Page 51 of Thick and Thin

“Spit it out, Lise.”

It was time for me to be completely honest—to his face, when he was awake and couldn’t mistake what I meant. “I…thought I heard you say that you love me. I love you too, Cory. It’s been killing me that I’m going to have to leave when I finish the east wing, but—”

In answer, he kissed me with unbridled passion. “I do love you, Annalise Miller, and I will love you until the end of time. And loving you has made me a better man. If my father had disowned me, I would have walked away from it all just to spend another day with you.”

Tears were welling up in my eyes as his words washed over me. He did feel the same way about me—and he’d even confessed as much to his father.

The question now was how would we ever make it work? Or, rather, if we could…

Chapter 19

On the morning of Christmas Eve, I packed a suitcase and left it by the door of my bedroom before heading down to breakfast. Edna was only going to be at the mansion until noon and then she would be off for several days.

Earlier in the month, I’d asked Sinclair if I could have something shipped to the mansion—and, of course, he’d agreed. I’d purchased acrylic paints and twine, and one weekend I made salt dough ornaments, something I’d done as a child. In the vast kitchen and pantry, I knew I’d not only be able to find all the necessary ingredients but I suspected I’d be able to find cookie cutters as well. When I did, I spent all afternoon on a Saturday making a set of Christmas ornaments for my dad and Edna: decorated Christmas trees, snowmen, reindeer, stars, gingerbread men, candy canes, and mittens. My favorite part was painting, and Sinclair even joined in the fun, painting carrot noses on the snowmen and giving Santa Claus green eyes because he said they looked like mine.

When I came downstairs, I held Edna’s present in a gift bag. I had a present for Sinclair too, but his would wait until later when we were alone. I was surprised he wasn’t in the kitchen yet…but maybe because he wasn’t working today, he was operating on his Saturday routine.

“Morning, dear.”

“Morning, Edna,” I said, walking past the coffee pot to the stove where she was stirring some oatmeal. “And merry Christmas!”

“Oh, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I didn’t. I made it.”

Turning down the burner, Edna gave me a big smile and accepted the bag. “What have we got here?” I’d wrapped each ornament in plain tissue paper I’d found in one of the closets downstairs and she picked up the first ornament, removing it from the paper. It was one of the trees, mostly green but covered with dots of various colors to represent twinkling lights and a yellow star on top. Then she unwrapped each of the other ornaments, one by one, as the oatmeal started to bubble. “These are lovely, Lise.” She looped the twine hanger of one of the gingerbread men around her index finger, maybe trying to picture it hanging on a tree. “This one looks good enough to eat.”

I laughed. “I’m glad you like them.”

“I got you something too.”

I felt the same way she had, wanting to insist she didn’t have to—but I loved seeing the twinkle in her eye. “Just give me a second.” After placing the gingerbread ornament back in the gift bag, she turned the burner under the oatmeal off and went to the pantry. I got a cup out of the cabinet for coffee, but she returned before I could fill it.

What she brought was a plain brown paperboard box with a gift bow on it. When she handed it to me, I asked, “Can I open it now?”

“Of course.”

Inside were eight beautiful bagels along with tiny jars of various jams, peanut butter, and Nutella. “Oh, wow!”

“Those bagels are homemade, by the way.”

“You baked them? Thank you so much, Edna.” And, although I’d never done it before, I hugged her.

“It was my pleasure.” As she hugged me back, I nearly melted into her, feeling maternal arms about me for the first time in far too long. I had to hold back tears.

Sinclair’s voice cut through the room just then. “That should tell you just how much Edna cares for you.”

Smiling, I closed the box again, whispering another thank you.

“You’re not kidding. I’d forgotten how much work it is to make the darned things.”

“I really appreciate it,” I said. “I’ll eat one for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

Sinclair joined us, stopping at the coffee pot to pour himself a cup. He looked as handsome as ever in a powder-blue sweater that couldn’t hide his scrumptious body—and the way the color of the sweater reflected in his eyes made him a sight for sore eyes. It didn’t hurt that he hadn’t shaved since yesterday, donning that rugged look I loved so much. “Did you already give her your gift?”

Edna said, “She did. And thank you for your gift as well, Mr. Whittier. Your gift from me is in the refrigerator.”

His eyes lit up like I’d never seen them before—almost child like, full of wonder. “Is it—”

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