Page 170 of Filthy Rich Santas

39

TRISTAN

The afternoon lightis starting to fade as our visit winds down. Grandma Meg starts gathering the empty platters and plates, her movements as spry as ever despite her age. I push myself off the couch, ignoring the twinge in my left leg from sitting for so long.

“Let me help with that, Gram,” I offer, already reaching for a stack of dishes.

She beams at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Such a sweet boy. Always were.”

We make our way to the kitchen, the sounds of laughter and conversation following us. I catch a glimpse of Lana on the floor, laughing as she tries to coax Meg’s dog, Baldwin, into rolling over.

Since he’s one of the hairless variety of Chinese Crested dogs—not counting the stringy fur around his face, tail, and paws, of course—Grandma Meg is always knitting him cute sweaters to wear. It feels like some kind of message from the universe that the ugly Christmas one she chose for him today just so happens to match Lana’s so well.

“It’s so wonderful to have you here, Tristan,” my grandmother says as we start loading the dishwasher. “I’ve missed you.”

I lean down to kiss her cheek, breathing in the familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla that always clings to her. “Missed you too, Gram. More than you know.”

We work in companionable silence for a few minutes, falling into the easy rhythm we’ve perfected over years of shared chores. But I can feel her eyes on me, studying me in that way she has that always makes me feel like she can see right through me.

When laughter sounds from the other room, we both turn to look just in time to catch sight of Baldwin working through his repertoire of tricks. The dog’s yappy bark mingles with Lana’s musical voice, and something in my chest tightens.

“That Lana,” Grandma Meg says, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “She’s grown into quite a lovely young woman, hasn’t she?”

I nearly drop the glass I’m holding. “Uh, yeah. I guess she has.”

Meg hums thoughtfully. “And I couldn’t help but notice how… close the four of you seemed on the drive up. You and Lana. And Ryder and Beckett too.”

Heat creeps up the back of my neck. I video-called her a few times during the road trip, checking in on her the way I always do now that she’s living all alone. And yes, a few of those times, the others popped onto the screen to say hello.

I just didn’t stop to think how perceptive she always is.

“Gram, I?—”

She holds up a hand, cutting me off. “I’m not judging, dear. I’m just… observing.”

“Okay.”

I believe her. She’s never judged me and has always supported me wholeheartedly.

Then she grins. “Well, maybe notjustobserving. I’m curious too.”

I swallow hard. I’ve never lied to her about anything important, and she knows me too well to believe it even if I tried. Still, I know she’ll drop it completely if I want her to.

Idon’twant to, though. I don’t even think I have it in me to deny what I’m feeling for Lana, and certainly not to my grandmother, who knows me better than almost anyone. “There was… something,” I admit, doling out my words carefully. “During the trip. Between all of us. It wasn’t planned, or expected, it just… happened.”

Meg nods, her expression warm and compassionate. “And now?”

“And now it’s over.” The words taste bitter on my tongue, but they’re still true. “We’re back in the real world now, so whatever it was we were doing can’t continue, obviously.”

Meg is quiet for a long moment, her hands stilling on the dish she’s drying.

“And why is that, sweetheart?” she finally asks.

I blink. “What?”

She puts the dish aside, dries her hands, and faces me fully, her voice soft but firm. “Why can’t it continue?”

The question hits me like a punch to the gut.

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