Sounds good, Zee, enjoy your night. Don’t stress about Potato. He’s in good hands.
I know he is. Thank you so much for helping me.
Stowing my phone in my pocket, I use the wall to push myself to stand. When I go back into the living room, I meet Lincoln’s eyes. “My friend is able to feed Potato. I’ll stay.”
“Good,” Lincoln says with a nod. “Now let’s get you off that ankle.”
The next three hours go by full of laughter and fun as we play board games and sip eggnog while the fire roars. The snow has started up again, and from the large bay window in the living room, we’re able to watch it fall gracefully. It’s lovely, and for the first time since my family died, I feel at peace.
Somehow, the Stokes family went from being complete strangers to making me feel like one of their own in a matter of hours.
Later, when Tina declares it’s time for her to go to bed, she pulls me in for a long hug when I stand, too. “I just want you to know,” she whispers against my hair. “No matter what happens between you and my son, you always have a place here. I know you haven’t opened up to us about your family, and I don’t expect you to, but my motherly instincts tell me you have a story to tell—something you’re not ready to talk about. When you’re ready, I’m happy to listen. I know you don’t know me fromAdam, but I feel truly blessed to have you in my life now. Merry Christmas, Holly. Thanks for bringing me some peace of mind by staying here rather than brave the roads.”
A tear streams down my face and I wipe it away as Tina and I part. She squeezes my shoulders and I give her a small smile, as much of one as I can muster when my heart feels like it’s shattering.
I hate that I’m lying to her. It makes a part of my soul ache that I wasn’t even aware existed.
It feels likebetrayal.
“Well, I better get to bed too,” Tim says with a yawn as he stretches his arms straight out. “G’night, you two.” He winks at Lincoln, then follows his wife upstairs.
When we’re alone, I sit in Tim’s recliner.
“Look, Holly—” Lincoln says, at the same moment I say, “I think I’m going to?—”
“I’m sorry.” He laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “What were you going to say?”
“It’s been a long day. I’m going to turn in too.”
“Of course. Let me show you to the bedroom, and where the linens are. There’s a bathroom just down the hall if you want to shower, and extra blankets in case you get cold.”
“Thanks.”
We stand in unison and he leads me up the stairs, pointing out the bathroom he mentioned and then showing me to his old bedroom.
Baseball memorabilia lines the walls, with old photos and knickknacks from his childhood. A full-sized bed sits in the center, and the room smells clean, like it’s frequently tended to even though it’s clear Lincoln doesn’t live here.
“I thought your parents moved here after you moved out?” I question, bending to look at an old photo of him when he was around nine or ten.
“They did, but my mom is a sucker for nostalgia. She decorated this room as best as she could from memory of my childhood bedroom, in case I was ever homesick.”
“That’s sweet.” I check out the books sitting on the nightstand. Old classics, likeCall of the WildandCatcher in the Rye.
“That’s my mom.”
“You’re lucky, you know.”
“I know,” he says softly. “Do you need anything?”
Slightly embarrassed, I turn to him and ask, “Got anything I can sleep in? An old shirt?”
“Of course. Top drawer. Want me to wash your sweater and jeans? At least they’d be clean by morning.”
“You don’t mind?”
“It’s the least I can do.”
“Okay, thanks. Give me a minute.”
