Page 15 of Mistletoe & Magic
“I talked to Donna earlier,” Mom says, voice softening. “She says you’re doing great. Junie called her and couldn'tstop talking about how much fun she’s having with you decorating."
The words hit something tender in me. “Yeah, she was excited to talk to her Nana tonight. I'm glad she's having fun."
“Donna sounded impressed. Said you’ve already made a difference.”
I smile into the dark, pulling the blankets tighter around me. “It doesn’t feel like a job. It feels like…I don’t know. Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re happy, sweetie. Have you heard from Derek about getting your things and Lola?” she asks.
I close my eyes at hearing his name. “No. I wish I could get my stuff, and that he’d let me have Lola.”
“Well, hang on, honey, let me see if I can work some magic,” she says in an ominous tone.
“Oh, Mom,” I laugh.
I can’t sleep because I have so much running through my head.
I pull on socks and pad down the stairs, careful not to wake Junie. The house is dark except for a few lamps and lights, their soft glow spilling across the living room and catching on the garland we hung along the banister. The oranges we strung over the windows look like tiny lanterns, and for a second, I stand there and just…breathe it in. The place feels different now. Like someone poured Christmas into all the corners that used to be empty.
I head into the kitchen, open the fridge, and grab the milk. Hot cocoa always helps me sleep. I set a pot on the stove and hum to myself as I wait for it to heat.
That’s when the door opens. Cold air rushes in, carrying the scent of snow and pine. I turn, startled, and there’s Remy,stepping in from the mudroom. He’s in a hoodie and worn jeans, boots dusted with snow, his hair mussed from the wind. There’s a streak of sawdust on one sleeve, and he smells faintly of fresh-cut wood.
For a moment, I have a thought of what it might feel like for him to come home and kiss me and pull me into his arms.
I shake that off and pull myself together.
He stops just inside the kitchen, his gaze moving past me to the living room.
I follow his eyes. He’s taking it all in with the lights, the garland, the oranges glowing in the window like he’s not sure what he’s looking at.
“You were busy,” he says finally. His voice is quiet, not gruff exactly, but cautious.
“Yeah, we had a lot of fun,” I shrug as I try not to stare at him too long.
Be cool, Ivy, be cool.
He stares at me and takes in the house, his eyes landing on different things like he’s cataloging it in his mind.
“She said you don’t really do much for Christmas, so…I thought we could decorate and make some plans.”
His gaze shifts to me, and he looks guilty. “She told you that?”
“She wasn’t upset about it.” I glance at him over my shoulder. “But she’s had a lot of fun.”
He just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching me like he’s trying to figure out my angle.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” he says.“I know.” I shrug and lift the mug to my lips. “But I wanted to. We had fun.”He shakes his head when I nudge a second mug toward him. No thanks. His gaze tracks the cup in my hands instead. I take a sip and the steam curls against my mouth. He steps closer. Slow. Deliberate. Mybreath sticks.Without a word, he reaches for my mug. His fingers skim mine and a spark jumps in my stomach. He brings the cup to his mouth, blows lightly across the surface, then drinks from the same spot I did, eyes on mine the entire time. Heat climbs my throat. My knees go traitor soft.He lowers the mug, slides it back toward me, and our fingers brush again. The room feels small and bright. I am suddenly very aware of my mouth, and the way he is looking at it.“Careful,” he says, voice low. “It’s still hot.”I’m not at all sure he means the chocolate.I clear my throat, trying to be cool, but there’s literally no cool in me right now. Zip. Zilch. “Junie and I made a Christmas tradition map,” I tell him, turning back to my mug. “You can save it for next year, too.”
His eyes widen briefly, and he looks away. I wonder what he’s thinking.
“She loves the oranges,” I add. “She kept standing back to admire them like she was looking at fireworks.”
That earns the smallest tug at the corner of his mouth. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s enough to make me want to keep chasing it.
“She’s a great kid, Remy.” I say softly. “You’ve done a good job.”
He stares into his cocoa for a long moment. “Yeah, she is.” His voice is quieter now, almost reverent.
