Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 50828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
“You’re welcome. I’m only telling you this because I think you care about her. And I think she’s falling for you. If you’re serious about wanting to keep her—and keep her happy—”
“I am.”
“Then just…be with her. Surround her. Care about her. Help her start a new tradition besides crappy store-bought cookies and Die Hard.”
“Hey, Die Hard is a Christmas movie.”
“No, it’s not. Silly man,” she teases. “My point is, she doesn’t do any of the things normal people do for Christmas because she never really got the chance. Even her dad abandoned them a decade ago, shortly before the holiday season. They had no money, and she was just a kid. Heck, I don’t think they could even afford presents for years.”
“Jesus…” I hurt for her. Hell, I want to buy her the world. “I’ll do my best to fix it.”
“I don’t expect miracles, but if you really want to keep her—”
“I do.”
“Then try to make this a happy time of year for her. It would go a long way to making her fall for you. I’ll send you something that just might help.”
Seconds later, a photo pops into my text that makes me smile. “This is great. I’m on it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Merry, merry!”
“Merry Christmas. When you get back in town, I owe you the best dinner money can buy.”
She laughs. “I don’t need the calories, but if you have a single friend…”
“He’ll be my age.”
“Good. Izzy has convinced me that I need to expand my dating pool.”
I laugh. “You got it.”
The moment we hang up, I leave the mall, find the perfect little shop to help me make my wife smile, then pick up some groceries and head home. I glance at my watch and swear under my breath. It’s nearly three in the afternoon. I’ve left her alone on one of the hardest days of the year.
Never again.
“Isabella?” I call out as soon as I open the door.
“In here,” she croaks.
I cross the floor and find her in the living room, curled up in a blanket and downing a package of store-bought cookies, with a messy bun, a red nose, and puffy eyes while Die Hard explodes from the big screen above the fireplace.
Jen called it.
“Baby girl…” I drop my packages on the coffee table, take the cookies from her cold fingers, and drag her onto my lap. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone today.”
“You have a life.”
She’s not wrong, but her voice is small. The sadness I hear hurts. “I’m back. I won’t leave you.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not. Look at me.” I cup her cheeks until she does.
Instantly, she tears up. “I’m not usually good today. I’ll be okay by midweek.”
And miss Christmas? No. “I’m sorry about your mom.”
The tears start rolling down her face. “How did you—”
“I called Jen.”
“And she told you.” Isabella presses her lips together and brushes the tears from her face. “Traitor.”
“She’s an amazing friend.”
“The best.” My wife starts crying again.
I wrap my arms around her tighter and hold her trembling body close as I press the remote to turn on the fireplace. “Tell me what happened?”
She shakes her head.
“Please.” That’s not a word I use often. “I want to understand, and I can’t until you explain.”
“Why? There’s nothing you can do.”
“Maybe not, but you’re my wife. I told you, I take care of what’s mine.”
She blows out a long breath, like she’s too tired to fight me. “Early that morning, Mom went to the mall to buy my Christmas present. It was a charm for a bracelet we’d been adding to since I was a kid. She wanted to get there when the store opened at five in the morning since they were having a sale, quantities were limited, and money was tight. On her way, a drunk driver veered into her lane on a dark road and hit her head-on. She never stood a chance.”
Oh, fuck. I hold her tighter. “I’m so sorry, baby girl. So, so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Isabella pushes me away. “This isn’t your problem, and I don’t expect you to try and make it better.”
“You’ve spent this day more or less alone for the last five years, right?”
“It’s better that way.”
“Is it? Hiding from everyone hasn’t made you feel better. Maybe it’s time to try something different.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Maybe not, but I think you should.”
“Why are you pushing me?”
“Why are you determined to shove away someone who wants to help?”
She glares at me. I glare back. Then she sighs, and slowly she lets me draw her back into my arms. I lay her head on my shoulder and rub her back. As if my comforting touch dismantles the tough outer shell she hid behind, she falls apart.
It’s not a quick sniffle. She doesn’t cry pretty. These are soul-wrenching, deep-down tears. I hug her close, kiss her temple, hand her tissues, and reassure her while ignoring the sopping wet shoulder of my T-shirt. I promise I’ll hold her as long as she needs.