynn said. “But we get back up. A couple of months ago, my truth was that I needed some release. Some fun. A connection. I found that with you. And I found a lot more.”
Nearby, snow crunched as if someone had fallen, and then a little cry ripped out. A few feet away, Tate lay face down. Without missing a beat, April shot out her hand. Tate wrenched himself up and then they set off, running around again.
“I wonder if they’ll remember this day,” she said, watching as the kids stopped to pat together two snowballs.
“My bet is, as clearly as I remember that day in Colorado when I tripped over my lace.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “After all these years, now you remember it that way?”
“I remember that I’d agonized over whether or not to give you a gift.”
“A poke in the eye?”
“A bunch of flowers, plastic, lifted from a vase in one of the chalet’s back rooms. But then I thought you might want to hug me or something gross like that, and it seemed easier to pretend I didn’t like you.”