Page 70 of Knot By Design
It’s easy here. Easier, at least. Watching her be eight. Watching the anxiety slide off her shoulders for a minute.
We end up with two coats, three sweaters, a pair of boots, and socks with tiny gingerbread men on them because she says they “look like little friends.”
As we’re checking out, she leans her head against my arm.
“Uncle Jude?”
“Yeah, bug?”
“Are we gonna decorate your house too?”
I blink. “Decorate?”
“Like Mom does,” she adds softly. “With… everything.”
Ah. The ache returns. A slow, painful burn under the ribs. I haven’t decorated my house since Claire.
“We can decorate the whole damn house if you want,” I say. “Lights. Tree. Garland. A wreath the size of Rufus. Whatever you want.”
Her face splits into a grin so bright the cashier smiles too.
“Okay.”
We step back into the cold, arms full of bags, Rufus prancing like he saved us from something heroic.
And for the first time this morning, I feel like maybe I didn’t screw this up beyond repair.
Maisie swings our joined hands as we walk, humming under her breath again. Snowflakes catch on her hat and melt on her lashes.
She pets Rufus with her free hand, holding Frida under her arm like a queen surveying her kingdom.
This town really is magical this time of year. I didn’t lie about that part.
And maybe she’ll believe in that magic long enough for me to figure out what the hell I’m doing.
She looks up at me. “What’re we doing after lunch?”
I smile. “Whatever you want.”
Her grin widens. “Then can we build a gingerbread house?”
“Yep.”
“And watch a Christmas movie?”
“Yep.”
“And get hot chocolate with marshmallows?”
“Yep.”
“And—”
“Bug,” I laugh. “We’ve got all day.”
She nods, satisfied, skipping ahead just enough that the leash tugs gently between us.
I watch her small boots leave prints in the snow, see the bounce in her step, the comfort returning to her shoulders.
