The screen flashedMr. Delaney, Sr.
“I have to take this call.”
Sage squinted at me through the camera. “Your face looks like someone poured eggnog in your cereal.”
“That doesn’t sound half bad, right now,” I muttered, swiping to answer. Sage and Leo disappeared, and I lifted the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Ms. Spellman,” Grant’s grandfather said, his voice deep and cold as marble. “I know it’s early, but I’d like you to come into the office this morning.”
I straightened in my chair. “Of course. Is everything all right?”
A pause. “It’s about Grant.”
My pulse skipped. “Is he—did something happen?”
“I’d prefer to discuss it in person.” The line crackled faintly. “Nine a.m. sharp.”
Andthen he hung up.
A painful silence followed. Even the hum of my fridge felt judgmental.
I stared at my reflection in the black screen. The twinkling lights from my tabletop tree blinked behind me, turning my image dim and ghostlike. I barely recognized myself—this woman who’d spent her whole life believing in love, and still managed to lose it anyway.
The thought hollowed me out.
Except it wasn’t really lost, was it? Daniel had spent decades searching for something he knew was still there. He’d raised hell, sent guests packing, and cornered the market on creepy mirror writing. I exhaled a quiet laugh. He stayed for the woman he loved.
And I had no intention of becoming the Ghost of Christmas Future Annulments—especially since we’d already voided the warranty on that option. Thoroughly. And repeatedly.
A slow smile spread across my face. I knew exactly what I had to do.
Chapter 28
Grant
The office was empty,morning light spilling through the twelfth-floor windows. It was quiet up here, but down on the streets below, people were already in motion—rushing for last-minute gifts, inching through bumper-to-bumper traffic, hunting for that one ingredient they’d forgotten for the cookies a holiday couldn’t feel complete without.
Christmas Eve.
The start of a million of traditions in millions of homes. And the end of the one tradition I wanted to keep more than anything—waking up next to my wife.
I’d been here since dawn, finishing the year-end report before driving out to my grandparents’ gated estate. Every year, they made the security guard wear a Santa suit, and I’d started slipping him a six-pack and tickets toElves on Icefor his grandkids. Someone should get to go home a hero.
The annual Delaney Christmas commenced like a festive twist on the postman’s creed—neither snow, nor heat, nor their grandson’s failures.
You’ll smile for the family photo, and you’ll like it. Then you’ll eat turkey and pretend you’re living inside a Norman Rockwell painting.
I hated it.
I hated that I thought she’d be there this year. That we’d be two partners in crime, reclaiming our holiday spirit: giving each other reindeer ears and ruining the photo, then sneaking out back with cocoa and a blanket, to argue over who from my family had the grumpiest Scrooge face.
Mostly, I just wanted her to loosen my tropical Christmas tie and let me kiss her until she pledged devotion to me instead of her jar of cherries.
The screen blurred in front of me, and the printer groaned awake as if resentful at being disturbed from its long winter’s nap.
Me too, man. Jam all you like.
I picked up my phone, checking for messages like a man who hadn’t walked out on his wife after she’d asked him to stay. The worst part was, I knew she was just being cautious. She didn’t want to give up her one chance at a reset unless she was sure.
