“Don’t you have things to do to get ready for tonight and tomorrow?” I ask. Then a new thought occurs to me. “Wait. Do you need me and Finley to stick around and help with anything?”
Her eyes widen slightly. “You’re offering to help?”
I wince. “Am I really that much of an asshole?”
“You’re not an asshole, honey,” she says, rubbing my arm. “You’re just usually not here long enough to think about offering.”
AKA I’m a self-centered asshole, but she’s too nice to call me out on it.
“Mom, we can skip this morning, and I can stick around to help.”
“Oh, heavens, no!” she exclaims. “Finley will absolutely love it. I can’t wait to see her face when you get back.”
I take a step toward the stairs, then stop. “One more thing,” I say. “I need to pick something up at the Christmas market this afternoon. Finley was planning to go with me, but I have another stop to make that I don’t want her to know about. Can you and Mal keep her occupied, so she doesn’t think I’m up to something?”
“How very mysterious,” she says with a laugh. “We have more baking to do, and Finley seemed to enjoy that yesterday, so maybe we can convince her to help us.”
My mother’s generosity and eagerness to make this special for Finley makes me love her even more. “Thank you for including her. It really means a lot to her,” I say, my voice thick.
“We love having her,” Mom says. “She’s an absolute delight. And as much as she loves Christmas, well, let’s just say I’m having fun watching her get excited over everything.”
“Yeah.” I think about how excited she was yesterday where nothing was too minor. She loved it all. “I am too.”
She smiles softly as she pats my cheek. “She’s a keeper, Alex. One in a million. Don’t let her get away.”
I feel a moment of panic, but there’s no point freaking out over my family’s inevitable reaction when they hear about our breakup. I’ll deal with it when it happens. “Yeah.”
When I go back into my room to get my things to take into the bathroom, Finley’s eyes peek open.
“Go back to sleep,” I say quietly. “I’m about to take a shower.”
Her gaze lands on the mug in my hand. “What do you have there?”
“Coffee,” I say, then lift it to my lips and take a sip. “The Mr. Coffee kind. My dad made it.”
She sits up and reaches out her arm, wiggling her fingers at me to come closer. I walk to her side of the bed, my heart racing. What does she want?
When I’m next to her, she snatches the mug from my hand and takes a long sip.
Part of me wants to be irritated—that’s my coffee, dammit—but she’s so damn cute I can’t seem to muster it up.
I lift a brow. “We’re at the coffee-sharing stage of our relationship?”
“Drinks and food,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “What’s yours is mine.”
“And you share with me?”
“We haven’t reached that stage just yet.” She takes another sip, then hands the mug to me. “I’ll let you know when we do.”
I can’t help grinning at her.
Good, God. I’m smiling over her saying I have to share my coffee with her, but she doesn’t have to share with me? What the hell is wrong with me?
I’m happy—that’s what’s wrong with me. I don’t understand it, yet I am. And if I’m honest, I haven’t felt this happy in years. I’m not sure what to make of it. Maybe it’s because this is my first real vacation from work in over two years. Or because I’m home with my family for Christmas.
You’re a damn fool if you can’t see that a huge part of it is because of Finley.
The hell it is. Other people can’t make you happy.
