My mom cocks her head with a tiny smile. “What’s that?”
I reach into one of the grocery bags and dig under a toy dinosaur for Logan to pull out a handful of ingredients. I set them on the table and look at her with hope. “Can you help me make one last dish?”
I slide off my gloves and push the buzzer on the intercom at Greer’s apartment, the metal button cool under my touch. Come on, Greer. Answer the door.
The intercom rings with no reply.
I knew Greer had a gated apartment, but I hadn’t exactly counted on this being the thing that stopped me.
I push the button again, applying more pressure like the harder I push it the sooner she’s going to come. I know that’s not how it works, but it feels so desperately vital to get inside and see my girl.
Everything I have planned only counts tonight.
At last, a couple dressed in formalwear opens the apartment door and steps through, then they give me the side-eye as they hold it open for me.
“Thanks.” I shift the Christmas tree in my arms and drag it into the building’s foyer, leaving a trail of pine needles in my wake. The tree was definitely easier to carry when it still wore the net, but hey, it’ll be worth it.
Probably.
I shove the tree in an elevator, and together we ride to Greer’s floor, the piney scent swinging me back into every Christmas with my parents, each present we wrapped for someone else. My dad was the one who taught me your heart grows the most when you give it to someone else, when you do something just to make someone else smile. My mom’s right—he would have been proud of me for trying to fix things. I just hope Greer understands.
The elevator dings to announce my arrival at her floor, and I drag the tree onto her carpeted hallway. I left all the ornaments on the tree except for one, which I’d packed in my backpack along with some food for safekeeping, and the decorations clink together as I walk.
Shatterproof ornaments for the win.
My arms burn with effort, and my lungs feel stretched tight by the time I arrive at her doorway in a panting mess. I lean the tree on the wall outside Greer’s door, then ring the doorbell and hold my breath.
The muted chimes lift in resonance behind her closed front door, but no one answers.
My palms start to sweat, and my heart picks up with a panicky thump.
Please, Greer.
I ring again.
No answer.
She’s gone.
My shoulders drop and my chest deflates, hope vanishing with every second that passes without Greer.
What if I’m too late?
Then, over my shoulder, I hear the plastic rustle of grocery bags and the muffled sound of footsteps on the carpeted hallway floor.
Please.
I turn and she’s here, and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life. I drink in the sight of Greer—her sweatpants with a hole in one knee and her tight, maroon Henley T-shirt that clings to her curves. A single plastic grocery bag swings from her arm and not a lick of makeup decorates her face.
“Locke?” Greer’s mouth drops open, and she stares at me and the tree with a question in her eyes. So many emotions play across her gorgeous features that my head spins. Everything I want is right here if only I can reach for it.
Greer takes half a step forward, and she is everything I want for Christmas, everything I want for my life. Her eyes survey my body, and she opens her mouth. “What are you doing here?”
29
Greer
“What are you doing here?” I repeat, staring at Lachlan as a numb sort of shock works its way down my spine. I spent the last hour racing around the supermarket, girding myself for our discussion, and the last place I expected him was here, on my doorstep, with a Christmas tree in hand. He looks good, too, with well-groomed stubble accenting his jaw and the collar of my favorite of his button-down shirts peeking out from under his thick, wool coat.
Locke steadies the tree with two hands and brings his warm brown gaze to mine. “I didn’t think you were going to make it to Christmas, so I’m bringing Christmas to you.”
My stomach swoops with longing as I squint at the tree. “You carried that all the way here? From your place?”
“I heard I have strong arms.”
A laugh slips out of me, quick as a river, and hope and excitement lighten my chest. This is happening. Locke’s here, standing across from me and looking into my eyes like we’ve done every day for the last year. “Do you want to bring it inside?”
Relief fills Locke’s smile. “Yeah, Greer. I would love to.”
I slip past him to unlock the door, resisting the urge to lean into his heat and the tempting scent of his cologne. No matter how much I want him, first I need to hear what he has to say.
I hold the door open, and Locke drops his backpack just inside the entrance. Then he bends down and hauls the tree into my apartment, causing the honed muscles of his shoulders to flex beneath his coat.
“What do you think?” he calls from somewhere between its branches. “Living room or dining room?”
I set my grocery bag on my kitchen counter and follow him. “Living room.”
“Good choice.” Locke drops the tree by the picture window and plugs in the cord dangling from the branches, casting twinkling lights all over the room. Then he shrugs out of his coat and stands back, breathing heavily.
For a second, the two of us just stare at the tree in silence, everything unspoken hanging between us. How much we mean
