Page 136 of Season of Gifts

Alice blinked at them.“Wait, do you need—”

“Two.”He locked eyes with Henry over the arms.

“—me to move?Where—”

“Three.”He lifted.

The couch, even with Alice atop it, hardly weighed much at all.And Alice’s squeak brought out Henry’s laugh in full.They set her down gently, angled toward the fireplace.Henry dipped at the waist.“Your new accommodations for the evening, dearest.”

She sat up straight, chin tilted high, and stared them down with narrow eyes and almost non-twitching lips.Might not work on Henry, but it sure worked on him.His body shifted into an inspection stance without even trying—feet a little spread, hands clasped at the wrist behind his back, head bowed.

“Thank you, gentlemen.”She stared over her shoulder and coughed lightly into her cupped hand.“Have you perhaps forgotten something?”

The side table, where her spiced cider sat waiting.Jay dropped to one knee and pressed both hands to his heart.“For but a moment.Our eyes were dazzled by your beauty, milady, but I shall fetch yonder drink to, uh, quench thy thirst.”

He carefully didn’t pump his fists, but that was like poetry-level talk right there.Henry’s approving hum floated through him.

“Are you proposing?”Gabriel came through the doors ahead of his brother, the two of them wearing matching fuddy-duddy pajamas with piped collars and everything.“I thought you and Uncle Henry were already married.”

“They are.Didn’t you notice the rings?”Robert stepped around his brother.Even their slippers matched, Christmas red with black trim.Could outfits still be fuddy-duddy if little kids had them on?“He’s probably quoting Shakespeare, and we’ve missed the beginning of the scene.Do continue, Mr.Kress, with our sincere apologies for the interruption.”

“Oh, I wasn’t—” Explaining to non-playful kids that he was just having fun with his wife might be a tough sell.Especially since their parents didn’t seem all that playful either.“What’s your favorite Shakespeare?Are you a poems guy or a plays guy?”

Yup, that was a totally normal thing to ask a nine-year-old.Or at least this nine-year-old, since Robert tipped his head toward the ceiling like he was seriously considering his answer.

Alice pressed her hand to her mouth.That almost covered the smile peeking out the sides.She shared a glance with Henry, and he bent in close.“A scene”—she’d hushed so much Jay could barely hear with his head still bowed over her knee—“with Jay reciting Shakespeare has possibilities.”

A low growl left Henry’s lips.The rumble of it shivered down Jay’s back.

“That it does.Another time,” Henry murmured, and it was a promise.

“In fact”—Henry’s brother stopped arranging Mom’s chair and blanket by the fireplace—“you boys are precisely in time to join us for the reading.If you pledge not to spill, you may bring over mugs of cocoa and a bowl of the popcorn to share.”

“They’ve just brushed their teeth, Robert.”But Constance didn’t stop the kids from trekking to the table.Her voice faded as she and her husband sorted it out.

Henry pulled a slim brown book from the bookcase and settled in the tall-backed chair opposite his mom’s.Jay positioned the side table between their little couch and Henry’s chair, refilling drinks for all three of them and adding a small plate of goodies just in case.Alice shuffled around and sat with her back half-leaning on Jay’s chest, her weight a welcome claim.The couch was big enough for three, but right now the two of them scrunched happily in a single corner.

“What’s the reading?”Alice pitched her voice toward Mom, who sat with her hands folded over a blue lap quilt of Christmas stars.“Is this one of the traditions?”

“Oh my goodness, yes, one of the oldest.It predates me by decades.Perhaps a century.”She accepted her mug from Henry’s brother and patted his cheek in thanks.He didn’t quite smile, but his eyes closed a little, like a barn cat greeting a good friend.The whole family was kind of a snowdrift after an ice storm—a thin crust of shiny politeness on top, and a whole heap of fluffy emotions hiding underneath.“My Robert had heard it from boyhood before we wed, and his father had as well.He considered it a necessity for building character.”Mom glanced at the boys in their pj’s on the rug, sitting cross-legged in front of a silver tray with a green placemat holding their snacks.“He took to heart the lessons in the duties that social standing confers.Though I did sometimes think he rather missed the injunction to freely dispense love and kindness above coin.”

Robert and his wife settled on a second repositioned couch across from Alice and Jay.They didn’t sit quite so snugly, but he did have his arm around her.

The fireplace popped, and Henry raised the book.“Shall I begin?Unless you’d care to read this year, Robert.”

“As ever, I shall entrust that task into your keeping, little brother.Your readings are a good deal livelier than mine.”

That sure sounded like a compliment.It didn’t even come with any kind of snide follow-up.

Henry pulled them into the pages ofA Christmas Carol.He’d read a ton of stories to Jay over the years, but not this one.His voice had drawn Jay into world after world, first escaping nightmares, then bringing soothing calm with the rise and fall of every line.Tonight he towered above them, impossibly tall, his voice booming as the three ghosts.He crouched, small and wistful, as Scrooge watching the chances he’d missed in the past pass him by again.Henry never left his chair, but his voice painted pictures all the same.Jay nuzzled against Alice, her sweet-crisp scent a comfort against the graveyard chill of Scrooge’s final warning.

The kids drifted off before the ending, and Henry’s sister-in-law unbent enough to lean against her husband, and even Mom’s eyes slipped shut a time or two.Henry’s voice warmed as Scrooge awoke a changed man, lesson learned.He closed the book; the clock chimed midnight.

The fire had settled into a cheery red glow.The whole house hushed.Snowflakes fluttered against the darkened windows.Henry smoothed the book cover, where faded gold lettering had all but worn right off.He had sturdy hands.Working hands, hands made for gripping and claiming and guiding and praising.

“Our beds are waiting.”

Jay stumbled upright on autopilot, Henry’s trance still wrapped around him.Alice followed, rubbing his back.“Mother, let’s you and I go up together, and I’ll make sure you have everything you need for the night.”

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