Page 57 of New Hope, Old Grudges

Then she walked over to me and kissed me full on the lips. “We’ll see you both for Christmas dinner tomorrow," she said. “Bring pie.” Then she sauntered off from the café.

CHRISTMAS EVE

WILLOW

In all of the excitement of the afternoon—Geoff turning up in New Hope, being threatened by Brody, punched by my mother, then arrested by Brody—I hadn’t been able to inform him of my news or my plans.

He’d been tied up with the paperwork it took to transfer someone wanted out of state. I’d met him at his place because we’d already made plans to spend Christmas Eve together.

I hadn’t mentioned going to Christmas dinner at my mother’s house, but I assumed that’s what we’d both be doing.

My mother had her own Christmas Eve tradition with her local ‘coven’ which I did not partake in.

Instead, I’d gone to Brody’s, cooked us some Christmas Eve fettuccine—an ode toThe Holiday—put on a movie, then curled up with him after he told me Geoff was ‘taken care of.’

“You don’t mean dead, right?” I asked him.

He chuckled. “No, baby. With the proper authorities.”

I nodded. “Just checking.”

Deciding that I’d utilized enough brain power thinking about Geoff, I changed the subject, putting down my mug of hot cider—my mother had packed a thermos for me to bring—and faced Brody.

“I know you don’t have many holiday traditions—”

“I don’t haveanyholiday traditions,” he corrected. Then his eyes went to the tree, and they darkened. “Well, I have some new ones I’m a big fucking fan of.”

My body flushed with heat, knowing that he was thinking about us fucking in front of the Christmas tree after I’d finished decorating it.

“Yeah, that’s a new one for me too,” I murmured.

“Like that,” he kissed my head before returning his eyes to me. “Making new traditions with you.”

My heart sang with the weight of his words. He was free with saying those things, declarations that were far too intense and permanent sounding for how long we’d been together. He made it sound like it wasn’t a question whether we’d be here next year with the same traditions.

I swallowed on that thought, my stomach pitching, and I wasn’t sure if it was with discomfort or excitement.

Luckily, I had something to distract me.

I reached forward to my purse, retrieving the small, wrapped box from it.

I suddenly felt shy and awkward, looking down at the gift. Brody’s fingers were at my chin, tilting it upward in seconds.

“You’ll never lower those stunning eyes to me,” he murmured.

My heart melting, I cleared my throat. “Well, one of our family traditions is that we each get to open one Christmas gift on Christmas Eve.”

I handed him the box.

He looked from me to the box. His eyes were soft. The deadly man from this afternoon was nowhere to be seen.

His large fingers gently worked at the wrapping, opening the velvet box to reveal the hammered silver ring inside.

“I know you aren’t really a jewelry kind of guy,” I shrugged, “but I thought you may make an exception. It’s the first thing I made in my father’s forge. Wearing your jacket, the night after Thanksgiving.”

I’d been up almost all night making it. I hadn’t let myself say it was for him until yesterday.

The ring was simple, rough but elegant at the same time. The band was wide, hammered silver with an incredibly thin gold band running through the center. It was undoubtedly masculine but not entirely what it appeared at first.

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