Page 35 of The Crush of Christmas Past
Come. On.
Forcing myself to snap out of it, I direct my attention to the wreath. Theo is treating the challenge like a full-time job,which means I need to find a way to contribute or risk getting downgraded from equal partner to glorified holly holder.
I grab a pinecone from the stack. “Leave a little work for me, won’t you?”
“How are your fingers?” His voice is low, almost absentminded, as he twists a sprig into place.
I frown, caught off guard. “My fingers?”
His gaze drops to my hands, narrowing slightly. “At the snowball game, you looked like you were having trouble moving them.”
“Oh.Uhh…” My voice falters, and the pinecone slips from my grasp, hitting the table with a muted thud before rolling to the floor.He’d noticed?“I’m fine,” I say, ducking down to retrieve it. “I’ll live.”
“Still—take it easy,” he orders in a quiet but commanding tone. “Drink your cider and relax. I’ve got this.”
“Worried I’ll mess with your perfect design? Mrs. Patel might just put you on the payroll.”
Theo’s head snaps up, a muscle in his jaw rippling. “You really think that about me?”
“That she’ll ask you to join the family business after seeing your masterpiece?” I shrug, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Sure. You—”
“No, Isla.” He exhales sharply. “Do you honestly believe I don’t trust your skills?”
“How many projects did you pull yourself from at AdCraft just because I was on the design team?” I cross my arms, ignoring the ache in my chest.
“It wasn’t because I didn’t believe in you.”
“No? Then what was it?” I press, leaning forward in my seat.
“I didn’t trust myself.”
“What?” I blink, my mind reeling.
Before I can ask him to explain, he holds out a small cluster of red berries. “Help me wire these in, please.”
We work in silence, my fingers moving on autopilot, weaving the holly into the wreath. Theo’s words linger in my thoughts, but I file the numerous questions they spark away for later. I’ll come back to them when the time is right.
If it’s ever right.
“Thanks for partnering up with me,” I say after we attach the final bow. “It’s been…kind of…nice.”
Theo huffs a laugh. “Appreciate the glowing endorsement.”
I hide my grin behind a sip of cider. “You’ve been different. A little more relaxed. A lot less brooding.”
“Look…” He sets the wreath aside, his gaze sliding to the fire crackling in the corner. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
I brace myself, anticipating he’s about to dive back into our brief, albeit messy history at work, but instead, he surprises me.
“The thing with the teachers. It struck a nerve. Stupid, I know.” His knee bumps lightly against mine in an unsettled movement that doesn’t match his usual stillness. “My dad was a shitty excuse for a man. Horrible to me. Worse to my mom.” His jaw is so tight, his molars must be dust. “I’m grateful she managed to eventually escape. Glad for Mrs. Quinn, too.” He presses his lips together and looks away. More softly, he adds, “There were times, during those seven years under his roof, I wasn’t sure we’d make it out at all.”
My heart hurts for him. This part of Theo’s story isn’t new to me, but that doesn’t make it any less painful. Therapy has played a big role in both his and Evangeline’s healing. Still, his past left marks that will never fully fade. The physical ones are easier to spot—the faint line that refuses to grow hair just past his temple, the pale crescent carved beneath his collarbone. Butmost of his scars don’t live on the skin. Many take the shape of silence. Distance. Detachment.
“I’ve been haunted by his ghost my whole life,” he says, shaking his head. “And the bastard isn’t even dead.”
At that, his expression shifts. The walls crumble, revealing a vulnerability in his eyes. One that makes my heart hurt with every beat.
Instinctively, I reach out, my hand settling gently on his forearm. His muscles tense, then relax into the touch—almost as if he’s giving me permission to stay.
