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“Get out of here,” he says, waving a dismissive hand, but his eyes betray him; they’re holding on.
I nod. As I step out and close the door softly behind me, the hallway seems brighter, the burden on my shoulders lighter yet somehow heavier, too. There’s one last step to make before I go get my girl.
CHAPTERFORTY-TWO
AMANDA
“I can’t believethere’s only a year and a half left before you graduate.” Grandma shakes her head as she places the baking pan in the oven. “Time sure does fly.”
It’s Christmas Eve, and we’re carrying on the family tradition of making sugar cutout cookies. Star, snowman, and Christmas tree shapes sit on parchment paper, filling the kitchen table. I needed this break after the wild and crazy week I’ve had.
“It’s hard to believe. It seems like yesterday you drove me to the airport for my first trip ever.” I place the last Christmas tree cutout on the baking sheet, toss the pan into the oven, and start the cleanup. “Thanks, Grandma.”
“I didn’t do anything, sweetie.” She makes her way to the pantry. “That was all you.”
“You encouraged me. That means a lot.”
Grandma grabs the powdered sugar for the frosting. Coming back to the tiny butcher-block island, she wears a knowing smile. “Your mom would be so proud.”
Staring at the flour scattered around the island, I blink back the threatening tears. “I really miss her, especially this time of the year.”
My voice breaks as the ache in my chest grows tighter. Mourning my mom on top of a broken heart only serves to deepen the crack. Had Mom been here, she would’ve made the frosting by now. We worked in an assembly line to knock them out. Once they were finished, we would move on to fudge and French cookies. It was a lot of sweets, but so much fun. I’ve really missed baking with Grandma the past couple of years.
I finish wiping up the excess flour, but I still feel Mom’s presence wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. She’s everywhere, from the ready-to-be-iced cookies to the messy countertops. Her memory lives on, refusing to be erased.
But it’s times like these when I miss her and could really use her guidance. My chin trembles as I concentrate on the light and dark tones of the butcher block pattern. My grandma has been a massive support system but isn’t a replacement. I missed out on all the boyfriend talks and the grownup discussions. What would she say about my Blake situation? Would she want me to fight for him or tell me to move on?
The doorbell rings, jarring me out of my thoughts.
“Who can that be, today of all days?” Grandma wipes her hands on her apron and steps toward the front room.
“I’ll get it, Grandma.” I take off before she can argue. I don’t want her to open the door to a stranger. We aren’t expecting any visitors, and no one we know would visit on Christmas Eve. I glance out the front window, but the frosted glass blocks whoever is there, intensifying my curiosity. My breath catches as I turn the doorknob and come face to face with a tall, brooding man.
“Blake.” His name echoes softly in the crisp air, and I freeze. Is it really him standing before me, or is it a trick of my mind? But when his intense gaze locks onto mine, there’s no doubt. Those piercing blue eyes, stubble covering his jawline, and the way the melting snow glistens on his dark hair … it’s all so familiar and yet surreal. And when he smiles, revealing that dimple, I can finally breathe again.
“Merry Christmas, Princess.” His deep baritone voice wraps around my body like a well-worn scarf. It’s familiar and feels like home.
“What are you doing here?” I move aside to let him in, but instead of answering, he pulls me into a tight hug.
“I fucking missed you.” He tightens his embrace and buries his face in my hair.
I sink into his chest as a mixture of joy and longing overcomes me. As I breathe in his familiar sandalwood scent, my heart races with memories of our past. For a moment, it’s easy to forget that we’re no longer together.
Pulling back slightly, I meet his gaze and notice a different kind of vulnerability in him. One I haven’t seen before. The confident captain of the Cessna U Wildcats hockey team is gone, replaced by a rawness that tugs at my heartstrings.
“I’m confused. Why are you here?”
Blake’s grip loosens, and he steps back. The silence stretches between us, filled only by the sounds of dishes clanging in the kitchen. A sly smile forms on his lips as he finally speaks. “I would’ve thought that was obvious.”
“I’m a little slow. Explain to me like I’m ten.”
“Like I said, I missed you so fucking much. I came to get my girl back.”
A spark of hope is on the edge of igniting—a wish that this may work and my plan will have substance.
“All though, I have a bone to pick with you,” he says, throwing me off-guard.
“What?” it comes out as a half-laugh.
