Page 75 of The Crush of Christmas Past
A beat of stunned silence falls over the room.
Then…pandemonium.
“Does she know?” his mother asks.
“Will she be there?” Willow adds.
“You’re crashing your ex’s honeymoon?” Rowan drawls, stretching out the question like it’s a mental puzzle he’s trying to solve. “While her fiancé rots in jail?”
“Power move,” Felix chimes in. “Reality TV gold. You couldn’t script a messier situation.”
“Your bright idea, I suppose?” Graham asks. “Have you thought this through, son? When you and Sienna broke up—”
“Wait!” Willow jumps up, hand clasped over mouth. “Are you getting back together?”
Jovie looks around in confusion, her big eyes darting from face to face. “Where are you going, Uncle Ash?”
Ignoring the adults, he answers Jovie. “Hawaii. Two weeks. Three islands. The trip was already booked, and Sienna didn’t want to go alone.”
“So you volunteered your services.” Felix snickers, shaking flecks of ice out of his hair. “How noble.”
Sienna could buy a private island on a whim. Losing out on a deposit—even one as grand as this trip sounds—wouldn’t scratch her savings. This thing between them clearly has to do with more than mere cancellation fees.
“Let me guess,” Rowan adds, plopping down by the fireplace. “There’s only one bed?”
Asher’s cheeks color slightly, but his grin doesn’t falter. “It’s not like that. We’re just friends. And these hotels are super fancy. The suites have multiple bedrooms.”
“All of which will be put to good use, I’m sure,” Felix teases with an exaggerated wink. “You can roleplay Goldilocks.”
The room erupts in teasing hoots that grow louder and bolder by the second.
My gaze drifts over the scene. Willow laughs as she documents Asher’s blush while Felix and Rowan flank him with matching shit-eating grins. Evangeline sighs theatrically, and Graham sports one of his easygoing smiles as they watch their kids in action. Jovie’s giggles round out the soundtrack of all the love filling the space.
These people are my anchors in a world that’s constantly shifting beneath my feet. And when Jovie climbs back onto Theo’s lap, demanding we compare my book to his cartoon—page for frame—something inside me clicks into place.
Something that feels remarkably like belonging.
When Theo saysnext yearagain, promising Jovie a whole series of cartoons by next Christmas, I find myself believing in that future.
I’ve spent my life bracing forgoodbye.
Next yearfeels revolutionary.
Possible, even.
I lean into the warmth. Just a little.
And this time, I don’t pull away when the flash goes off.
Twenty-Four
Theo
Evenasthesunstarts to fade, Christmas Day excitement buzzes in the air. Impromptu sledding plans are thrown together, outdoor gear tugged on, and phones blow up with texts locking in meet-up locations.
“Hurry!” Jovie barrels through the house in a sequin-clad stampede, boots thudding, Stardust locked in a chokehold. “It’s time to go!”
“No shoes inside, Jo!” Willow warns.
