Page 22 of The Crush of Christmas Past
My sister has been keeping me in the loop on Jovie’s latest cartoon obsession about a globe-trotting unicorn that teaches kids problem-solving skills, emotional resilience, and how to sparkle with confidence. There’s a theme song. And catchphrases. I’ve been forced to perform both on numerous occasions.
“Yes! Just like Stardust!” She beams up at me. “But not too big. She has to fit in my bed so we can snuggle.”
I let out a low whistle, eyeing the determined set of her chin. “You’ve thought this through, huh?”
On my other side, Isla huffs out a quiet laugh. “You know,” she says, crouching to meet Jovie’s twinkling gaze, “Santa has a lot of skills, but a real unicorn might be a stretch—even for him. What would you say to a stuffy version instead?”
“Umm…” Jovie scrunches up her nose in consideration. “Can itstill fly?”
“Of course,” Isla says gently. “I had one growing up. I’d snuggle it tight at bedtime, and it would fly me to magical dream worlds. Every night was a new adventure.”
Jovie nods. “That sounds like fun.” She pauses, eyes narrowing. “Yes. I’ll tell Santa about the stuffy. But I’m still asking for a real unicorn, too.”
I blink, impressed. “Did you just negotiate a two-unicorn clause into your Christmas contract?”
“Smart move.” Isla taps the pompom on Jovie’s hat. “You take after your uncle’s business savvy, huh?” she says, glancing over her shoulder at me.
As our eyes meet, my niece launches herself at Isla with a tackle-hug fierce enough to make a linebacker flinch. Isla reacts quickly, shooting her hands out to catch Jovie. They collapse on the ground in a giggling heap, Isla’s ass taking the full brunt of Jovie’s enthusiasm.
Their laughter rings out through the cold air, piercing a part of me I keep firmly on lockdown.
Before I can fully process the warmth unraveling in my chest, the line shifts. Jovie scrambles to her feet and bolts, making a break for Santa.
“Get back here, little elf.” I catch her under the arms and swing her onto my shoulders. She squeals like it’s the best rollercoaster ride she’s ever been on.
I keep one gloved hand steady on Jovie while offering the other to Isla. It’s a simple, friendly gesture. The intention behind it is chivalrous enough: help her to her feet. But as she rises, her coat brushes mine—deep red against gray—and her cinnamon scent curls into my lungs.
Heat hits first.
Cold regret follows.
Jovie, still perched high on my shoulders, lurches forward, reaching for Isla.
The sudden shift in weight throws off my balance. I take a small step forward, and Isla’s palms fly to my torso to steady me—one landing on my chest, the other lower on my stomach. Even through thick winter layers, her touch burns.
The three of us are a tangled mess. And somehow, for one fleeting moment, I feel completely at peace.
“Jovie’s lucky to have you,” Isla whispers.
The softness in her eyes soothes an old, deep wound on my heart. One I’ve left unattended for way too long.
“You didn’t hesitate when Willow asked you to babysit.” Admiration laces her words. It’s a sound from another lifetime.
“I’d do anything for this kid,” I say honestly.
Jovie experiencing even a fraction of the pain I grew up enduring would destroy me. The absence of a father’s love cuts deep. Her sperm donor—the deadbeat doesn’t deserve the privilege of being calleddad—abandoned her before she was even born. As long as I’m breathing, my niece will never doubt her worth in this world.
“You’re so good at everything you touch.Of courseyou’d also be a natural child-whisperer. Do you—” She hesitates, biting her lip as if unsure whether to let the rest of the sentence out. “Do you want kids? Someday, I mean?”
“My past makes me hesitant,” I admit. “But when I think about my mom and Graham, I sometimes wonder if…with the right person—”
Don’t go there, asshole.
Shut up. Step back.
Her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip. “Ever come close to meeting the right person?”
My pulse kicks up in warning. We’re standing way too fucking close for this conversation.
