by B. E. Baker
I laugh. “I think my friends stopped setting me up with people they had considered and thought were a good fit a few years ago. Now I'm like that pasta trick, you know the one to test whether the noodles are ready?”
Luke shakes his head.
“You throw noodles at the wall and if they stick, they're good. They started just setting me up with anyone who was single, and a few people whose divorces weren't even final.” I pull a face. “For most of the people I've met in the last year, all we had in common was that we were both single.”
Luke chuckles. “Actually, one of my setups wasn't even single. Halfway through dessert, she mentioned her husband was very understanding.” He wipes his mouth. “I practically sprinted out of there.”
“You're kidding.”
He takes my hand in his. “My miserable dates over the past year were bad enough to make me want to go dig a hole and bury myself.”
“I'm glad you didn't do that,” I say.
“Me too.” He grins at me. “I haven't been this happy in more than four years. You're like finding the puzzle piece I didn't know was missing.”
“I'm happy when I'm with you, too. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry about your wife. I can't even imagine what that must have been like for you.”
“I'm glad you can't imagine it. I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on anyone.” He points at my leftover macaroni and cheese and cinnamon apples. “You done?”
I nod. “Go right ahead. But next time, you'll know to order some yourself.”
He bobs his head sheepishly. “I will. And speaking of pain, how was your ex's wedding?”
“Actually,” I say, “going to that helped me out.”
“Oh? How so?”
“This isn't going to make me sound very good, not compared to your declaration of how deeply you loved your wife, but...I realized I never really loved Foster to begin with.”
Luke's face stretches out. “Really?”
I look down at my hands. “Not in the same way as I care about you.” I force my eyes up to his, and they're shining at me, which makes me brave. “I loved the idea of Foster, but I didn't trust him, or myself. I'm still nervous I'll turn out to be like my dad, or my mom. They were the worst parents ever. But more than that, I didn't believe Foster would support me.”
Luke lifts one eyebrow. “I thought the guy was a spoiled rich kid.”
I shake my head. “Not like that. I mean, support me, and help me achieve my goals. My dad never supported my mom or me and Trudy, and my mom never supported my dad, or any of us.” I look back down at my hands and my voice drops. “I didn't trust Foster to be there when I needed him, or be okay with me not being who he wanted me to be, but who I really am.”
“You're saying you weren't filled with regret, watching the one that got away?”
I run my hand through my hair. “Uh, no. I actually couldn't decide who I felt more sorry for. The girl lying to her boyfriend so he'd propose, or the guy whose fiancé isn't actually pregnant. She couldn't even maintain the lie long enough not to get 'stumble and pass out drunk' at her own wedding.”
“I wish I'd been there to see that,” Luke says.
I squeeze his hand. “I do too, but I'm also glad I went with Trudy.”
“Ouch,” he says.
I shake my head. “No, not like that, but it was good for me to face up to the fact that I didn't trust him, and I wasn't me around him. It helped me realize I've been myself around you.”
Luke leans across the table and my heart accelerates because I think he's going to kiss me. Only, he doesn't. His forehead touches mine and his gorgeous eyes are so close, it looks like he's a Cyclops. “I'm glad you decided you can trust me.”
Then he backs away an inch or two and kisses me. I forget where we are until someone behind us clears her throat.
“Sorry,” Luke says sheepishly.
I glance at my watch and gasp. “Oh man, I've gotta get back. Trudy and Troy will be waiting on me.”
Luke carries our trays of discarded plastic and napkins to the trashcan, and then walks me out to my car. Before he lets me duck into my seat, he leans down and kisses me, like a kid in a candy shop. Eager, insistent, and joyful. When he finally pulls back, I'm dizzy. His hands steady me.
“I'm glad you accidentally said I love you,” he says. “But I'm saying this on purpose, and I'm going to repeat it whenever I see you. I love you, Mary. Drive safely and think of me at your family party.”
I touch my fingers to my lips. “Give your kids a hug for me.” I climb into my seat and turn on the car. Luke taps gently on the window until I roll it down.
“I think you forgot something.”
I glance in front of me and behind, but I don't see anything. I've got my keys and my purse. “I don't think so,” I say.
He tilts his head. “I love you, Mary.” He widens his eyes and bobs his head. “This is where you say...”
I chuckle. “Right. I love you, too, Luke. You super hot, immensely polite and irritatingly persistent man.”
This time when I roll up my window and put my car in drive, he grins that gorgeous grin of his, and waves as I drive away.
Chapter 24
Christmas Eve at Addy's is the same as it always is, except I feel like I've been blown up like a balloon. Instead of helium, I'm full of joy. I float from dinner to the little family and friend Christmas pageant we always do. Troy is the cutest shepherd, and Addy's twins make perfect wise women, holding a doll between their hands as the missing third. I play my typical role of narrator, and it takes far longer than it should with Paisley cracking jokes the entire time, but none of the toddlers melt down, so I count it as a win. I eat too many desserts after that, and when we watch Home Alone, it's funnier than usual.
The shiny halo of love that surrounds Addy and her husband doesn't irritate me this year. The person they love most sits right here under their own roof, their two daughters are safe and happy, and they're content.
When we sing carols, I miss Luke. When we unwrap presents, I miss Luke. When we all say goodnight, I miss Luke even more.
By the time I reach my car with Paisley, Trudy, and Troy in tow, it's quiet enough for me to hear my phone bing, and I whip it out immediately.
An hour ago, Luke sent me the first message. MISS YOU.
Forty minutes ago, he sent another. SEND ME A PHOTO. I MISS YOUR GORGEOUS FACE.
Ten minutes later he sent a third and final text. PAUL THINKS I'M MAKING YOU UP. HELP A GUY OUT. LOVE YOU.
I hold my phone out and snap a photo.
“What are you doing?” Trudy asks.
I fill her and Paisley in on the details of my lunch date and my accidental blurting of ‘I love you.’
“Oh my good—” Paisley says.
“Look, it may still turn out to be nothing. Not many relationships can withstand the strain of long distance, and Luke's leaving, remember?”
“Ask him to stay,” Paisley says.
“I can't do that.” I shake my head. “He has to decide for himself. He's a big boy.”
“You're killing me,” Paisley moans.
I text Luke the photo with this message. I'M REAL, AND INQUIRING MINDS HERE WANT TO SEE YOU, TOO.
INQUIRING MINDS? Luke asks. WHO EXACTLY ARE YOU WITH? SHOULD I BE JEALOUS?
A smile spreads across my face.
“I've already seen him,” Trudy says.
“Well, I haven't seen him in days and days,” Paisley says.
I'M WITH PAISLEY, TRUDY, AND TROY. I insert a laughing face emoji. I DIDN'T WANT TO SAY I MISSED YOUR FACE. I WAS TRYING TO BE COY.
COY IS OVERRATED, Luke texts back, but he doesn't send a photo.
I pull up the photo Luke sent me of him with his kids and set it as my background.
“Santa's coming,” Troy says. “We go home!”
“Aunt Mary is busy swooning up here, sweetheart. Be patient.”
I put the car in gear and pull out of Addy's driveway.
Trudy rolls her eyes
. “I can't believe you two said ‘I love you’ before you even took your first picture as a couple.” She shakes her head. “Clearly, neither of you are on Instagram.”
“Nope.” I tilt my head and frown. “Actually, maybe he is. I didn't ask.”
A few minutes later, my phone bings. Paisley and Trudy don't even complain when I pull over to check it, but Troy does.
“Go home,” he says. “Now.”
“We are headed home,” I say. “I just need to check something.”
I swipe my phone to see the photo of Luke, with Amy and Chase huddled up next to him. Their faces are all beaming, and it feels like it’s just for me. A few seconds after that, another photo appears of Luke with a taller, skinnier guy. Shiny chestnut hair without a hint of grey, and the same grayish blue eyes, but not as obviously handsome.
“I bet that's Paul,” I say.
“That’s too bad,” Trudy says.
I spin my head to glare at her in the backseat. “What’s too bad?”
She narrows her eyes and looks at the photo again. Then she looks at Paisley, whose face reflects my bafflement.
“Nothing, I guess,” Trudy says. “Except that his brother is vastly more attractive.”
Paisley and I exchange a glance. It's nice to know we're on the same page about Luke’s looks.
“Uh, well,” I say. “I think I'll bear up under the disappointment.”
The girls make me repeat our lunch conversation over and over until we reach my house. Thankfully Troy's sound asleep by the time I park in the garage. While Trudy unloads Troy quietly, I turn to Paisley.
“Are you sure you don't want me to take you home? It's a little more crowded than usual, with Trudy in my guest bedroom and Troy in my office.”
Paisley shakes her head. She has no family here in Atlanta, so for the past three years, she's slept over at my place. “I told you already, the sofa's fine.”
After Trudy gets Troy tucked in, we all help her put out the Santa gifts for Troy.
“It's exciting that he's old enough to understand this year,” I say. “Or at least, mostly understand.”
Trudy smiles. “Luke's kids are darling, by the way, in case I haven't already said so.”
“I wish I'd met them,” Paisley says.
“Well, stick around long enough tomorrow, and you will.”
“You couldn't pry me out of here with a crowbar,” Paisley says. “In fact, maybe I should make popcorn tonight so I’m ready for it.”
I swat her on the shoulder. “Very funny.”
“I'm not kidding. This is better than a Hallmark movie.”
I finally go to bed, but before I'm quite asleep, I hear a ping. Normally I'd ignore it, but my heart speeds up, because it might be Luke.
SWEET DREAMS, ANGEL.
I rub my eyes so I can see well enough to text a reply. I'M NO ANGEL, BUT I DO PLAN TO HAVE GOOD DREAMS.
ALL THOSE KIDS ARE GOING TO WAKE UP TOMORROW WITH FEELING LIKE SOMEONE CARES THANKS TO YOU.
I choke up a little thinking about Christmas morning for the kids we’ve helped, so it’s a good thing this conversation is taking place via text. EXCEPT. . . I DROPPED THE BALL. UNITED WAY IS CUTTING THE PROGRAM.
Luke's reply comes fast. THAT WASN'T YOUR FAULT. BESIDES, I BELIEVE IT’LL WORK OUT FOR THE BEST.
For the first time in a long time, I dare to hope that he might actually be right.
The next morning, I wake up way, way, way too early to the squeals of an excited little boy. I haven't even sat up yet when he climbs up on my bed and starts to pat my face. “Wake up, wake up, wake up. Santa here!”
“He's not here,” I say. “Do you mean he left presents?”
“Yes, yes, yes!”
I blink, and blink and blink, and grab my robe as I stumble out of bed.
Christmas morning passes too fast, like it always does.
I've barely cleaned up the mess from breakfast and changed into appropriate clothing when I hear a knock at the door. I glance at my watch. Nine in the morning.
I yawn on my way to open the door, only a little bummed that a visitor means I can't take a nap yet. Even so, I hope it's Luke.
Please let it be Luke.
Luke's big grin is the first thing I notice. The second is that he's wearing a Santa Claus hat. The third is that Trudy’s nuts.
He's the hottest thing I've ever seen.
I feel like I've been waiting for years and years, and I've finally found someone who embodies the same magic for me that Santa always did. He fills my heart with the same verve, the same excitement, and the same love. I found out years ago that Santa didn't really exist, and it became my job to take his place for other children who needed hope. But today, when Luke walks inside, I realize something wonderful.
I've finally found my Santa.
“Come in.” I wave Amy, Chase, and Luke inside.
Troy bounces up and down, screeching about his presents while Luke kisses me quickly. “Merry Christmas, Mary.”
“There are still three presents under your tree,” Amy says with a glint in her eye. “Who are those for?”
“You sly little thing,” I say. “One of them is for you.”
“Is it the big one?” She rubs her hands together and bounces up and down. “I hope it’s the big one.”
I remember being so small that I judged the worth of presents by their size. Vaguely. “It is, minx.”
She rushes across the room to grab it, but pulls up short less than a foot away and turns around. “Dad, can I open it right now?” She pointedly at Luke.
I make a shooing motion with my hands. “Of course, go ahead.”
She tears the wrapping paper off to reveal a painted, red wooden chest, with gold trim. The lacquer on it still shines.
“What is it?” she asks.
“Open the latch,” I say.
She fiddles with it a moment before she figures it out, but then she throws the lid back, and dresses and tiaras and gloves spill out. She coos in delight.
“I noticed the other day that you don't have a dress-up chest. It was one of my most beloved toys when I was a girl.”
“Are these your old dresses?” Amy asks, her eyes wide with wonder.
I shake my head. “No, my old dresses were yucky. I threw them out a long time ago. But that's my old dress-up trunk. I called it my Princess Wardrobe. I thought you might want to have it.”
I watch her mouth the words, “Princess Wardrobe” a few times, as if she's trying her best to remember it. Then she leaps up and runs over to hug me around the waist. “Thank you so much!”
“You're welcome.” I whisper my next words. “Think your dad will forgive me for how much space it's going to take up?”
Amy bites her lip, and Luke puts his arm around her. “We'll work something out, won't we?”
She nods.
“Chase?” I say, “You're next, sweetie.” I reach under the tree for the smallest gift and pass it over to him.
He rips the paper off like a pro. Once he's uncovered the nerf gun and extra darts, he hoots and pumps his fist in the air. “A gun, Dad, she got me my own gun!”
“Oh no,” I say, “are you a ‘no gun’ family?” I want to curl up in the corner and hide. I should’ve asked first. Why didn't I ask?
Luke puts his arm around my shoulder this time. “Not purposefully. It's fine, and clearly I'm behind on getting him the exact toy that he desperately wanted.”
I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. “You're next, then.”
Luke leans over and pulls out the last present. The wrapping paper couldn't look uglier. The present's a weird shape and I didn't want to ruin it, so I wrapped half a roll underneath, bunched it up, and tied it with ribbon at the top. Luke plucks the card from the top first.
He reads it silently, but I know what it says. It's a simple message, just one line. Merry Christmas Luke. I didn't know what to buy you, but in spite of everything I've always done to keep people at bay, you're growing on me. Love, Mary.
“It takes up a lot of space, but I figure once you reach your new job, you can put it on the little porch area most of the time.”
Luke sweeps me up in his arms and spins me around. “You're growing on me too, Mary.” He kisses the tip of my nose.
“Dad, can we give her the presents now?” Amy's grinning, with her hands balled into fists at her sides, nearly vibrating with excitement.
“Wait,” I say, “presents? Plural?” I shake my head. “I only got you each one small thing. I refuse to open more than one present.”
Amy takes my hand and her eyes plead with me. “We spent a long time on these. Please? Please open them all.”
“How many are there?” I ask.
“Only three,” Luke says. “One from each of us, and you had to get three for us. So it’s fair.”
I lift one eyebrow, and Luke pulls out a long, flat box. I take it from him and shake it. I'm really good at guessing things. “The shape is right for clothing, but the sound is weird. Too clunky.” I glance from Luke to Amy and back again. “You got me a book?”
He shakes his head. “Not exactly.”
“This one's from me.” Chase smiles for miles.
“Thanks, sweetie.” I pull the wrapping paper off and open the box. It's a stack of paper, folded in half.”
“Uh,” I say. “What is this?”
“Read it,” Luke says.
I glance over the paperwork, and as I do, my jaw drops. “This creates a foundation, Luke, funded up to a quarter of a million dollars.”
Luke points at the name on the paperwork. “My lawyer thought Santa's Aid Society conveyed the point, and that no one could come back and complain later. He said we can change it for three more days, if you hate the name or want to stick with Sub-for-Santa.” Luke unbuttons his jacket to reveal a green shirt with the words Santa's Aid Society printed across the front, alongside the image of a stylized cartoon elf.
