Page 40 of Binding Their Hearts

The door to the bedroom stood open, the padded bench at the foot of the bed just waiting for him to deposit their bags. Six pillows, three stacks of two, rested side by side against the headboard. Henry’s room hadn’t stayed stuck in his childhood; it was an adult’s bedroom. Some families let their kids grow up and become new people.

He ran a finger along the edge of his phone case, the rugged little ridges and valleys. He wouldn’t text his niece and ask her how it felt to still be living in her mother’s house or whether her room had changed since high school. But maybe he’d invite Becky down to Boston once they had the new house. Everybody deserved a chance to see their world could be different.

He fired off a quick question instead—What’s your dream job?—and stuffed the phone in his pocket.

Empty-handed, he galloped down the stairs and into the kitchen. “I’m here, I’m here. Taste tester extraordinaire, at your service.”

Beside the stove, Henry was peering inside a big soup pot and idly stirring, but his mom corralled Jay at the table and held a cookie in his path. “Eat this.”

“Oooh, cookies.” He bit off the top half of a brown Christmas stocking the size of his hand.

“You’ll need energy for the yardwork, even with Alice’s help.” She turned toward the window where Alice stood looking out. “You can always change your mind, dear. I do have more photo albums with Henry as a young boy if you’d prefer to stay in.”

He’d seen those albums. They lived in the music room. Maybe that was where Henry’s mom set up her Christmas tree. Too early in the season yet. But they could talk about Christmas after dinner, once Henry had shared their big news.

“Nope, not me.” Alice tugged her knit hat down over her ears. Her hair flipped out in waves underneath, and her grin crossed her whole face. He’d kiss her for that later, just a for-being-you kiss. “Jay promised in the car that I could dive-bomb his leaf piles.”

“Is it too spicy?” Hovering next to him, her lips pursed, Henry’s mom asked just as he shoved the second half of the cookie in his mouth.

He shook his head. Talking around cookie crumbles would be a disaster. And these were good—he wasn’t about to waste a bite.

“I’ll join you both outside after lunch.” Henry tipped the lid over the pot on the stove. “Mother and I have some catching up to do beforehand.”

That would be telling her about the engagement. Henry hadn’t done it by text like Jay and Alice had told their sisters. The good ones, anyway. Henry could’ve called, but he’d said this sort of news was best delivered in person.

“Gingerbread cookies are traditional”—Henry’s mom fetched milk and a small glass, the little ones diners served orange juice in on the side at breakfast—“but I wanted to bring something new this year, a bit of pizzazz.” She held out the glass until he took it, then offered a cookie to Alice. “Jay is my official taste tester for the annual cookie swap with the neighborhood women. He’s never steered me wrong.”

Alice accepted the cookie and circled the table as he drained the milk, ending up at his side just as he set the glass down. She stroked his arm, steady and firm, from shoulder to elbow. “He has a great internal compass for making the right choices.”

“That he does.” Abandoning the stove, Henry snaked an arm past his hip and fished at the plate of cookies. “I might have to try these myself.”

They were gonna kill him with the casual touches and emotional support. Either his dick would stand up or his eyes would leak tears. He cleared his throat. “Tastes like licorice. I like it.”

“Wonderful!” Henry’s mom clapped her hands and held them to her lips. “Thank you, Jay. And the spice isn’t overwhelming?”

“Just right.” He snagged a second cookie and turned it over in his hand a few times. Looked completely normal, like plain old gingerbread, but some hidden addition made it work even better. “What’s the secret?”

“Star anise.” Her green eyes flashed with joy. Henry had inherited those. He shared that subtle smile, too, when he got pleasing results from a project. “I had the idea from Scandinavian candies a friend brought back from a trip abroad. Very interesting flavor profile. My father would have enjoyed these, I daresay.”

He eyed the dwindling plate. Only two cookies left. Too bad, because these would make a great afternoon snack, too.

Henry’s mom laughed like windchimes, light and delicate. “I only put out a few so as not to ruin your appetite for lunch. I’ve plenty more for after tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Alice, in midchew, made a scrunchy extra-yum face.

“We’ll go work up an appetite, then.” They had a tight schedule—lots to do before the sun set today and tomorrow. Being busy felt different here. He hadn’t once wanted to hop on a bike and flee. Maybe they’d come early for the holidays, and he’d hang garlands while Henry’s mom played carols on the piano. Or he’d help assemble baskets for the cookie swap. “Starting with leaves.”

Rakes and tarps would be in the shed. The carpet of oak leaves out front would get dragged round back to keep the garden beds protected from the winter snows and break down to feed the plants in the spring.

“I’ll leave everything in your capable hands, Jay. You keep Alice in line out there.” Henry’s mom shook a teasing finger. “That girl sounds like a troublemaker. She’s plotting to destroy your leaf piles.”

Alice waggled her eyebrows at him. “You bet I am.”

“Nah.” He knew better. The only things Alice and Henry destroyed were the illusions that had held him back. People who loved you didn’t tear you down. They shook things up when you got…compliant? Complacent. That was the word. But they did it because they wanted to see you shine. “She’s a builder, and Henry’s a creator. I’m safe with them.”

Chapter nineteen

Henry

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