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“No kid sleeps in on Christmas morning.”
We both got dressed in our pajamas and came into the living room, where Claire was crawling around the bottom of the tree looking at all the presents Constance had placed after she went to bed. “See, Dad? What if we didn’t put those cookies out?” She walked over to the plate. “Looked at how many he ate.”
I gave a nod. “You were right, sweetheart.”
“He might eat a lot of cookies, but I bet mine are his favorite.”
She made my heart grow bigger every day, and it grew a little bigger even now. I kneeled and gave her a hug and kiss. “They are.”
She was quick to squirm out of my embrace because she cared far more about the gifts than my affection. “Can we open them?”
“Yes.”
She grabbed them and divvied them up, making a pile for each of us. “I have way more presents than you guys…” Her eyes dropped in guilt because that was the kind of kid she was. She wanted everyone to have enough—not to have more than everyone else.
“Because we aren’t kids anymore, sweetheart. So, enjoy it while you can.” I made us coffee before I sat beside Constance on the couch and watched my daughter open her gifts on Christmas morning. I used to do this alone every year. Just the two of us. But this new tradition was nice.
She got lots of clothes, new toys, a full set of markers for her coloring books, and a book of pony stickers. Constance had gotten everything on my list, and it brought me so much joy when Claire loved my things more than everything else.
She grabbed another gift and read the tag. “From Mom… She sent me something.” She pulled it close and started to rip through the paper with excitement.
My eyes immediately went to Constance.
She kept her eyes on Claire and ignored mine.
Claire got to the box and pulled out a collection of glass horses, more like works of art than toys, something to put on her shelf to admire whenever she worked at her desk. “Wow…these are pretty.” She grabbed each one and examined it, taking care of them like she understood how fragile they really were.
“Looks like there’s a note right there.” Constance pointed to the tag, which had fallen off as my daughter had ripped everything to shreds.
She picked it up, squinted, and read. “Merry Christmas, Claire. Love you so much. Mom.” She dropped the note and immediately went back to her new prized possessions, a happy kid on Christmas morning.
I looked at Constance and conveyed everything that I wanted to say with a look.
She finally met my eyes, sadness in her gaze, like her ploy wasn’t enough to drive away the sorrow. She felt for my daughter the way I did, like we really were two players on the same team.
My hand went to her thigh, and I leaned in close. My fingers squeezed her pajama-clad leg as I let my face hang there close to hers, seeing the way her breathing picked up with my proximity. Then I leaned in and kissed her—not caring if Claire saw.
Nine
Constance
We spent the day watching Christmas movies while Claire played with her toys on the floor. Clothes seemed to be the least important thing to her because she didn’t touch them, not even the new pajama set I’d bought her. Everything Benton had asked me to get seemed to be her favorites, and it made me happy to know that he knew her better than anyone.
Benton had pulled me close on the couch, his arm around my shoulders as he let me cuddle with him under the blanket. Sometimes I dozed off, sleeping on this rock-hard man like he was the softest pillow in the world.
When the doorbell rang, I gave a jerk.
“Who’s that, Daddy?” Claire asked.
“Uncle Bleu.” He left me behind on the couch and went to the front door.
The guys returned a moment later, his brother carrying a couple presents. “Where’s my favorite niece?”
“Right here!” Claire ran right up, but instead of giving him a hug, she just took the presents and sat on the floor.
Bleu took it in stride and gave a laugh. “Merry Christmas, Claire.” He took a seat on the armchair while she ripped everything apart, giving yells of delight when she found things she liked. He was in a dark coat with dark jeans, looking like his brother in several ways, but distinctly different with his own features.
Benton handed him a mug of hot cocoa.
Bleu took a look at the marshmallows floating on top before he gave a grimace in disappointment.
Benton chuckled and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Just try it.”
He brought it to his lips and took a drink. At first, there was a cringe, but then he took another sip. “Hmm…not bad.”
