No surprise there. Sweet mistletoe kisses are a thing of the past.
Ten Christmases in this cabin. A decade of laughter, of winter mornings spent drinking coffee with the scent of Margaret’s baking wafting from the kitchen, snow piling high outside while the fire roars in the hearth. Noisy, family-filled holidays that I could only ever imagine as a child.
The familiar scene unfolds like a well-loved story.
Jules and Margaret stand side by side in the kitchen, laughter bubbling between the sizzle of butter and clang of pots. In the family room, the men huddle around the TV, Mason among them. His feet propped, eyes glued to the screen. The twins weave between them, more interested in snacks than football. Bell, the family’s golden retriever, roams the chaos.
This is the holiday I used to dream about as a kid. And the reason why I’m still here.
“Oh, come on, Reynolds! Throw the ball!” Mason yells at the screen.
“Who’s Reynolds?” Beck asks.
Without looking away from the game, Mason replies, “New quarterback for San Francisco.”
“Uncle Mason, will you play Mario Kart with us later?” Leo looks up with hopeful eyes before tossing a small football to his brother.
Mason doesn’t even shift. “I’m not into video games, guys. Why don’t you sit and watch the game with us?”
But the twins are off, chasing the next adventure and leaving Mason and his dismissal behind.
My hand tightens around the banister as my eyes close and I breathe in the scents of rosemary and browning butter floating from the kitchen, willing them to settle the pit in my stomach.
This is fine. I’mfine.
“Syd?” Jules calls, and I open my eyes. She’s watching me from the kitchen, jaw set tight. “You good?”
I take a deep breath. “Yep, I’m fine.” The words come out automatically, a reflex I mastered as a little girl.
She studies me but doesn’t press. “Mom and I were chatting about books. Have you read Jennifer Hartmann’sStill Beating?”
“I haven’t. Is it another of your gushy romances?”
“Hardly. It’s right up your alley. A man abducts a woman and her sister’s fiancé. Forces them to witness, honestly, the worst. But through it, they develop this intense bond. Fuck, it’s so good. You have to read it.”
Mason strolls in, catching the tail end of her description. He gives me a quick arm squeeze. His usual I’ve-got-this signal. “Why the hell would anyone want to read that? Sounds disgusting.”
“Please, Mason, tell us what you think.” Jules rolls her eyes.
His smug face and pompous, holier-than-thou tone grate on my last nerve. The words spill out before I can stop them. “You do realize that not everyone grows up in a fairy tale? Stories like that matter. They show what it means to crawl through hell and find something on the other side.”
“If you want to see people suffer, watch the news.”
I take a slow breath, trying not to bite, trying not to think about my hell, my childhood I crawled through. But Jules beats me to it.
“The book is ultimately a love story. Just not the neat kind where people fall in love and ride off into the sunset. Love can be complicated, overwhelming, and even show up at the worst possible time. It can happen with the entirely wrong person. It’s not always sweet or safe. Sometimes it’s messy and painful.”
His blue eyes go distant for a beat as if considering Jules’s words. Maybe we’re about to have a real conversation. One with depth, for once.
“Is love code for sex in your novels?” His face lifts in triumph. “Anyway, I’m going to finish watching the game. Something real.”
The momentary hope deflates, as it always does. Ten years together, and his emotional depth is still that of a puddle.
Right, why bother with a real conversation when a game is on?
I step back, catching myself on the counter as a wave of dizziness hits. Shaking it off, I turn to Margaret, who’s been watching the back and forth with a furrow between her brows. “Do I have time for a quick run before dinner?”
“It’s freezing outside,” Mason interjects. “Why don't you run on the treadmill?”
