Page 9 of Merry Mayhem
I hand Gavin the box of ornaments and he dives in, pulling each one out and examining it before deciding where it should go on the tree. The few we have from our childhood, he points out to Cooke, giving him a detailed history.
When the box is empty, he yawns. “Why don't you go get ready for bed. We can set up your mattress in here. With the fireplace going and some blankets, you'll be warm enough until the power comes back on.”
He darts a look between me and Cooke. “Will you let Cooke stay here?” I can tell he's worried about my answer. Cooke, though, looks like he plans to automatically object to the suggestion.
“If it's not safe for him to drive, then of course he can stay.” I eye the small couch speculatively. It's not nearly long enough for a man his height, but we can figure something out.
Relieved, Gavin gives me a hug, then takes my phone and uses its light to navigate through the darkness to his room and bathroom.
“I appreciate the thought, Gretchen, but I'm sure I can make it home.” His voice is gravelly low, and it does something to my insides. Making my stomach flip. The warm light from the fireplace bathes us in a rosy glow, and I don't want to question the tension that springs into place between us. He's been nothing but kind to us both so far. I'm going to choose to trust that.
“I'd worry about you driving. So would Gavin. And you seem like the type to worry about us keeping the fire going andstaying warm until the power comes back on. No point in all of us being worried when the simple solution is for everybody to get a good night's sleep.”
I look him fully in the face then and catch a glint of hunger in his gaze. “Thank you, by the way. Because of you, Gavin's had more fun in the last two days than I've seen since we moved here. Seeing him smile makes me happier than you probably realize. The least I can do is offer you a safe place to sleep.”
The tension in his shoulders softens and his jaw relaxes at that. His eyes stay locked on mine, though, and I'm not sure what he'll do next.
Say no and walk out the door?
Say yes and stay?
My heart speeds up, wondering what choice he'll make.
Finally, he smiles. It's a small one, a crack in his facade. It feels a little like victory.
“Okay, then. I'll stay for tonight.”
9
COOKE
I shouldn't have acceptedher offer of a place to sleep. For her, it was just an innocent gesture. A way of thanking me for spending time with her brother. For starting a fire they desperately needed.
It means so much more than that for me.
Gavin is sleeping soundly on the mattress we'd pulled from his bedroom. It's a twin and he's laying diagonally across it. When I pointed it out, Gretchen just shrugged and said that's how he's always slept. I told her she should claim the couch. She argued, but it was short lived. Probably because I made it clear I wasn't going to change my mind.
Now I'm sitting with my back against one of the walls, close enough that I can tend the fire as it dies down. The howling of the wind has lessened, but the snow is still falling. I check it regularly. My car is an encased lump of snow out there, and it will be a task digging it out eventually. A smile tugs at my lips as I imagine offering to pay Gavin for his scooping services.
“You don't smile often.” Gretchen states the observation softly, but that doesn't change the truth of it.
“You should be sleeping.” When I look over at her, her pretty face is focused on me. “And I only smile when it really matters.”
Her lips turn down and I feel the sudden urge to cross the distance between us. To kiss the sadness so clearly displayed there away. I don't want her feeling sad about anything, least of all me.
“You didn't want to work on the Christmas tree tonight. Thank you for doing it anyway.”
That statement hits me hard. In the gut. It's proof she sees through me and the tough exterior. Maybe it's the fact that I'm tired or the coziness of the room we're sharing, but I don't feel the need to hide like I normally do.
“I never really had much of a Christmas growing up.” I pause, expecting her to ask a question or make some kind of consoling remark. Instead, she just waits, and I can't hold back giving her more insight into my life. “I was a foster kid, shuttled between families whenever it was convenient for them. Never really had a place where Christmas was a real thing. I mean they celebrated, sometimes, but I was usually just someone that was there, not a real part of the family. So I wasn't really ever included. Maybe a random gift here and there, something picked up last minute before the stores closed. Usually, I just watched as their real kids opened everything and counted myself lucky to get to eat extra food. Still kind of love the cheap, boxed stuffing you can buy at the store. Fills you up.”
We're both quiet after that. A log crackles and snaps in the fireplace, a flurry of sparks erupting.
I get up and grab another log, ready to add it to the fire.
“I like boxed stuffing too.” She smiles at me when I look over at her. “It's comforting. There's just something about it. Gavin likes it too. It'll definitely be part of our Christmas dinner. I'll make extra this year.”
My throat closes up, chest going tight as emotion floods through me. “You don't need to do that, Gretchen.”
