Page 5 of Mistletoe & Magic
“Remy is not caught up on this plan,” she says gently. “That is on me. He would never ask for help, and he is stretched too thin to see straight. I will talk to him tonight and make that clear. In the meantime, you are allowed to take up space here. You are not a secret, and you are not a burden. If he bristles, it is only habit. He is a good man who loves his daughter. He will adjust.”
My stomach flutters, but I breathe. “All right.”
“Communication,” she continues. “Text me if you have questions. Call if it is urgent. Here are the school numbers. Here’s the pediatrician. Junie has no allergies beyond a mild dislike of broccoli. The EpiPen in the kitchen drawer is mine. Don’t worry about it.”
She writes her number again on a sticky note and sticks it to the edge of the notebook like a mother hen planting a flag.
I listen and let the plan wrap around my nerves like a blanket. This, I can do.
From down the hall comes the distant clank of the heater kicking on. The house settles around us. Donna tucks her pencil behind her ear and slides the notebook toward me. “Look this over tonight. Add notes if you think of them. In the mornings, Remy leaves by six if the trees need him. You can be up by seven. Make Junie’s lunch or let her buy. She is adventurous on pizza day.”
I tuck the envelope and the card into my bag. “I’ll make it work.”
“I know you will.” Donna picks up her coffee again, then sets it down without drinking. She studies my face as if checking to see how I’m feeling about all this.
“I’m not trying to push you into the deep end. I’m trying to give you the job you’ll be good at. Help Junie feel steady. Help Remy remember that life is not only work and worry.”
“I can do that,” I say quietly.
Her smile warms. “I picked you because you are sunshine with a spine. Remy needs both.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Where do you want me to start today?”
“Start with groceries,” she says. “Take Remy’s truck. Keys are on the hook by the door. Use the card for whatever you need. If you run into anything strange, call me.”
She finally lifts the mug and finishes the last swallow. The lipstick print touches her lip in the same place. She looks less weary now, like sharing the weight lightened it. She squeezes my hand. “You are not here to clean up our mess. You are here to keep our family from crashing.”
I nod. “Understood.”
“Good.” She collects her tote and her laptop, then pauses at the door. “Welcome home, Ivy.”
The word home lands soft and bright in my chest. I tuck it away and walk her to the door, keys chiming, a plan in my pocket and a little girl to meet at three.
I watch her speed down the driveway, and I turn and take in the house that looks like a tornado went through it. Glitter everywhere, toys, and half-completed art projects. Dishes piled high in the kitchen sink, and the dishwasher was also full and open. I think every single dish he owns is dirty.
I survey the rooms and sigh. Well, Remy definitely needs help. The house is beautiful and updated. But the house appears sad and colorless. Basic. Not homey at all. However, Junie has her artwork proudly displayed on the fridge. I open the fridge, and it’s full of old takeout containers and condiments. I can’t really see any ingredients here to make meals. The freezer is about the same with some frozen food, quick meal stuff.
I quickly make a list of my top favorite meals I can make and what I would need from the store and take a quick walk throughthe rest of the rooms. Junie’s room is tidy, with a few toys out. She has a twin bed with stuffed animals around it and the unmade bed as if she had gotten up in a hurry. Her laundry basket is overflowing, so I take that and pull it towards the laundry room and get a load going.
I walk down the hall to what looks like Remy’s room at the end of the hall. I’ve never seen a sadder beige room. No personality at all. Plain. Also, an overflowing pile of clothes in the corner. He apparently doesn’t like to do laundry or has no time. I bet it’s the latter because from what I’ve seen and noticed about him, Remy’s a great dad. Every time we’ve been at dinners and other places, he’s always taking care of Junie, and she always seems like a happy and solid kid.
I head out and get in Remy’s truck since Derek was nice enough to keep the car he had leased under his name that I paid for. I make my way to town, jamming out to Taylor Swift—I can do it with a broken heart.
Because fuck Derek.
I can do anything with a broken heart. And honestly, I’m not so sure my heart is broken. I feel free.
I get to the market and pop in and get everything on my list and some extra fun things for Junie. This kid and I are going to have a blast. I glance at my watch. Perfect. I still have plenty of time to get home, get everything put away, and get the house cleaned up.
I quickly grab a peppermint mocha from the coffee shop on the edge of town and make my way back outside of town to Remy’s tree farm. The wheels crunch over packed snow as I pull up the long, winding drive, with a bag of groceries bouncing in the passenger seat and my drink sloshing dangerously in the cup holder.
Bennett Tree Farm stretches out in front of me like something off a vintage Christmas card with evergreensdusted in powdered-sugar snow, the wooden sign at the entrance hand-painted and slightly crooked, like it’s been there forever and doesn’t need to prove anything. Row upon row of trees stand tall and proud. A row near the barn has branches twinkling with half-lit strands of bulbs, as if someone started decorating and never quite finished. I bet he could use help at the tree farm, too, when Junie’s at school. And luckily for him, I have plenty of retail experience.
But it’s the house that really gets to me. It’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong. It’s a classic white farmhouse style with navy shutters, a wraparound porch, and a wide front door the color of cranberry jam. There’s even a swing hanging from one of the porch beams, creaking slightly in the winter wind. But something about it…
It doesn’tfeellike a home. Not really. There’s no wreath on the door. No twinkle-lights in the windows. There’s no holiday-themed mat in front of the door. The curtains are all drawn, and no one shoveled the driveway. It looks lonely. It looks like a place someone’sstaying, not somewhere theylive.A place to sleep, eat, and exist. When I dream of having a home someday, I want all the cozy vibes. I want to dance in the kitchen with upbeat music always on. I want to leave love notes on the fridge and forget a mug on the windowsill. I want to make memories and have traditions. This house has so much potential forlife.
My fingers tighten around the grocery bag, full of cookie dough ingredients, hot cocoa mix, and the ingredients to my top three favorite dinners that I hope they love.
