by J. M. Paul
I grumble out, “Thank you,” and stand in the kitchen while I quickly drink my blood supply.
“Pizza?” Trey holds a cold piece of pie up for me to take.
“Thanks.” I sit and start nibbling on the cheesy goodness.
“Not a morning person, are you?” Trey smirks.
I scowl, and he and Connor laugh.
Trey shoves another piece of pizza in his mouth, Connor spins his cup around and around on the table, and I pick at my food.
“What time do cookies start?” Trey asks Connor.
“Noon.”
“Shit, bro, we need to go. I have to shower and shave, or your mom will have my ass.” Trey shoves back from the table and starts to stand, but Cami running down the hallway like a monkey interrupts his progress.
“Holy shit!” Cami flies into the room, her guitar in one hand while the other is trying to shove a boot onto her foot as she hops. “Why didn’t anyone wake me?”
The three of us eye each other in confusion.
“Uh, we didn’t know we had to,” I say.
“Give me that.” She points to my coffee, and I hand it over without hesitation. Cami guzzles it like it’s water, hisses at the burn as it goes down, and then slams the mug on the table. “I’m late.” She shoves a piece of pizza in her mouth and holds it in place with her teeth. “I have a brunch gig at the country club, and you know how those rich types can be,” Cami garbles around the food.
She buzzes around the room, grabbing who knows what, shoves her arms into her coat, picks up her guitar, waves, and then slams the door on her exit.
“Phew,” Connor exhales.
“Yeah,” I agree.
“Gotta love those creative types,” Trey sputters.
“Hey.” I narrow my eyes. I’m a creative type as well.
Trey stands and scratches his chest. “Ready?” he asks Connor.
“Sure.” Connor rises to his feet, grabs our mugs, and places them in the sink.
“What’re you up to today, Lunar?”
“Not much.” I shake my head. “Laundry, cleaning, writing—the usual.”
“You should come with us to Con’s parents’ house.” Trey looks from me to Connor.
Connor nods. “We can always use more help.”
“Uh, that’s okay. I don’t want to intrude.” I close the empty box of pizza.
“You wouldn’t be intruding on anything. The more, the merrier.” Connor shrugs into his coat.
Usually, a day at home alone is my idea of heaven, but around this time of year, I get lonely. My family used to have their own cookie-baking party, and despite my hesitancy at participating in anything Christmassy, I find myself wanting to accept the invitation.
“Are you sure?” My brows pinch together.
“Of course.” Connor zips his jacket and points at me. “But, if you come, you have to change.”
I examine my loungewear of evil Santa Claus and Rudolph faces. When I catch his gaze, I smirk.
“None of that negativity is allowed in my happy space.” Connor wags his finger.
“Plus, his mom would kick your ass.” Trey pats me on the head.
“What should I wear?” I pull at my shirt.
“Something that doesn’t knock Christmas.” Connor grins. “Do you own any regular clothes?”
“Of course I do, but I save these treats especially for you.” I bat my eyelashes.
Connor shakes his head. “Wear something comfortable and that you won’t care if powder and frosting get all over it.”
I nod once and head back to change.
This should be interesting.
“Mom, Dad, this is Noel. Noel, this is my mom, Laura, and dad, David,” Connor immediately introduces me when we walk into his parents’ kitchen.
I set down the two bottles of wine I made Connor stop on the way over to get. He insisted on driving me, so he paid the price by running my errands.
“Hi. It’s so nice to meet you.” I shake David’s hand first and then offer my hand to Laura, but she pulls me in instead.
“I’m a hugger,” Laura says.
Tears spring into my eyes, and my heart squeezes because my mom was a hugger, too. And there’s nothing in the world like a mother’s loving embrace. It has the power to cure almost anything.
I miss my mom so damn much.
When she releases me, Laura notices me blinking back moisture but is respectful enough not to say anything. She squeezes my shoulders.
“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Noel. Connor has told us so much about you.” Laura smiles at me and then Connor.
“Hopefully, only good things.” I scowl in Connor’s direction. “That boy of yours likes to push my buttons, and I tend to show him all my ugly sides.”
Laura and David laugh.
“That sounds like my son.” David pats Connor on the back.
“It’s good you challenge him. He can be quite the handful.” Laura gazes lovingly at Connor.
“She’s a challenge all right,” Connor says under his breath.
I’ve been here for only five minutes, but I’ve already decided that I love Connor’s parents a million times more than I like him.
I slide Connor a sly death glare, and his dimples dent his cheeks.
“Okay”—I rub my hands together and survey the kitchen—“what can I do to help?”
“Oh, I like this one, Con.” Laura beams.
“Me, too.” Connor nods, and his expression softens.
I gulp when I realize it’s only a matter of time before I give in to Connor. And, even though I’ll regret it, I know it’ll be one of the best experiences of my life.
Before I have time to dwell on that fact, Laura grabs me and puts me to work.
Two hours later, I’m wrist deep in cookie dough, I have flour smeared across my shirt, and I’ve been introduced to so many brothers, sisters, in-laws, nieces, nephews, and friends of the family that my eyes are swirling inside my head.
Connor and Trey weren’t kidding when they said this was a party. I don’t know how many people are in the Vanstone house, but thank goodness it’s basically a McMansion because it’s busting at the seams.
It’s loud, it’s busy, wine is flowing like water, there’s endless laughter, and Christmas music is blaring in every room. I know this because I tried to escape it, and once Connor figured out what I was trying to do, the tunes got louder.
Asshole.
Despite finding myself emerged in the middle of holiday chaos, my heart warms, and my soul feels sated. It almost seems as if my parents were shining down on me from above, happy that their daughter was finally finding the spirit of Christmas once again.
“How’s it going over here?”
I lift my attention from the bowl of dough I’m kneading to find David smiling at me. He’s handsome for an older man—still fit, a full head of dark hair, and sparkling, kind hazel eyes.
“Good.” I flex my sore fingers and blow an errant strand of hair out of my face.
“You look exhausted.” David gestures to one of the table chairs. Somehow, I’ve ended up in the dining room. “Sit and let me take over for a minute.”
“David, I thought, last year, you were banned from making cookies,” says a guy I met earlier. I can’t recall who he is or if he’s related to the Vanstones.
“I was banished from the kitchen and baking. Laura never said anything about helping the help.” David’s eyes crinkle.
“Nice.” The guy goes back to assisting a little boy measure peanut butter.
“What’s your story, Noel?” David plunges his hands into the bowl and starts mushing the mixture.
“Only the good parts of what Connor told you.” I smirk.
He busts out with the best belly laugh, and his likeness factor skyrockets in my book.
“I like you,” he says.
“Ditto.” I nod.
We chitchat while he finishes mixing the cookies. I tell him I graduated college ahead of schedule last year a
nd that I’m a published writer.
“That’s impressive.”
“Thanks.” I stand to help separate the dough into cookies. “Connor tells me you’re retired.”
“I am.”
“Are you enjoying yourself?” I roll a cookie into a ball and set it on the baking pan.
“Yes. After the scare I had a couple of years ago, I learned that life was too short, and I needed to enjoy every minute.”
“Connor mentioned that. What happened?” I ask without thinking.
Gosh darn faulty brain-to-mouth filter!
It’s the nosy writer in me; it can’t help but ask questions.
“I’m sorry. Forget I asked that.” I shake my head.
“No, it’s okay.” He sits and gestures for me to sit next to him. “I had what’s called restrictive myopathy. It’s a rare form of cardiomyopathy.”
“You’ve lost me.” I wipe my hands on a towel.
“Don’t feel bad. I barely know what it is, and I lived through it,” he jokes and pats my knee. “It’s where the lower chambers of the heart, the ventricles, are unusually rigid and cannot flex normally to fill with blood as the heart pumps.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It was. If it wasn’t for the wonderful soul who had to give up their life so that I could keep mine, I wouldn’t be here today.” David taps his chest and rests his hand over his heart. A reverent expression comes over his face, and his eyes glisten.
“I … don’t understand,” I whisper, not wanting to break the worshipful moment David seems to be having.
“I got really sick and almost died.” A tear tracks down his cheek, and he wipes it away with his thumb. “I remember lying on that hospital bed, thinking about all the things I’d left unfinished. I wasn’t done living.”
He stares at his hands, lost in the past.
“My family’s huge and crazy, and they still need me.” He takes a deep breath. “I prayed that, if I got a donor, I’d make this other person’s life worth mine. I’d be a better man and make their soul proud.” At my confused expression, he says, “I had a heart transplant.”
I inhale a loud shock of air and place my fingers over my mouth. Moisture springs into my eyes.
“Please, continue …” I say breathlessly when David looks concerned.
I need this. I need David to tell me his story, so I can hopefully find peace in what I did for my parents—in giving them their last wish to help other people.
I shouldered the burden of making the decision to take them off life support, so their organs could help someone in need. And, right now, I’m sitting next to the opposite side of that miracle. A magnificent soul gave their life for David’s to continue. Somewhere in the world, several survivors have the same gratitude for my parents as I see written on David’s face. Somewhere out there, family and friends are able to celebrate another Christmas with their loved ones because of the last selfless gift my parents gave.
“When I got the call, I remember being filled with hope and dread,” David continues. “Hope that I could watch my children and grandchildren grow up, to spend more time with Laura.” He rubs his chest. “Dread that another family was mourning the loss of their loved one. They gave me a miracle wrapped in the gift of life.”
I grab his hand as tears stream down my face.
“The donor family turned their tragedy into a blessing for mine. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think about the person who paid the ultimate sacrifice for me to be here and that I don’t think about the ones who were left behind to suffer.”
“You”—I have to pause to get the words out—“are an amazing man.”
“No, Noel. I’m an average man who was blessed by an amazing person and gift.” He squeezes my hand.
He has no idea why this is affecting me so deeply. Yes, it’s a remarkable story, but it touches me in a way David doesn’t comprehend.
“You can’t understand how much I needed to hear your story.” I sniffle and wipe at the moisture on my cheeks. “My parents were in a car accident, and there was no hope for either of them. They were organ donors, and I had to make the decision to pull them off life support because they knew my older sister wouldn’t be able to.” I breathe out a long breath to steady myself. “It was the hardest decision I’ve ever made, but I was their medical power of attorney. It was the last wish I could fulfill for them. They were huge supporters of organ donation.”
“God bless them.” David squeezes my hand.
“They were brain dead, only alive because of machines.” I take a moment to collect my thoughts. “I lost so much that day—my mom, my dad, my family. My hope.” I bite my lip, lost in the past. “How do you make the choice between what you love and what you know is right?”
“Sometimes, you have to have faith in what your heart decides,” David answers even though I wasn’t really waiting for a response.
“My sister didn’t agree with my decision and disowned me.” I blink back the threatening tears. “But I’m okay. I’m strong, ambitious, and independent.” I give him a sad smile. “To know their organ donation helped someone like you to have a second chance at life … well, it’s the best gift imaginable.”
“It’s a selfless miracle.”
“It is, and I’m happy I was strong enough to give my parents their final wish.” I start to weep.
David pulls me into his arms and wraps me in a tight hug only a father could give. It comforts me in a way I didn’t know I needed. I cry until there aren’t any tears left, but I don’t pull away, and David doesn’t release me. My head’s resting on his chest, and I listen as his heart beats a steady rhythm.
David’s right. What a miracle.
The thumping soothes me and brings peace I haven’t felt since my parents’ passing.
We’ve known each other for only a couple of hours, but I feel such a strong connection with David. It’s strange and wonderful at the same time.
When I finally pull back, David kisses me on the temple, and then his attention is averted over my shoulder.
It’s then I notice that the house has gone eerily quiet. I’m not surprised when I turn and see Laura, Connor, Trey, Cami—who must have arrived while we were talking—and several other faces observing us. Laura has her hand over her mouth, and her cheeks are glistening. Connor’s eyes are on me, and I’m not sure I’m ready to comprehend what they express.
“You’ve never spoken about your experience,” Laura whispers to David as she moves closer to us.
Laura squeezes my shoulder and then looks at David. She caresses his face as they have their own silent conversation. It’s moving to witness—the love and companionship between two people who have been through so much together. The moment seems too intimate for me to watch, so I stand.
“Thank you,” Laura says to me, halting my retreat.
My brows furrow.
“For giving me a part of my husband I’ve been desperate to have.” She swallows and gives me a sad smile. “You’re a remarkable woman, Noel. Brave, resilient, caring. Your parents would be proud.”
It’s my turn to give her a sad smile before I turn and walk over to where Connor, Cami, and Trey stand. The rest of the guests go back to their flurry of activity.
Trey winks at me, and Cami gives me a hug.
“Love you in case I die, Noles.”
“Love you in case I die, CC,” I murmur.
When Cami and Trey go back to making their cookie recipes, Connor steps close to me and threads his fingers with mine. I should pull away from him since Cami can see us, but I can’t find the strength. My spirit is open and bleeding, and Connor’s hand in mine coats the ache.
“Come with me.” Connor tugs me.
I follow without hesitation.
Heart Trumps Head
Connor leads me down a hallway and into a room. He releases me to flip on the lights, and he closes the door behind us. I instantly miss the feel of his skin against mine.
My eyes wan
der the space, and I’m comforted. Connor probably brought me in here on purpose. It’s a den, library, or office of some sort. The size isn’t massive, but the appeal and character are grandiose.
There’s a large desk in the middle of the room and a corner couch off to the side, and the walls are composed of floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with a myriad of novels. My fingers itch to caress and feel each and every one of them.
“Noel,” Connor says softly.
Peeling my attention away from the books, I turn to find him leaning against the door, studying me. His eyes are hooded and unreadable in the low light.
He pushes off the frame, and I follow his every movement as he saunters toward me. My pulse accelerates, and my lungs constrict.
When he stops in front of me, so tall and large, his darkening eyes search mine. I’ve never been looked at this way—stripped bare by a carnal gaze.
He places his hands on both sides of my face, and I feel so small, so conquered. Coveted in a way I didn’t know was possible.
I lean into his touch and take every bit of the comfort he’s offering me. Even though the conversation with David brought me a moment’s peace, I’m suddenly feeling exposed, empty.
“Your eyes look like broken Christmas lights.” He rubs his thumb along my skin. “I know I can’t fix what’s broken inside you, but I want to help you rediscover the fire I feel burning in here.” Connor places his palm over my heart. With his other hand, he grabs mine and places it over his.
We stand like that, joined in a way I’ve never experienced, and gaze deeply into each other’s eyes. It’s like we’re opening ourselves up for the other to see. No judgment, no inhibitions. We’re exposing everything within us—the heartbreak, the hate, the healing, and the happiness.
“You have flour all over you.” He rubs his thumb along my chin. When he’s finished, he lifts it to his mouth and sucks on the pad.
The act sends the most enticing tingles down my spine. I’ve never been so jealous of a thumb in my life.
Feeling bold, I pull his thumb from his mouth and put it in mine, licking his skin.
His eyes blaze, and his nostrils flare. The reaction gives me a newfound feeling of power—the kind a woman has over a man. With my teeth, I nip the tender skin and watch as his gaze turns from heat to hunger.
