“He did. We’re not here to see her, though.” He unbuckles his seat belt and opens his door. “C’mon. I have something to show you.”
“Okaaaay,” I say, stretching out the word as I join him in the driveway. “What’s this all about?”
“You’ll see.” With his hands on my shoulders, he leads me to the center of the yard. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
“What in the world?” I chuckle as he jogs up the walk and onto the porch. “Oliver, what is going o?—”
I’m silenced by the buzz of thousands of lights coming on, their glow so bright I have to shield my face for a few seconds to allow my eyes to adjust. Oliver is back at my side by the time the spots in my vision fade to reveal the perfect gingerbread house.
“Oh my God.” I cover my mouth with my hands as tears spring to my eyes. “How? When?”
“I had a little help,” he says. “I knew Ron was picking your Mom up at five, so I asked a few of my buddies at the fire hall to pitch in. You’d be surprised how many Christmas lights six guys can put up when they have access to the ladder on a fire truck.”
I shake my head in disbelief, speechless. It reminds me so much of the way my parents decorated the house when I wasa kid that my heart aches. It’s the perfect blend of past and present.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
Tears stream down my face, making the lights look as though they’re in soft focus.
“Oliver, this is…” I trail off because no words seem big enough to describe how much this means to me. “This is the best gift anyone has ever given me. And Mom…She’s going to love it.” I fold my arms around him, and he holds me close. For a moment, I just stare at the house that built me, the home that held my family through better and worse.
“After hearing you and your mom talk about the way your dad used to decorate the house, I wanted to try and give you some of that magic again.”
I rise on my toes to kiss him softly.
“You did,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, hooking an arm over my shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you out of the cold and go get some pizza.”
We walk arm in arm back to the truck, the lights of memories past guiding the way.
22
MJ
“Areyou sure I can’t do anything?” I ask Ron while he stirs the saucepan simmering on the stove. The smell of basil and freshly grated parmigiana-Reggiano makes my stomach growl.
He nods toward the sleeping puppy in my arms. “You’re on June Bug duty. That’s a very important job.”
“Well, this hardly seems like work.” I run my fingers along her silky hair.
“Besides, dinner’s almost ready. I’ve just got to throw this sauce over the pasta.”
Ron and I lingered over salads and glasses of pinot noir before he set to work on dinner. While he started the prep, I looked at the collage of photos hanging in the entryway of his townhouse. Since we met, Ron has been the one submerged in my universe, so I enjoyed finally getting a peek inside his.
There were pictures of his son, Hudson, who looked like what I imagined Ron did in his thirties. He showed me his daughter-in-law and photos of his friends from when he was a teacher. He even had a plaque from when he was named Teacher of the Year a few months before he retired.
His home is exactly as I imagined—comfortable and full of reminders of a life well lived. June Bug’s toys are scattered alongthe floor, and there are a few presents tucked under the modest live fir in his living room. It smells like clean laundry and coffee, which for some reason, feels like home.
Ron clasps his hands together. “Okay, Myra Jean. Dinner is served.”
I gently place June Bug in her crate while he plates our food and tops off our wine glasses. He lights the small candelabra at the center of the small bar-height table that sits to the side of the kitchen, then pulls a chair out for me.
“Thank you,” I say, my stomach fluttering as he takes a seat next to me. “This smells incredible.”
“I’m excited for you to try it.”
I place my napkin in my lap and pick up my fork, digging into the perfectly-cooked pasta. When I take a bite, I close my eyes, the mixture of tomato, garlic, heavy cream, and fresh basil converging together in a hallelujah chorus on my tongue.
