Page 16 of Christmas By Design

Gemma’s eyes go wide. “I thought that wasn’t supposed to hit us until tonight.”

The man shakes his head as he steams some milk. “Last I heard, it’s going to roll in about an hour from now. And that lake effect snow is no joke.” He eyes us over the retro-looking espresso machine he’s using as a steamer.

I vaguely wonder what it is with Indiana residents and their retro appliances before Gemma turns to me, still looking like a deer in headlights. “Do you think we could make it home?”

“Where’s home?” the man in the Santa hat asks.

“Chicago,” I say. “We were on our way to a home we’re renovating about thirty miles east of here.”

The barista laughs. “Going west would be a bad idea. You’d be driving right into it. I’d say get some supplies, drive to that house, and plan to spend the night. We’re actually closing up here in a few minutes to head out before it starts.”

Gemma has gone still. I can almost feel the panic radiating off of her.

I really, really hope that panic isn’t because she’s going to have to spend the night in the same house as me.

She stiffly hands over her card to pay for the drinks and muffins, then takes her hot chocolate and walks out of the shop as if she’s in a daze.

The barista tracks her movements and shakes his head as he hands me the rest of our order. “Good luck, man.”

Chapter 10

Gemma

We’re able to stop at a grocery store and grab some bread, peanut butter, cereal, and a few other snacks to hold us over. There won’t be power at the house since it was shut off to do the electrical rewiring, so we can’t cook. I haven’t allowed myself to think about what sleeping in a house with no heat or power in the middle of a snowstorm is going to be like. My mind is racing, and so is my heart. I can only deal with one step at a time.

While Beckett gets the food, I hang back in the car so I can call my parents, though I don’t tell him why. I just quietly ask if he wouldn’t mind going in alone, and he doesn’t ask questions. I do a video call so I can see Nova’s sweet face. She smiles at me and tries to grab at the phone. My parents keep moving it out of her reach as they assure me up and down that she’ll be just fine and not to worry at all.

By the time I hang up with them, I’m holding back tears and biting my nails. It doesn’t matter how much they tell me not to worry. I’ve never spent a night away from my baby, and I’m nervous as hell about it.

Beckett comes back holding several paper grocery bags. He slides them into the back seat and wordlessly pulls out of the parking lot. I keep my face turned toward the passenger side window in case I start crying. I don’t have a lot of shame about my emotions, but I will not have a crying panic attack in front of Beckett Camdon. I can control this anxiety like I always do. I just need a minute.

He takes a breath as if he’s going to say something, then lets it out slowly. After a minute or so, he does it again. All of my energy is going toward not breaking down, so I don’t have any reserves to worry about what he’s trying to say.

When we pull up to the house, it has just started to snow. Big, wet flakes smack against the windshield. My hot chocolate sits in the cupholder to my left, probably cold by now. The bag of muffins is at my feet. I had been starving when I ordered one, but now I feel like I’m going to throw up.

One night. I can make it through one night. Nova is fine. My parents will love the extra time alone with her. It’s all going to be okay.

“It’s…” Beckett trails off and takes a breath to start again. “I’m not…”

“Spit it out, Kit.”

“What?” he asks, confused.

“You’ve been trying to say something for the past five miles at least. Just say it,” I insist, still not turning my face from the window.

“I heard Alex talking to you yesterday. I know it’s none of my business but—”

I whip my head toward him at that. “You what?”

“He is not a quiet man,” Beckett says defensively, and I have to give it to him because that’s true. “He’s not hard to hear. And I was coming back to your desk with an update about something, so I wasn’t far.”

I search his blue eyes, trying not to let my hurt show. But the hurt feels good. It feels so much better than the panic that has been creeping up on me since the coffee shop, so I lean into it. “You didn’t.”

The space between his eyebrows creases. “Didn’t what?”

“Come back to give me an update.”

“No. I—”