Page 61 of War on Christmas

Because I remember. I remember being in this room, listening to Jeremy tell me about the latest incident with Gary. I remember the crushing helplessness. The suffocating frustration that Jeremy,myJeremy, was being hurt, and there was nothing I could do. So, I’d touch him. I’d run my fingers through his hair or let them drift up and down his forearm. I’d connect physically, so he’d know he wasn’t alone.

The second he feels me relax, Jeremy wraps himself around me, all hairy limbs and muscle and heavy bones. Our legs intertwine, he tucks my head onto his shoulder, and then, in the twinkling glow of the Christmas tree with its black ornaments, we just breathe.

And for tonight, it’s enough.

Thirty-Eight

FREYA

4 days until Christmas…

“Warmenough,Sunshine?”Jeremybends down to speak into my ear, and I nod as I lean my back into him, delighting in the feel of his tall, hard body supporting mine.

Apparently, over the past four years, Bethany has become cool. Apparently, Bethany is now the type of person who hires hot Santa Clauses and hosts winter solstice parties, complete with a raging bonfire, sparklers for the kids, and mulled wine that is better than mine.

Not that I’d admit that to her.

“Extra cinnamon sticks for good fiery energy,” she’d told me, then winked as she’d looked over at Jeremy and muttered, “Not that you need any help with that.”

Bethany’s large backyard, a half-acre lot that would cost a bajillion dollars in Chicago, is teeming with people, all of them rosy-cheeked and smiling as they chat with casual friends they haven’t seen since the winter weather set in. Drew is handing out sparklers, dark head bent toward the small mob of children surrounding him, but even their incessant screaming doesn’t bring down my mood. Maybe Bethany’s spawn have made me impervious to loud noises over the past ten days. Or maybe, I’m just…happy.

I scowl, and Jeremy’s arms tighten around me.

“Our Yule log is holding up,” he observes, his warm breath tickling my ear. He smells like cloves, fresh air, and Christmas, and when I catch myself turning my face into his neck to breathe him in, I snap back around to stare at the fire.

Jeremy had taken the day off from helping his mother, who was ready for a break anyway, and we’d spent the afternoon with Thad and Sam making a Yule log. It’s a tradition that gets posted every year onHope & Stardust, but when I was in Chicago, I didn’t have a place to burn one. This year, Bethany provided the log, a fallen branch from the maple tree on the back corner of her property, and the rest of us went for a cold, snowy hike through a nearby nature preserve, collecting random pine cones, leaves, and dried plants to decorate it with. Then Sam and I had attached the “decorations” with twine.

I’m not sure why the resulting Yule log was so beautiful. It wasn’t the type of decoration you’d find back in Chicago. It wasn’t shiny or glitzy. There were no lights or polka-dotted bows or curled ribbons. It was rough and poky, the dehydrated wildflowers a stark reminder of the short, fleeting nature of summer.

But beautiful it was. Even Bethany said so, which makes it official.

Best of all, Bethany invited the four of us to stay over tonight after the party, so we don’t need to worry about a designated driver. Thad and Sam are staying in her guest room, while Jeremy and I get the small apartment over her garage. Which means that for the first time since our official date, we’ll get to spend a night together without a relative down the hallway.

There are only four nights left, and I’m determined that this one…this one is going to be special.

“Are you having fun?” Bethany pops up next to me with no warning, and I bite back a squeal of surprise.

“Easy, Sunshine,” Jeremy murmurs like I’m a spooked horse, then chuckles when I bump my elbow back into his ribs.

“This is really nice,” I tell Bethany. And I mean it. It’s not fancy. In addition to the mulled wine, there are giant tubs of popcorn, along with marshmallows and hot cocoa for the kids. Overall, though, it’s simple and laid-back. Not Bethany’s usual Martha-Stewart-wannabe style.

“Thanks.” She dimples at me. “It started with only a handful of people—mostly our family and my Bunco ladies—but it’s grown every year into”—she gestures at her yard and the dozens of people—“this. People really like the whole winter solstice theme.”

I nod, even though I’m a little salty that celebrating solstice isn’t quite as subversive as I thought it was.

Do I “fit in” in Northview, Wisconsin, now?

I push that thought away—like a lot of thoughts lately—and clear my throat.

“I always loved the idea of celebrating the longest night of the year,” I confess. “Of really embracing the dark.” I turn my eyes up to the smattering of clear, bright stars in the inky black sky. I love Chicago, but we don’t get stars like this. When I look away, I catch Bethany staring at me, her brow furrowed in a cute, bemused kind of way. I stiffen. “What?” I ask.

“Nothing!” She blinks, turning her gaze to the stars as well. A long pause. “I guess…I guess I just thought of solstice as celebrating the light. Longer days on their way, and all that.”

I snort. “You would,” I mutter, then to my surprise, we both dissolve into laughter.

Across the fire, Abi and a few friends are huddled together whispering, and as Bethany’s giggles die down, I nod at her daughter. Her nose and cheeks are pink from the cold, her dark hair woven into an elaborate braid that hangs over her shoulder. She looks happy enough chatting with her friends.

“How’s she doing?” I ask.

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