Page 54 of The One Who Risked it All

As I reluctantly joined the decorating fray, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider in my own family. Nathan and Rebecca’s picture-perfect reunion only highlighted my own shortcomings.

I sighed, reaching for another ornament. My gaze drifted to the kitchen table, where my nephews were now hunched over gingerbread house kits, their little tongues poking out in concentration.

“Uncle Eli!” Linc called out. “Can you help me stick this roof on? It keeps falling off!”

I plastered on a smile and sauntered over. “Sure thing, buddy. Let’s see what we can do about this architectural disaster.”

As I helped Linc, Joey, and Alex with their wobbly gingerbread creations, my mind wandered. Would Carla and I ever have moments like this with our own kids? The thought sent a shiver of both longing and fear through me.

“You’re good with them,” Rebecca commented, appearing at my elbow with a mug of hot cocoa.

I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “Nah, I just haven’t grown up myself. Makes it easy to relate.”

Rebecca’s knowing look told me she wasn’t buying it. “I’m serious. You did great with them while we were gone. And you’d make a great dad someday. When you’re ready.”

Her words, meant to be encouraging, only twisted the knife of self-doubt deeper. I thought of my father’s disapproving frown, his harsh words still ringing in my ears: “When are you gonna grow up and take some responsibility, Elijah? You can’t coast by on your charm forever.”

I swallowed hard, focusing on squeezing icing out of the bag. “Yeah, well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’ve got to master gingerbread engineering first.”

Thirty sticky fingers and a deluge of sprinkles later, I stepped away from the table, handing the reins off to Rebecca. The festive chaos was becoming overwhelming. I needed air. “I’m gonna step out for a bit,” I mumbled, making my way through the living room.

As I pushed open the front door, the blast of cold air hit me like a wake-up call. I inhaled deeply, letting the crisp winter night fill my lungs. The porch creaked under my feet as I moved to the railing, bypassing the swing where I’d sat with Carla. My hands gripped the weathered wood.

Out here, away from the warmth and laughter inside, I could finally breathe. But with that breath came the flood of thoughts I’d been trying to keep at bay all evening.

I closed my eyes, picturing Carla’s smile, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed. God, I wanted that – wanted her – more than I’d ever admit out loud. But the image morphed, Carla’s bright expression fading to disappointment. In my mind’s eye, I saw myself fumbling, failing, letting her down just like I’d let down everyone else.

I couldn’t even get my act together in my own fantasies.

The worst part was, I could see it all so clearly – the life we could have. Sunday dinners with both our families, Carla corralling our kids while I manned the grill. Quiet nights by the fire, her head on my shoulder as we talked about our day. But then my father’s voice would creep in, reminding me of all the ways I’d never measure up.

I sighed, my breath forming a misty cloud in the cold air. I needed to face it. I was better off putting out house fires than trying to build a home.

I gripped the porch railing, feeling the bite of cold wood against my palms. The yard stretched out before me until it disappeared in the stretch of trees I’d watched with Carla on Saturday night. It was beautiful, peaceful – everything I wasn’t feeling inside.

Everything inside me longed to talk to Carla, but maybe she wasn’t feeling the same, judging by the unanswered calls. I should just move on.

Except, I was too stubborn for that. I wouldn’t give up without a fight. Carla had asked for time, and I’d given it to her. Two days wasn’t much, but time was up. And besides, with the new info about the rift between our families, maybe the situation wasn’t so hopeless as before.

I just had to convince Carla to give us a shot. The feelings we shared weren’t just some relic of the week we spent sharing a house. I’d never felt anything more real. And I couldn’t walk away.

Two days and one long shift at the station later, I was at the Minden Christmas Market, held at the county fairgrounds. I knelt down next to a little girl with pigtails, her eyes wide as saucers as she reached for one of our plastic fire helmets.

“There you go, sweetheart,” I said, gently placing it on her head. “Now you’re officially part of the Minden Rogers Fire Department Junior Squad.”

Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Really? Can I put out fires now?”

I chuckled, my heart warming at her enthusiasm. “Well, not quite yet. But you know what’s even more important than putting out fires? Preventing them in the first place.”

She tilted her head, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. “How do we do that?”

“Great question,” I said, tapping my chin thoughtfully. “Say, do you believe in Santa Claus?”

She nodded vigorously, her pigtails bouncing.

“Well, here’s a secret,” I leaned in, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “Santa’s pretty good at squeezing down chimneys, but he’s not a fan of actual fire in the fireplace. So on Christmas Eve, make sure to tell your parents to leave the fire out. Blow out candles before bed and don’t play with the stove, okay?

“Deal!” she exclaimed, beaming up at me.

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