Page 96 of Booked for the Holidays
“Marshmallows,” he finishes for me. “I know.”
“You said that during the interview, too. How do you know how I like my drinks?”
A quick kiss to my hand before he stands, kicking loose pieces of hay off his boots.
“I think I’ve been picking up small clues about you for a while now, Bridget. Take your time with the ladder. I’ll be waiting for you at the bottom.”
A dip of his chin and a twinkle in his eye as he bids me a temporary goodbye lassos around my heart and tugs, hard.
I grin like an idiot, hustling to my feet to chase after him, already missing his body against mine.
THIRTY-EIGHT
THEO
I smiledown at the photo of Mac when she was four. It’s her on the bike she got for Christmas that year. Her first one, bright blue, complete with tassels streaming from the handlebars. Training wheels are anchored to the back and a pink helmet sits on her head. She’s wearing Barbie pajamas and missing the front two teeth of her smile. I’m crouching next to her, wearing a hideous Christmas sweater and a Santa hat. I’m smiling too, bright and wide as I squint toward the camera hidden by the sun.
I rub my chest at the memory. All these years later, and I still remember the day vividly. We went to my parents’ house for lunch then took the bike to the path around the lake. We watched thePeanutsmovie and Mac fell asleep with her head on my shoulder, a candy cane in one hand and her empty stocking in the other.
I think of the presents I have hidden in my closet to give her this year. She’s long outgrown new bikes, preferring a soccer ball or cleats. I know we all get old. It’s a part of life. I’m aware of myself aging. My parents, too, with their graying hair and slower-moving bodies. It doesn’t feelreal, though, until I look across the store and see my little girl hanging photos and laughing with Lucas. That’s when it hits me how big she’s gotten. How much she’s matured and how damn wonderful she is.
Last night in bed, between texting Bridget and watching my buddy’s basketball game on the TV, I kept adding more and more items to my online shopping cart for Mac. Maybe it’s the guilt of how prickly and harsh I’ve been in years past, or how difficult I am to be around at times, but, I want this to be the best Christmas ever. For the first time in half a decade, I’m excited. I’m excited when I see the decorations in the store. I’m giddy to watch Felicity prep the menorah we’ll be lighting any day now. I feel so fuckinghappy, like I’m on top of the world, and I know the brunette next door is the leading cause of that glee.
It’s been a week since our first night together, and Bridget is incredible. Every time we talk, Mac is the first topic of conversation. She asks about how her practice is going and how the new position is working out. She asks me about my day, too, and if I need help with anything.
We haven’t put a label on this yet. We haven’t had sex. I haven’t even taken her on a date yet, too busy with work and painting noses on the reindeers Lucas creates. I’m too busy grabbing her hand behind the back of our building, kissing her quick and sweet. I’m too busy accepting the fresh blueberry muffins she shoves my way.
Whatever is going on between us is special. I can tell. I don’t want to rush into anything and miss all those little moments. Like how Bridget is ticklish under her left rib cage and her eyes are more brown than green late at night, under the star-lined sky.
“Dad,” Mac calls out. “Lucas and I are leaving.”
“Do you have your bag?” I ask. I tuck the picture into my wallet and slide it away in my pocket.
“Yup.”
“Backpack and homework?”
“Yes!”
“Phone and charger?”
“Dad,” she whines. “I’m thirteen in like, two weeks.”
“You’re right.” I look at Lucas. “I’ll see you at dinner after?”
He winks, looking smug and all-knowing. “Yup. Take your time closing up.”
I roll my eyes at the implication, but he’s not wrong. I haven’t seen Bridget yet today and I’ve been looking for an excuse to sneak over and say hi. I didn’t think pathetically asking my best friend to take my kid to my parents’ house would be the level I’d stoop to, yet here we are.
“Love you, Dad,” Mac says. She throws her arm around my waist and I kiss the top of her head.
“Love you too, kiddo. I’ll grab you later tonight, okay?”
“Okay.”
She waves goodbye and drags Lucas out the door. I give them a head start, watching his truck peel out of the parking space in front of the shop, driving down the road.
When they are out of sight, I shut the lights off and lock up, heading for the bookstore. It’s dark at A Likely Story, too, and I’m surprised to find the door unlocked.
