Page 43 of A Holly Jilly Christmas

“Calm down, dude,” Marcy says, yawning and plopping down on my other side. “She just ate. But it’s adorable you’ve picked up the word rooting.”

If Case holding a baby makes me want to have my own, Marcy helps temper the desire. She does have a glow about her, but she also has the look of a woman who got hit by a truck, used superhuman strength to defeat said truck, and emerged victorious.

In that analogy, Clover is both the truck and the spoils for the victor, which I’m gathering is pretty much the summation of parenting.

Case frowns. “Are you sure she isn’t hungry?”

“I’ll take her,” I say, reaching out. “I already washed my hands.”

Careful to keep Clover tucked in his arms, Case angles his body away from me. “No.”

Marcy lets out a soft groan and sinks into the couch, closing her eyes. “You two can fight over her. Someone wake me up when she’s actually hungry. Or if she has another diaper blowout and someone can’t handle the smell.”

“It was a perfectly normal reaction,” Case says.

“You barfed in the diaper genius thing,” I remind him.

“Diaper Genie,” Marcy corrects, not opening her eyes.

“If it was really a genie, it would make the dirty diapers disappear.”

“High five to that.”

Marcy doesn’t so much as raise a hand, so I high five myself.

Case whispers, “Shh! You’re going to wake the baby.”

Marcy cracks one eye open, and the two of us exchange a quick smile.

“When are you going to look at the last house?” Marcy asks.

“It went under contract,” I say glumly. The real estate market here is no joke, so I shouldn’t have gotten excited about a tiny fixer upper craftsman. But I’d been eyeing the renovation nightmare for months while it sat on the market, allowing me far too much hope.

Case and I were already here looking at apartments for me and houses for him (and, hopefully soon for BOTH of us) when we got the call that Marcy’s water broke in the ice cream aisle of HEB. We put off looking at my very favorite house, to be with Marcy, Greg, and Clover.

Now … it’s off the market.

With Brightmark moving its main office to Austin (thankfully without David, who was quietly fired) and using Sheet Cake as the primary set location (my brilliant idea), Case and I are moving. My parents and brother were more than a little excited about frequent visits to the hill country, and obviously, Case’s sisters were thrilled.

We considered Sheet Cake—Tank did have a few open lofts—but I’m not ready for small-town life. Or to have my job literally outside the window. Case, I think, is still scarred from his run-in with Fabio.

“How about the apartments?” Marcy says, her voice starting to slur with sleep.

“An apartment is an apartment,” I say with a shrug. “Depends on where Case finds a house.”

Am I disappointed that we’re looking at separate places? Yes. Would I prefer to have a ring on my finger and a promise of cohabitation in my near future? HECK yes.

But after our whirlwind first weekend, Case pumped the brakes, saying he wanted to move slowly. I should never have mentioned my concerns about working together and our slight age gap, because Case seems determined to take those issues seriously.

TOO seriously, if you ask me. But he’s a cautious sloth, and I’m a cheetah on caffeine.

On the one hand, I appreciate his care and conscientiousness. On the other, I’d be on a plane to Vegas in five minutes if he asked, ready for an Elvis-officiated wedding.

“We’ve got more important things to do now.” Case’s smile is soft as he places a kiss on Clover’s head. He looks up at me, a gleam in his eyes. “But, we do have an appointment in a few hours.”

“We do? Which house?”

“You’ll see.”

---