Page 140 of The Design of Goodbye
“Do you like it?” I asked.
“It’s the best fort I’ve ever seen.” Unable to wait any longer, he walked into the room and crawled through the fort’s opening. “And appropriately festive,” he called.
I joined him. Inside were Christmas blankets, pillows, and a tray of holiday-themed snacks. I’d even brought my laptop in so we could watch a Christmas movie.
“I’m glad you like it.” I patted a fluffy pillow, and we got comfortable on our sides, facing each other. “How was work?” I asked.
“Entertaining,” he said. “I worked returns.”
“What was the silliest item someone returned?”
“A lady tried to return three empty containers of eggnog.”
“She obviously drank it all,” I said. “Did you let her return them?”
“Of course not.” His eyes twinkled. The sight was better than Christmas lights. “But she did throw one of the containers at me when I told her she couldn’t.”
I gasped. “She didn’t.”
“She did.”
“Are you okay?”
He waved off my concern. “I dodged it.”
We both laughed. And then I asked him what I’d been worried about since yesterday, “Was your Christmas okay?”
“I wished I was with you.”
I sat up, concerned. “Something happened.”
“I got paid Friday.” He started playing with my hair. Whenever his fingers randomly grazed my neck, I shivered.
“What does that have to do with Christmas?” I asked.
His fingers got stuck in my hair, and it took him a second to free it. “It was the paycheck that included the days I skipped work. The timing couldn’t have been worse. It was our first Christmas without”—his breath caught—“Mom. And he was already on edge. When he’s like that, he wants to gamble more, so he was pissed my check was so low.”
“Did he hurt you?”
He sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”
He turned his attention to my dress. One of my straps had slid off my shoulder, and he moved it back into place. He hesitated but then ran his index finger over my collarbone, down the low-cut neckline of my dress, and over to my other shoulder. His fingers followed this path over and over.
My breath shook. So did his.
“Liam,” I choked out, placing my hand over his. “Stop trying to distract me.”
“I’m fine.” He couldn’t take his eyes off my shoulder. “I want you to tell me what you got for Christmas.”
I didn’t want to. Not when all he’d gotten were raised fists and isolation as presents.
“I’ll tell you later,” I said. “Right now, it’s time for you to open your presents.”
He sat up, that little-kid grin back. “I like presents.” I grabbed two presents I’d hidden underneath a blanket and placed them in front of him. He picked up the smaller of the two bags and shook it. “This sounds a lot like a puzzle.”
“Don’t guess!” He shook it again, and I swatted his arm. “Stop!”
He pulled the gift out of the bag and grinned. “A puzzle.” He turned it over, excited. “I had no idea.”
