“C’mon, Holly, we still have time to make a run for it,” Axel jests, coming up behind me.
“No way! I’m invested now. I need to know if you cheated.” I giggle, swatting at Axel’s chest playfully. It’s sort of an intimate gesture, but Axel feels like an old friend.
Holding my fork expectantly, Axel’s dad peels back the plastic and in unison, we both, along with Carrie, and Ridge, dig into the smooth, deep orange pie.
The room is silent as we take our bites. Delicious, sweet pumpkin explodes on my taste buds, with notes of cloves, cinnamon, and nutmeg.
“Definitely store bought,” Ridge concludes.
Nodding her head, Carrie agrees. “Yeah, you didn’t make this.”
“It’s Costco,” I hum, and shamelessly dig my fork in for another bite. “I’d recognize a Costco pumpkin pie anywhere.”
“Wow, cool, thanks everyone for ganging up on the best baker ever to grace this family.” Axel tosses his hands into the air, his voice full of sarcasm. Turning to Martha, he swings his arm over her shoulder, and tosses me a quick wink. “What’s my prize, Ma? You all know I won. Nothing beats Costco pie.”
A bubble of laughter rises through me as I watch the exchange.
This is how my family was. I’vemissedthis.
So many pieces of me were terrified to go on these holiday dates with these men—being around their loving families, their co-workers—I was afraid it would hurt so badly and cause the hole in my chest to widen further.
But being here, in a family that clearly loves each other so much, and is willing to accept strangers into their home with open arms, gives me a slight shift in my perspective.
My heart aches, but the Harris family has also healed something in me, just like Mateo and his date did, and that’s a Christmas gift in and of itself.
Chapter Six
“Mrow,” Potato vocalizes as he slaps his paw against my face. My eyes crack open, and I recognize the heaviness from where he sits on my chest. “Mrow.”
“Ugh, Potato. Too early.” Turning onto my side, I pull my comforter up to my chin as I push the feline form of a chicken nugget off me in one quick motion. Rather than flee, he simply slides off with aploponto the mattress. Feeling his beady little eyes watching me, I growl obnoxiously at my cat. “Why must you be so demanding?”
Pushing my blankets off, I get out of bed and walk into the kitchen with my eyes barely open. A giant yawn pulls from my body as I open a can of wet food for him and spoon it into his bowl. The automatic feeder next to it is still full, but apparently the sky will fall if Potato doesn’t get his wet food by the crack of dawn.
Glancing at the clock, I see that it’s actually past nine in the morning, but regardless. It’s Christmas Eve. I’m allowed to sleep in on Christmas Eve.
For a moment I contemplate getting back in bed, and think about my comforter, so cozy and inviting. My bedding is probably still warm.
Instead of opting to fall back into my warm cocoon of blankets, I make a stop by the thermostat to crank up the heater, before heading to the coffeemaker. Flipping it on, I know I really should get a jumpstart on my day. I’m set to meet Lincoln at a nearby coffee shop in an effort to get to know him a little before traveling an hour away to spend the evening with his family. I’m a little nervous about the road conditions—it’s been raining in San Diego for the last three days straight, and I know Julian has gotten a lot of snow.
I’m also nervous about meeting Lincoln. It may be a little presumptuous to assume that I’m going to like him, based on his profession and the way he has written to me in his messages, but something about him gives me a good feeling, and I’m curious to see what he’s like in person.
Turning on another Christmas movie, I sit on the couch and let my mind go numb as I watch the beautiful redhead heroine in the movie wander through the snow. It’s insane how muchmylife feels like a Christmas movie right now, with all of these crazy dates I have been on.
When the coffee maker indicates that it is ready, I pour a cup in my favorite holiday mug, and give myself time to sip it before I need to go get ready.
Potato watches me from the bathroom door, judging me silently as I put on bright red lipstick, and pull my blonde hair up into a ponytail.
“Mrow,” he complains again, and I turn to look at him with my foundation brush in hand, pointing it in his direction.
“You stop that,” I scold, even though it’s really not scolding at all when speaking to a cat. “I just filled your bowl. Go eat your dry food.”
He doesn’t, though. Instead, he continues to sit in the doorway and watch as I finish getting ready. By the time I put on my jeans and holiday sweater—this one much cuter than the oneI wore last weekend with Axel—Potato has curled up in a ball on the bathroom rug and is fast asleep.
Must be nice, I think to myself.
With one final check in the mirror, I grab my purse and I’m out the door, hopping into my car as quickly as I can so I don’t get drenched by the rain. Letting the car warm up, I flip through the radio stations to find the one playing popular Christmas music, and turn it up, trying to get myself in the holiday spirit.
This week has been hard mentally. The closer it’s crept to Christmas, the heavier my heart has felt. With no family to buy gifts for this year, I decided to pick up a few small trinkets to bring to Lincoln’s, not only so I don’t show up empty-handed, but so I’d have a sense of normalcy.
