“Oh good, I’m so glad you like it. I know clothing is always a gamble when it’s for other people, but as soon as I saw it, I knew you’d look amazing in it.”
“It’s perfect,” I reply, wishing I could try it on right now. But alas, that would give away my nearlysix-month belly.
Everyone continues to open their gifts, Owen and Hugo bantering back and forth while Steve inspects each gift, always deeming it perfect.
An hour later we’re at the table, feasting on roasted turkey, potatoes, stuffing, peas, and heaps more things I don’t think I’ll even make it to trying.
The dinner is filled with conversation, laughter, and a fair bit of teasing one another. It’s as if I’ve been a part of their family my entire life, all of them making a conscious effort to keep me engaged without it feeling forced. It’s special, and to be honest, one of the best Christmases I’ve had in a long time.
By the end of it, my back is sore from sitting in a chair for a few hours and my stomach is filled to the absolute brim.
After Owen and Hugo clean everything up, refusing to let me help, Evie ushers us into the living room, where my back rejoices at the pillow-soft couch.
“Tell me you’ve at least seen this movie?” Owen asks as he dives for the seat next to me. Evie tucks herself into Steve on the other couch while Hugo takes the floor, his tall frame stretching out with a pillow Evie tosses him.
“Love Actually?” I reply to Owen.
He nods.
“I actually have. Christmas movies are the only movies I religiously watch.”
Owen grins. “Well, that’s good because Mum makes us watch this film every bloody Christmas, so at least we know you like it for the future.” He relaxes, his taut body moving about, adjusting his comfort to the couch.
I, on the other hand, am still caught up in what Owen was implying. That I will be here for future Christmases.
It should be a scary thought, that he considers me important enough to be here next year, but instead of reading into it too much, I sit back, grabbing the packet of Maltesers from Hugo when he offers.
And for the next two hours, I don’t worry about myself or the baby or telling everyone. I just sit and relish in the simple joy that is Christmas with Owen and his family.
“Thank you for bringing me tonight.” My voice is soft as it fills the car, only the sounds of Cat Stevens in the background.
Owen turns his head quickly, that pretty-boy smile upon his lips. “I’m glad you had a good time. My mum’s practically adopted you, just so you know, so I doubt it will be the last time I have to drag you over.”
“I can think of worse things than Evie being my second mum,” I tease.
“She’s not too bad,” he quips back.
“She really is something special, Owen.” My voice is still soft as I think about everything Evie has accomplished despite having to do most of it on her own.
“Tell me about it.” He rubs his lips together before shaking his head. “Everyone always calls me a mama’s boy, but when it comes to Evie being my mum, I’ll take that name any day. I know it couldn’t have been easy for her when my dad passed—she was in her early twenties, alone, and trying to become a lawyer and be a mum at the same time. Then she actively chose to do it all again with Hugo.” He pauses briefly.
“And having seen all of that, I know you’re going to be okay, Lottie. Neither Hugo nor I had a dad, but I like to think we turned out all right.” He lets out a quick laugh at his last comment. It’s not filled with humor, but rather marvel that it all worked out so well for them.
“Well, I can tell you from knowing you and meeting your brother tonight, you turned out more than okay. There aren’t many men like you, Owen Bower.”
“We’re not that great,” he cuts in, trying to make a joke.
“No, Owen, I mean it. You should be proud of yourself. It’s not just Evie who’s come a long way. You had every obstacle placed ahead of you growing up. Seriously, what ten-year-old can take care of an infant?”
He’s silent at my question, and I suddenly understand that Owen is always so quick to praise everyone else, but reluctant to accept the same for himself.
“None. That’s the answer, Owen. No ten-year-old can do that. You’re a one-in-a-million type of human, and if I had known Stana going to Saint Street a year ago would set off the chain of events that led me to meeting you, I would have gotten her there a lot sooner.”
My voice has risen slightly, and although I’m vehemently going on about this, I won’t back down.
“So instead of brushing it off, I want you to acknowledge, right now in this vintage BMW, that you, Owen Bower, are fucking awesome.”
He turns to me, a confused smile on his face, as if perhaps he doesn’t actually think I want him to say it.
“Say it, Owen. Say it or I’m not accepting the Christmas gift you got me, and if I know you, which I do, I bet it’s pretty great.”
“You actually want me to say this, don’t you?”
He shakes his head, a chuckle leaving his lips. “Okay then. I, Owen Bower, am fucking awesome.” His chest moves up and down as he tries to suppress his laugh.
“Happy?” he asks me.
Although his delivery needs a bit of work, I nod.
He leans forward, turning up the radio as we drive back to my flat so I can get my final Christmas gift of the night.
And I have a feeling it will blow all the others out of the water.
I eye the small silver box in front of me, assuming it’s baby related since
