Page 107 of Booked for the Holidays
“What does home mean to you?” I ask Chandler, surveying all the snapshots.
She taps the photo, smiling at the memory. “Mom’s dresses. She sewed one for my sister and me every year. They were always over the top. Total diva outfits. She was always so excited to snap picture after picture, so we wore them without complaints.”
“Playing baseball with my dad was what I looked forward to the most growing up,” Lucas adds next. “I’d get off the school bus and he’d be there in the front yard, an old bat in his hand and a ball in the other. The Christmas in the photo was the first year he got me a bat of my own. Home to me is the stitches of a ball running against my knuckles. Dad standing at our pinecone first base, ready to knock the shit out of a pitch I lobbed his way.”
“With my family around a menorah. This is the shamash,” Felicity says. She gestures to a photo of her with two girls around a table, a lit menorah in front of them. “It’s the helper candle used to light the rest of the candles on the menorah. The picture I picked was the year I got to light it for the first time, signifying the start of the holiday. I was terrified, thinking I might drop it or light things in the wrong order. I didn’t, and it was a huge honor to have that role.”
“Besides the mall Santa incident, this is home to me,” Theo starts. I spot a photo of him laughing, a bow on his shirt. “My parents’ living room. Mac and I opened presents, wrapping paper everywhere. It’s the last time I enjoyed the holidays. Until now. This year knocks the socks off of years past.”
“What’s home to you, Bridge?” Chandler asks.
I pause and look around the room. “When we entered this competition, I hoped it would be a friendly arrangement. Getting along and having a few laughs. But y’all… you make me happy. And when I think about a place where I’d want to be, it’s here.” My eyes find Theo’s. He tips his lips. Smiles. And taps his heart twice. “You are all my home.”
* * *
“Come on, Theo.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“That might work in the bedroom, Bridget, but it’s not working here.”
“It’s a Santa hat. I’m not asking you to swallow a radioactive pill.”
“I’m not putting it on my head. I’ll look stupid.”
“Wealllook stupid,” I press.
Chandler was right. Now that I’ve realized how deep my feelings are for Theo, I can’t stop noticing them.
I noticed the way he offered his hand and guided me up the small steps onto the boat a few minutes ago. I noticed the way he took off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders, claiming he wasn’t cold. I saw him shiver when he turned away. I noticed the way his eyes always search for mine, lighting up when he finds me.
Except now, he’s pissing me off.
“You’re going to stand out in the photo without one,” I add.
“I’ll take the photo,” he counters.
“Fine.” I throw my hands up in defeat and plop myself into a seat.
We’re onboard a thirty-person pontoon boat that’s decked out with lights, speakers and thermoses of hot chocolate. The guy who runs the company is a friend of Theo and Lucas, offering to take us out for an hour free of charge. The goal? To sing Christmas carols at the top of our lungs as we pass through the Park Cove canals, bouncing between the four small city lakes, serenading anyone who might be out on their back porch.
And laughing our asses off while doing so.
Bradley decided to spearhead this outing, and he stands at the stern of the ship, distributing sheet music.
The captain slowly lurches the boat off the dock, propellers kicking on as we glide across the still, quiet water, picking up speed.
“Peace offering?” Theo asks. He drops to the seat beside me, handing over a thermos.
I unscrew the top, investigating the contents. “Any marshmallows in here?”
“Nope. I asked for the marshmallow-free version.”
“Why? You like marshmallows with your hot chocolate.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “But I like you more.”
