Page 11 of Can't Miss Christmas

She laughed. “You’re not going to be saying that in two hours when I blast a light into your eyes.”

He smiled. Despite everything that had happened, he felt a strange sense of…well, he hated to say it but…contentment. And that was the last thing he remembered before he fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

It was very dark when the light drilled Graham in the eyes, startling him from a sound sleep. Instinctively, he lifted his arm to shield himself, but Grace leaned over, pulling his arm away and blinding him with the flashlight app on her iPhone.

“What time is it?” Graham asked, squinting against the torture.

“Three a.m. I’m seeing if this works to check your pupils.”

“It does. It fries my retinas quite nicely.”

“Okay, you’re fine. You can roll over and go back to sleep.”

“Who can go back to sleep once they’ve been blinded?”

“As I recall, you have the ability to sleep just about anywhere at any time.”

“Not when it feels like someone’s about to stick a pencil in your eye.”

“You’re so ungrateful,” she said, her tone teasing.

“Besides, I think you might enjoy waking me up.” He found himself trying to come up with something silly to continue their banter. Concussion or no, he wanted to reach out and tug her to him until she was in his arms, soft and wonderful. He fisted his hands and crossed them over his chest and tried to count sheep. Do inventory on the Christmas polar fleece quarter-zip orders, which was the item currently selling like hotcakes. Anything to distract himself from the fact that she was a mere foot away.

They fell into silence again. There was a faint ticking—it might have been her watch—counting out each endless second.

“Graham,” she said.

“Yes?”

“I’d really appreciate it if you’d be okay the rest of the night.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. Why don’t we skip the rest of the neuro checks?”

“The hospital said it was important to do it every two hours. I’m just not really sure what I’m supposed to be doing. I mean, if your pupils are unequal or unreactive, doesn’t that usually mean you’re dead?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Saying that doesn’t make me stop worrying.”

He chuckled a little. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Because I’m worried?”

“No, it’s just that you—care. You haven’t got an apathetic bone in your body.” He’d always loved and admired that about her. She cared more than anyone he ever knew. About everything and everyone. She answered every fan letter personally, thanked each kid for every piece of artwork and every drawing they sent. Mailed books to kids who couldn’t afford to buy them. She was even kind to Blakely, who didn’t seem to have a clue how to be decent back.

“Why, Graham, did you just pay me a compliment?”

“Yes. And considering that I’m blind, that’s a big deal.”

She chuckled softly, and for a moment, he felt like he had long ago, when they used to laugh and joke, and conversation came as easily and simply as sunshine on a warm spring day.

They stopped talking, but it took forever to fall asleep again. Graham didn’t really remember the five a.m. check. Come to think of it, he might have mumbled something likeGet that effing light out of my eyes, Grace.

But the seven o’clock check was different. Maybe he’d heard her rustling around, turning off her phone alarm before it went off. Maybe he felt the warmth of her breath as she leaned over him, and felt the mattress dent as her weight shifted closer.

“Graham,” she whispered. “Are you all right? Do you need anything?”

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