Page 116 of Dropping the Ball

She nuzzles against my chest. “I’m glad. What’s Christmas usually like for you?”

“Low-key. We go to my uncle’s on Christmas Eve, which isn’t our favorite. But it’s fine. My aunt says, ‘Tori, how’s your little Etsy shop doing?’ My mom says something like, ‘Almost good enough to afford fillers like yours,’ and we eat and exchange gifts and there’s awkwardness but no drama.”

“Team Tori,” Kaitlyn says, “even if she kind of hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you. She’s embarrassed because you met her on a bad day, but she was okay when you came over to invite us to Thanksgiving.”

“True,” she says. “But she still avoids me.”

Mom doesn’t come out of her bedroom where she makes her peg dolls if she knows Kaitlyn is over. “She’s asked about you a few times. I go at her pace. Does that bother you?”

“No. I want her to be comfortable with me.” She tilts her head up to press a kiss where she can reach, which is under my chin. “Now, you were saying you’re going to elf yourself?”

“No, I said I would be in charge of Christmas spirit. Think of it as being your Christmas concierge. That’s a rich person thing, right? Using concierges for everything?”

“Totally. I have seven on speed dial.” She gives an enormous yawn that she tries and fails completely to keep behind her hand. “The last three weeks are hitting me all at once. Can you take over starting now?”

I shift her to the side, pull the throw blanket off the sofa behind us, and tuck it around her. Then I pick up the remote. “On it. We begin with Hallmark. Today’s movie is calledChristmasland.”

“You know that without looking?”

I don’t answer.

She tucks her feet under my thigh and wiggles her toes. “You’re a zombie movie expert and a Hallmark Christmas movie expert?”

“Let’s go with enthusiast.”

“Micah? Do you have the whole movie lineup memorized?”

“Only for the seventeen that looked interesting this year,” I grumble.

And even though it takes her a full five minutes to stop laughing, we do finally watch it.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Kaitlyn

For the next tendays, Micah makes sure each one has Christmas in it. One day it’s walking into the office to find an enormous poinsettia threatening the health and well-being of our waiting area furniture. On another day, he shows up at my house with a twelve-foot Douglas fir tied to his truck and proceeds to decorate it while I study on the sofa. He covers it in white lights and hangs it with his handmade ornaments. I’ve never loved a Christmas tree more.

Mostly, Micah focuses on small things. Making peppermint hot cocoa for us to sip while we’re in his workshop one night. Bringing Daisy Buchanan a felt mouse wearing a Santa hat.

Workneverstops, but it’s mostly management. Signing off on a proof of the auction guide. Requesting changes to the video the media company produced.

My hardest job is figuring out what to get Micah for Christmas when I have no time to shop.

When I once again find myself wishing for more time in a day—time to enjoy a full lunch hour, time to plan structured dates with Micah—I realize I know the perfect gift.

He comes over Christmas morning. Christmas Eve was the big event with his mom, Christmas night is the big deal for the Armstrongs. We’re going to spend the whole day together until I leave for my parents’ place at 5:00.

I’ve told him I’m in charge of our Christmas since he’s had to do all the rest of the work. When he walks in at 9:00 AM dressed in a Christmas sweater as requested, I have a breakfast of stuffed French toast, bacon, and sweet potato hash waiting, along with pomegranate mimosas garnished with sugared cranberries and rosemary.

He grabs his heart. “I have not been a good enough boy to have earned this.”

I jump into his arms and kiss him. “Are you kidding? Not only do you deserve this, we should probably give you the Mustang from the auction as a bonus.”

“I accept.”

“Even if it’s just breakfast, no Mustang?”

---