Page 54 of The Bright Side of Christmas
A wicked gleam flashes in her eyes, lips tipping up. “I think I can work on that.”
And while she doesn’t convince me to make it so you can see my house from space, we have a fuck of a good time trying.
NINETEEN
“What are you doing tonight?” Adam calls across our lawns on Friday morning. The snow has been plowed and the walkways shoveled, although a significant bit of it has already melted away. Adam shoveled mine, the gentleman. I tried to help, of course, but he threatened to tie me to his bed if I didn’t let him. I think I may have revealed a bit too much when I smiled at his threat instead of backing down easily, but that’s neither here nor there. Last night, I slept in my own bed by myself, and I was thrown back a bit when I realized just how empty it felt.
“What?” I ask, smiling and grateful I’m catching him before leaving for work. He takes a step off his porch, and I note with appreciation that he’s in his running gear—a black, thick hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is, nonetheless.
“What are you doing tonight after work? Want to come over for dinner?”
I purse my lips as I heft my oversized bag higher up my shoulder, then take a few steps of my own down the steps of my porch. I ignore his burning gaze, pretending to dig in my bag for keys that are already in my hand as I answer. “I can’t, I have things to do.”
“Things?” he asks. His arms are crossed on his chest, taking me in with a disapproving look and a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, things.”
“What kind of things?”
“I have to make a photobooth backdrop and accessories tonight.”
“A photobooth?”
“Yes. It’s for the festival, and before you ask, yes, someone else could be doing it, but their kid came down with a nasty cold, so they don’t have the time. I offered to help, and I need to spend time tonight getting it done.Someonekeeps insisting I go to bed before midnight, so I need to work on it right when I get home.” I won’t tell him that I’m kind of happy to be going to bed at a reasonable hour, since my body feels so much happier with me because of it.
And Idefinitelywon’t be telling him that sleeping with him the past few nights has been some of the best, most well-rested sleep of my life, or that I didn’t wake up feeling as rested this morning. Sleeping with Adam is like sleeping with the most perfect, heated, weighted blanket. The second we settle into bed, he shifts us so his leg is hitched up over me, as if he’s afraid I won’t stay put without him keeping me there. His chest is pressed against my back, fighting off the winter chill that has hit Holly Ridge, and my mind quiets its constant repetition of my to-do list once I’m bundled into him.
“Wren…” he chides, and I roll my eyes, moving down my walkway and toward the trunk of my car, opening it before tossing my things inside and diligently ignoring him. I don’t want to hear his lecture about how I need to be taking on fewer tasks. I spent the last few days doing not much of anything, hanging out with him while the school was closed for two days. While I brought my laptop over to his place to handle some online work, and he came to mine once the power came backon so I could finish up the quilt, I feel the pressure of tasks and responsibilities building up after my time off.
I’m formulating my response to the argument that is probably unavoidable as I reach up to close my trunk. When it’s shut, I gasp with surprise as my body is shifted, Adam’s hands on my hips, turning me and pinning my back to my car. Even though I should complain about him getting salt on the back of my coat or something, I can’t find it in me to do so, not with his body pressed against mine, his warmth seeping through my clothes. I’m convinced the heat of him has magical stress-relieving properties. When he’s touching me, it eases.
“I know,” I murmur before he can argue further. “And you’re right, I need to delegate more. But this isn’t me jumping in where someone is being too lazy. Sophia has three kids, all of whom got sick, which I know because one of them is my student and was out a good chunk of last week. She works for herself, so she took time off to help the kids, but now she needs to catch up on work and family stuff. And, let’s be honest, there’s a good shot she’s also going to get it. I offered not just because it would help her, but because it needs to get done. I’d rather take it on now when I have a little bit of extra time than in a week when she tells me she got sick and I have to scramble.”
He stares down at me then, his eyes soft and understanding, before he pushes one of my stray hairs back. “Bring it to my place. I’ll feed you and help out.”
A beat passes as he stares at me, distracting me momentarily when his eyes move from mine to my lips and back again, but I blink to clear my mind and speak.
“You’ll help?”
“Yeah. I’m not spending the night away just because you gotta work on some new craft.” I blink at him for a long moment. “So bring it to my place, I’ll help out as best as I can.”
I give him a soft smile but shake my head.
“That’s sweet, honey, really.” His eyes go soft with the endearment. “But it’s boring and tedious. You don’t have to do anything. You can just hang out while I?—”
He shakes his head. “I don’t do what I don’t want to do, Wren. That’s the difference between you and me.”
I roll my eyes, that familiar irritation sparking to life in my chest. “Yes, yes, I know. You have all the boundaries, and I have none. You’re right, I’m working on it, but?—”
“No,” he starts. I lift an eyebrow, and he smiles. “Well, yes, but that’s not what I meant. What I mean is I don’t do what I don’t want to do. I never have, and I’m telling you right now to prepare because I never will. So if I didn’t want to help you out, I just wouldn’t.”
I get it then, as I take him in. His face is close to mine, and I take in the handsomeness that is Adam—those green eyes, the small lines beside them that I watched get deeper while he was working in his office, concentrating hard. His straight nose, high cheekbones, and tight jaw irritated me, making it hard for me to understand what he’s trying to tell me.
To understand that hewantsto help, not because he feels obligated, but because he genuinely wants to helpme. Because he wants to take care of me, and he realizes this is how he has to do it.
It’s an uncomfortable realization.
I receive offers to help, of course, from friends, family, and coworkers. I always tell them I appreciate the offer, but not to worry about it. That I’ve got it covered, giving them the social allowance they need to step away from helping me gracefully. And when I do, I always see the flash of relief cross their faces, relief that they don’t actually have to see out their offer. It’s what has always confirmed my choice to take on more and more, to take those tasks off the people I care for’s shoulders.
