Harrison sets the glass on the counter and wanders back to his project.
Forty-five minutes later, when the gingerbread has cooled enough I can slice a small section of it, I slip out to the garage with a plate and a glass of milk.
Harrison looks up from the workbench, startled to see me.
I hold up the goodies. “I come bearing gifts.”
The air is thick with the scent of fresh-cut wood. It’s a heavy, prickly smell that makes my nose itch. I peer at the workbench. I’ve never attempted any form of woodworking, though I have to admit, now that Harrison is out here, I’m a tiny bit curious about how it works.
After Harrison brushes himself clean, he accepts the gingerbread and plops onto a stool.
“You’re making cutting boards,” I say as I browse his projects.
Made of strips of slightly different colored wood, they’re beautiful. I run my hand over them, marveling.
“I haven’t finished sanding them yet,” he says.
Harrison sounds self-conscious, and I glance at him. He takes another bite of the rich cake and doesn’t quite meet my eyes.
“I didn’t know you could do this.” I glance at his stack of three. “How do you get the different colors?”
“They’re different types of wood. I’ve got maple, oak, walnut, and cherry in those.”
“They’re really pretty.”
“Thanks.”
I offer to take his plate after he’s finished, but on my way in, I hesitate by the door. “Can I watch?”
Harrison looks over, surprised. “I’m just sanding.”
I shift my weight to my other foot. “I know.”
“Okay.” He looks baffled. “Company would be nice.”
The house smells like spices and molasses, and I breathe the aroma in as I take Harrison’s dishes to the sink. I’ll deal with them later. I run upstairs, grab a jacket and my phone, and return to the garage.
Harrison’s rubbing a piece of sandpaper over the board he was working on when I left.
“I’ve already run the sander over it,” he explains, not looking up. “But I like to finish with the fine grit by hand.”
I scoot a stool over to the bench and perch on it, watching.
“This has to be boring.” Harrison glances up.
It’s anything but boring—it’s amazing. I can’t believe that Harrison made that. That he could create that with his hands.
I shake my head and continue to watch. The time goes by quickly, even though sanding takes forever. He must have so much more patience than I do. I tend to lean toward projects that are, though maybe not easy, fairly quick.
“Are you warm enough?” he asks after awhile. “Your dad has a space heater I can drag over.”
The garage is heated, but it’s still not exactly warm. Not wanting him to stop, I shake my head and adjust my scarf more securely around my neck. “I’m fine.”
As he works on his project, we talk about his home back in Connecticut. His oldest sister is married, and she had a baby girl last spring. His cousin is engaged, and so is his brother.
Again, I squirm at how grown-up his life sounds.
“But your grandparents still live here, right?”
“Yeah, my mom’s parents.” He brushes his hand against his face and continues sanding. “I’m going to their house for Christmas.”
He’s left a fine streak of wood powder on his cheek. I stare at it for several moments before I stretch over and brush it away. Harrison freezes under my fingers, his eyes still intent on the cutting board.
I pull my hand back, feeling silly. “You had, uh, a smudge.”
Clearing my throat, I turn my eyes back to the wood. Silence blankets us, and the air suddenly seems thick and awkward.
I shouldn’t have done that.
“So,” I say, trying to get us back on track. “These are what you’ve been working on all week?”
“Mostly.”
The response is vague, and I want to kick myself for ruining whatever friendly thing we had going.
“So you won’t be here for Christmas?” I ask.
He glances at me. “I think I’ve crashed enough of your family stuff.”
“We don’t mind,” I say.
Harrison looks up, and our eyes meet. “They don’t, but do you?”
My throat closes. I should say something witty, something flippant. Instead, I quietly answer, “I don’t mind.”
His eyes soften, and he leans forward just a tiny bit. “Lauren—”
The garage door opens, and Brandon steps in.
I must have been leaning in toward Harrison because I find myself jumping back.
Brandon’s eyes widen, and a strange look graces his face, a cross between shock and smug rightness.
When I dare to glance at Harrison, he looks bored, just sanding away, like maybe he didn’t realize we were sharing a moment.
How couldn’t he realize it?
“Is she pestering you?” Brandon asks Harrison, acting like I’m a tiresome five-year-old.
Harrison snorts at the irritated look on my face. “Nah.”
Just as I’m about to snarl at Brandon, my phone rings. Ignoring the boys, I answer Riley’s call.
“Lauren!” she squeals.
I hold the phone away from my head to protect my ringing eardrums.
“Down a level?” I ask as I gingerly return the phone to my ear.
“You’re not going to guess!”
“Guess what?”
“Harper surprised us! She’s home for Christmas.”
I glance at my brother, and my mouth stretches in a Cheshire grin. “You don’t say. Harper is here?”
Brandon instantly jerks his head toward me, though he’s trying to act nonchalant. Harper is Riley’s older sister, and Brandon has had a crush on her forever.
“She wants to go skiing the day after Christmas,” Riley says. “We have to go! Please tell me you don’t have plans.”
Feeling ornery, I watch Brandon’s face as I parrot, “Harper wants to go skiing the day after Christmas?”
Riley growls, laughing. “Why do you keep repeating everything I say?”
“Because Brandon is standing right here, hanging on my every word.”
He gives me “the look,” the look that says, “Shut up little sister or I’ll clobber you.”
I grin at him and dance a little farther away. Cutting boards forgotten, Harrison watches the exchange with amusement.
In the background, I hear Riley say, “Brandon’s still in love with you, and he wants to come.” She returns to our conversation. “Oh, and then Harrison will come too!”
The visual of Harrison and Riley all cuddled up in the ski lodge comes to my mind, but I shake it off.
“Harper says it’s fine if they come. Oh, and you need to invite Grant!”
And just like that, we’re all paired off. Me with Grant. Brandon with Harper. And Harrison with Riley.
“I’ll call him, but it’s awfully short notice…”
I can feel Riley’s eyes roll. “Will you please stop making excuses to avoid that boy? He likes you. He’s gorgeous. Go with it.”
“Yes, yes. I got it. Goodbye, Riley.”
“Oh, Harper says to tell Brandon that she’s really excited to see him again.”
We hang up, and I pass the message along. The tips of Brandon’s ears turn pink, and he hightails it inside before I can tease him more.
The garage is oddly quiet after all the excitement, and Harrison goes back to his sanding.
“You’ll come, right?” I ask him.
“Snowboarding?”
I nod.
He waits for several moments before he answers. “Sure.”
Part of me was hoping he’d say no. Not because I don’t want him to come, but because I don’t want to share him.
I shake my head, realizing I’m being ridiculous. Harrison isn’t mine.
He brushes the cutting board, examining it as he runs his hand over the
edges. “Finished with this one.”
“Can I film you?” I ask when the thought pops into my head. “For my blog?”
Harrison’s head jerks up, and he says, aghast, “What? Why?”
“Because—look at it.” I motion to the cutting board. “It’s awesome.”
He gives me a wary look. “I don’t think anyone is going to be interested in my cutting boards.”
“Yes, they will,” I argue. “You said you still have to apply mineral oil to them. While you do that, you can explain how you made them.”
Harrison looks really uncomfortable. “I don’t want to be in a video.”
“What if I only show the board as you’re working on it? No one will see anything but your hands.”
His mouth twists as he thinks it over. “All right, I guess.”
It only takes a few minutes to prepare the video, and then I’m filming. Harrison explains the process, the care he takes in selecting his materials.
The wood readily soaks up the oil. I watch him work, enthralled, captivated by his voice.
Something warms in me, something I can’t explain.
When he finishes, I end the video, knowing I’ll probably watch it more times than necessary for editing.
“Was that all right?” he asks, his eyes deliberately away from mine.
“It was perfect.”
He swallows, still a little unsettled.
I set my hand on his arm. “Thank you.”
His eyes are warm when they finally meet mine. “You’re welcome.”
A smile twitches at my mouth because I already know how he’s going to respond to the next thing I say. “Next time we can collaborate on a project. You can make something, and then I’ll douse it in glitter.”
He looks properly horrified, and I bite back a grin.
Realizing I’m teasing, he leans forward. “That would be an abomination.”
“You won’t even consider it?” I prod.
He flicks a strand of hair away from my face, and my heart nearly seizes. “I would have to like someone an awful lot to ever let glitter near something I’ve made.”
I laugh, feeling warm from the banter, and decide it’s time I leave before I ruin it.
Just as I’m at the door Harrison says, “Hey, Lauren?”
I turn back.
He rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks for keeping me company.”
Butterflies take flight in my stomach. “Anytime.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
December 25th
On Christmas, you should wake to gently falling snow outside your window and the smell of baked goods wafting from downstairs. Not to your brother sitting on your stomach.
“Brandon, you idiot, get off of me,” I screech.
He laughs and jumps up. “Come on. Presents are waiting.”
I sit up, glaring at him. “How old are you?”
“Old enough to know that soon I’ll be buying all the gifts instead of receiving them.”
With a sigh, I pull myself out of bed. Because it’s a special occasion, I wrap my pretty robe over my pajamas, the long satin one with the fluffy trim, and tie the belt at my waist.
“You are not seriously going to put on makeup,” Brandon says when I pause in front of my vanity.
I toy with a makeup brush. Harrison might be down there.
Brandon ends up grabbing my arm and dragging me from my room.
My parents and Harrison are in the kitchen, chatting over coffee like adults.
Harrison looks over when he sees us, and his eyes light with humor. “Nice robe.”
I brush an imaginary piece of lint from the pale pink satin. It might be a tad much. But if it’s too much for Christmas morning, then when will I ever wear it?
I meet his eyes and return his smile with a wry one of my own. “Thank you.”
He laughs at me silently and then turns to my mother. “I wanted to give this to you before I left.”
She takes her time opening the cutting board, and then she gets all gooey. “Harrison! Did you make this?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets and nods. Though he’s obviously a little embarrassed by the attention, he looks pleased.
“I love it!” She pulls him into a hug, as my mother is so often inclined to do.
After she fawns over him for several minutes, Harrison checks his watch. “I guess I better go.”
We all send him off with appropriate seasonal greetings. As he walks out the door, he flicks the fluffy white trim on the collar of my robe. “Merry Christmas, Lauren.”
“You too.”
He watches me for a moment too long, a faint smile on his lips. I can sense everyone’s eyes on us. So far, I don’t think anything looks out of the ordinary, but if I just keep staring at him, admiring his sea-blue eyes and the pronounced bow shape of his top lip, someone is bound to notice.
I look away.
“All right, guys,” Dad says after Harrison walks out the door. “Who wants to do gifts?”
Brandon bounds to the living room like a little kid, and I follow with slightly more decorum.
We hand things out, and the wrapping paper goes flying. Brandon’s over the moon about his new phone. Mom loves her whipped cream dispenser, and Dad’s happy with his tablet. I even get a little giddy when I open up my gift card—one hundred dollars to my favorite craft store.
There are other things as well—shower sets and games and slippers and more.
“What’s back there, toward the base of the tree,” Mom asks once we’ve opened just about everything else.
Dad crawls under and pulls out the package. The box is about the size of a toaster, and it’s wrapped in shiny red paper. It even has a real fabric bow.
“To Lauren, From Harrison,” Dad reads. And then, as he hands it over, he says, “He must have forgotten to give it to you this morning.
My heart gives a little thump. Harrison gave me something?
“Should I open it?” I ask, feeling all weird and warm and tingly. “Maybe he meant it for a different Lauren?”
Brandon snorts, and I shoot him a dirty look.
“I’m sure it’s for you,” Mom says. “Open it.”
For some reason, I feel very nervous opening this present in front of my whole family.
It’s probably a gag gift, though, now that I think about it. Not a big deal. Nothing at all.
I slide the bow off and carefully tear the paper. Whatever it is, it’s inside a plain brown box. Carefully, I pull the tape off the flaps and open them. And then my breath catches.
I pull out a jewelry box.
“Oh!” Mom exclaims when she sees it.
Gently, I place the cardboard box aside and set the wooden one on my lap. It’s heavy, and there are twelve tiny drawers. I bite my lip as I slide them open. They’re all separated into six compartments, perfect for one or two pairs of earrings each, and Harrison’s lined them with black velvet.
There’s the slightest odor of varnish clinging to it, and the wood is glossy and smooth.
“Do you think he made it?” Mom asks absentmindedly, her heart obviously not about to burst like mine is.
Not able to find words, I nod. I lift the top lid, and there, just under the mirror, is a tiny carved heart. Filled with glitter.
My breath whooshes out of me.
There’s a hastily scratched note and an arrow that points straight to the heart. “So it feels at home on your vanity. I didn’t want your other things to tease it for its lack of sparkle.”
I laugh, biting back a foolish grin.
This is the sweetest, most personal gift anyone has ever given me.
Brandon’s looking at me like I’ve sprouted another head, and I leap up, clutching the box to my chest.
“I’m going to take it upstairs so it doesn’t get broken.”
Dad nods, not paying much attention because he’s browsing his new tablet, and Mom’s busy picking up wrapping paper. Only Brandon stares at me, his eyes knowing. I give him a lo
ok, a look that begs him for once in his life to keep his mouth shut.
He only grins and turns back to his phone.
I run upstairs and set the box on my vanity. Then, since there’s nothing pressing I’m needed for downstairs, I begin to sort through my tangled mess of jewelry and carefully move all of my earrings. I’m pleased with how nice they look in their own compartments, and I even find a few pairs that I thought I had lost.
And there’s so much room left.
Obviously, I need more.
Since there’s no one around, I trace my finger over the heart. Harrison’s put some kind of clear coat over it, so the surface is as smooth as the wood.
Footsteps echo on the stairs, and I gently set the lid in place.
“Are you going to help make dinner?” Mom calls from halfway up the stairs.
“On my way,” I say.
After one last look at my gift, I head downstairs.
***
It’s a family tradition to watch movies in pajamas in the evening. Grandma and Grandpa came over for Christmas dinner, and, as always, they had our new sets for us.
Mine is soft and fleecy and covered in cows. Brandon’s got smiling pigs, and Mom and Dad having matching sheep. Apparently Grandma did her shopping at the local tractor and ranch supply this year.
My grandparents have left, but we’re on the couches, eating leftover Christmas cookies, when Harrison walks through the door. He comes in the living room, and, without saying a word, gives us all a funny look.
“Go get pajamas on,” Dad orders. “And then get back in here.
Harrison laughs, pushes my stretched-out legs aside, and takes a seat next to me on the loveseat. “I’ll stay for the movie, but I’ll pass on the pajamas.”
“Worried yours aren’t as awesome as ours?” I whisper as everyone goes back to picking what we’ll watch next.
He leans close, his eyes twinkling. “We can’t all have cool cow pajamas.”
My cheeks flush, and he chuckles as I look at the throw pillow I’m clutching. Brandon turns off the lamp after they’ve picked out the next movie—a horrible action thing that is bound to be boring. The only light comes from the dull flickering glow of the television and the twinkle of the Christmas tree in the corner.
In the dim room, I’m very aware of Harrison. I shift. Should I scoot over? Give him more room? The way my legs are up, I’m still taking up most of the couch.
Glitter and Sparkle Page 8
