Page 5 of Not In The Christmas Plan
I’ve spent the past year trying to heal, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder what else will be taken from me.
Suddenly I’m cramming food into the fridge with no methodical care. Turkey smothers the eggs, the pan of green beans balance on the rolls. A lid slips, clattering to the floor and I freeze, realizing my hands are trembling.
“No,” I whisper, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
Everything is fine. Ivy’s fine. The babies will be fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. Especially not during Christmas.
The sound of Grant moving in the living room reaches me, reminding me that I’m not alone. And the last thing I want is for him to see me fall apart.
I take in a long breath. Then another. Then my gaze lands on the table. Among nearly finished, abandoned plates sits one covered by a paper towel—Grant’s slice of pie. I don’t know why, but something about seeing it there just sets me off.
I pick it up and carry it to the trash.
Grant walks in just as I hold the plate over the can. “Hey, I’m still eating—”
The pie slides off and lands with a dull plop.
I meet his eyes, feigning innocence. “I’m sorry, did you still want that?”
Grant narrows his eyes. “Guess not.”
“Perfect.” I beam at him, being nice like Ivy wanted.
I return to the fridge, rearranging it so that everything goes in correctly this time, feeling much lighter and in control. The turkey goes on the bottom. Smaller containers sit on top. Pie on the top level.
Except, the second, whole pie is missing.
I scan the counter, even though I could have sworn I placed right under the microwave. Then I hear it—humming.
He. Did. Not.
I turn around, and there Grant is. Leaning against the wall, fork in one hand and abducted pie in the other. He raises a triumphant brow while shoveling the last bite.
I shake my head. “Are you serious right now?”
“What’s wrong?” he asks breezily.
I’m so annoyed, all I can do is point an accusing finger at the pie.
Grant cocks his head to the side, eyebrows knotted like he doesn’t understand what the big deal is. “I’m sorry, did you want some of this?”
“You know I didn’t,” I all but growl.
This is what he does. Every time I try to shove him out of my space, be it with subtle hints, cold shoulders, or outright actions, Grant just pushes back harder. Like showing up at mine and Ivy’s birthday dinner, slipping in just long enough to crack a few of his jokes and make sure I felt the weight of his heavy stare. Or tonight, stealing an entire pie and inhaling it in record time, knowing it’s not something I can ignore.
I may have chosen to guard my heart and shut the door on whatever we could have had, but he's been determined to make sure I can't forget him or the connection we shared. He's determined that I not have even a moment of peace when he's around.
Oh, but according to Ivy, he’s the least petty person she knows.
“You’ve had a lot onyour plate today,” Grant says while his brown eyes taunt me. “Figured I could take care of one thing for you.”
At that, he pushes himself off the wall, humming as he gets withing striking distance. He tosses the empty pan in the trash and dirty fork in the sink.
“I’ll get out of your way so you can finish up in here.” His grin lingers as he disappears back into the living room.
Chapter three
On a typical Matthews Thanksgiving, we eat dinner, eat pie, then officially start the Christmas season with a movie.
