Page 35 of A Cheesecake Christmas

He’s intense. He’s engaging. He’s the kind of man who’s all in, in everything he does.

And I can’t.

I can’t, Theo.

I want to. I’ll admit that. But like my mom says, people change. And Theo’s the type of man who, if I let myself climb all in and he changes? Changes his mind, changes who he is?

I’ll never be okay again.

I shake my head and pull into my parents’ driveway. My dad and brothers aren’t home from work yet, but that’s alright. I can do this myself—except for the bed. And yes, Theo offered to come with me, but I told him not to worry about it. I know he said he had a lot of work to do.

With several trips back and forth from my soon-to-be former bedroom and the truck, I’ve got everything packed up by six. My family comes home and helps me with the bed. And even though they drive over to the apartment with me to get it up the stairs, Theo’s out of his office within seconds of us arriving, ready to help again, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. It doesn’t take long for him to win over my dad and brothers with his charisma and enthusiasm.

The man is determined and sunny, I’ll give him that.

Since when did I become the pessimist around here? Nerves and a sense of hollow dread soak me.

This life, my life . . . I’m just not quite the person I’d imagined I’d be at this point.

I want so much more than what I’m allowing myself to have. I want to be so much more.

Camilla comes up to my new apartment as soon as she closes the shop, and Theo brings us all sandwiches and drinks to keep us fueled. Bless the man, the ham and Swiss, and the grape electrolyte drink he brought me. But now he’s gone, needing to make some visits for a case he’s working on.

So why can I not get him out of my head while Camilla and I are folding my clothes neatly and putting them in my dresser drawers?

Frustration bubbles up again. I’ve got to stop this.

It’s nearly ten p.m. when I finish getting as much situated in my new place as is possible in one day.

After giving Camilla a bestie hug, I head back over to my parents’ house and get my room cleaned up for my grandpa while they go pick him up at the airport.

I light a cinnamon Christmas candle in the room and decorate the windows with strings of holly leaves and berries. And when he gets in, at almost midnight, he hugs me with a Santa-like “Ho, ho, ho!” His wiry frame is draped in a thermal shirt, a flannel button-down, and a cardigan.

My sister works early in the mornings at her on-campus job, so she’s asleep. But my parents, Grandpa, and I enter the living room with his luggage.

“You’re ready for Colorado winters,” I tell him, reaching over to straighten his navy cardigan.

“I traded in my beach Speedo for these sick threads.” He strikes a few model poses, and when he turns around and places his hands on his hips, I see his grey hair is still mussed up from the airplane ride. My parents sigh as if to say, “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

“I wish you were kidding about the beach Speedo, but somehow, I know you’re not.” I’m grinning. That’s another thing about being around Grandpa. By the time I go back to my apartment, I know I’ll have sore abs from laughing.

“Just cause I didn’t wear it when you visited me, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.” He uses his pointer finger to slide his glasses back up his nose.

“Well, you look nice,” I say, eyeing him carefully. He does, and besides being a little thinner, he doesn’t seem to have aged at all since I last saw him during our visit a year ago.

We sit on the sofa and my parents follow in the chairs opposite us. “How’s your mother?” Grandpa asks my mom. He’s referring to my grandmother, his ex-wife.

Howard and Mischla Beckwith split up before I was even born, and she’s been married twice since then, while grandpa has chosen the bachelor lifestyle, permanently at this point, it seems.

“She’s well,” my mother says, adjusting the clip in which she’s pulled back half of her greying, thick hair. “She and Byron have divorced, but you probably know that, Dad.”

He nods slowly. “She still in Milwaukee?”

“For the time being. I wonder if she’ll move though, since she’s not with Byron anymore. She needs to. She needs to be closer to family,” Mom chides, clicking her tongue.

“Erin,” my father says, disdain in his tone. “She’s fine. She likes her life there.”

“Does she, though? She’s always unhappy.” My mom frowns. “Maybe she’s lonely and doesn’t want to admit it.”

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