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“But you’re gonna get a tree, right?”
Jack quirked a brow. “Uh, no. I’m spending Christmas morning at the inn anyway.”
Robin balked, then she asked the question she’d been telling herself was none of her business for three years now. “Jack, seriously. What do you have against Christmas? Your sister’s name is Holly, for crying out loud, and she’s the most Christmas-spirity person I’ve ever met. And that’s saying a lot considering where I grew up.”
Jack sipped his cocoa and studied her over the rim as he did. She clutched her mug harder.
“You really wanna know?” he asked after a beat, setting down the mug.
“Yes.”
“My mom was just as obsessed with Christmas as Holly is—hence her name. She was born in December, too, as you probably know, so it was our family’s favorite time of the year when we were kids.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“July.”
Robin tucked her lips inward to fight her smile. “Oh, lemme guess.”
“Christmas in July parties? Yep.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he watched Robin laugh, then he sighed. “Holly stayed ‘holly jolly’ after they died. I didn’t. It’s pretty simple, I guess. It makes her feel closer to them to continue to be obsessed with all of this.”
He paused and drew his hand out, gesturing to the heavily decorated room at large. Then he gave her an impossibly sad smile and shrugged. He didn’t have to say what he was thinking because Robin read it clear as day. It made Holly feel closer to their parents, but for Jack… it just made him sad.
Without thinking, Robin released her hold on her mug and reached over, closing her hand over his where it rested on the table between them. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
The moment held, and Robin watched in fascination as he attempted to smile but couldn’t quite pull it off. She found that she liked that apparent urge to put her at ease, even though he was the one in the hot seat at the moment.
She also liked the way his hand felt under hers. Masculine. Strong. Capable. The kind of hand that was deft enough to make quick work of a Christmas light display like it was the craftsmanship of a seasoned decorator.
But then she remembered what his hands were actually experienced at doing. Filling out incident reports. Wielding a sidearm. Handcuffing criminals before loading them into the back of his squad car.
She let go, breaking the spell with a shaky exhalation.
Perceptive as always, Jack seemed to pick up on the reason for her sudden retreat. He leaned closer, keeping his voice low. “How did he pass, Robin?”
“Mom?” Abby called from the living room, making Robin and Jack jump. Abby stood with her friends, their presumably empty snowman mugs on the coffee table. “We’re gonna go in my room, okay?”
Robin checked her watch. “That’s fine, girls. But your parents will be here to pick you up soon, so keep that in mind.”
A chorus of whines poured out of the five third graders, making Jack’s shoulders shake as he silently chuckled.
Abby noticed him for what was seemingly the first time, and her frown flipped into a wide grin. “Hi, Jack.”
“Hi, Abby. Your snowman collection is great. A-plus on the placement.”
She beamed wider, though Robin was shocked that it was even possible for her to do so without splitting her face open.
“Thanks.” Then she turned to her mom again. “Mama, can you call their parents and ask if they can spend the night? It’s not a weeknight, and you never let me spend the night anywhere. Can they stay here?”
“My mom said we don’t do sleepovers either,” one of the girls grumbled.
Robin smiled kindly at the group. “I’ll text them and ask if you can have another hour or so, but we don’t need to make it a sleepover.”
The girls seemed excited enough by this response that they thanked her and cheerfully left the room. Robin pulled her phone out of her back pocket and sent the text to each of their moms—efficiently utilizing copy and paste so she wouldn’t have to type it out for all four—then turned back to Jack.
“Sorry about that.”
