Miracle Under the Mistletoe

“Neither.” She rubbed the back of her head while pulling herself upright. “I…um…was trying to find my shoes.”

“In the living room.” He gave her a quick once-over. “Are you okay?”

Olivia nodded, struck speechless by the sight of her husband. He stood by the door in navy flannel pajama bottoms and a black T-shirt that fit him like a second skin. She had a moment’s relief that he even wore a shirt, but that didn’t dispel the need swirling inside.

The tray in his hands held plates with bacon and eggs, along with a couple of mugs filled with coffee. “You…didn’t have to make me breakfast,” she said.

“I wanted to,” he said simply. “I figured you’d be ravenous after—”

“Right. Well…um…thank you, but I’m actually not h-hungry.” Her stomach growled, belying her words. Damn him for knowing her so well, anyway. “I’m not that hungry,” she corrected. “And I should probably be getting home. For Jasper.”

“Jasper will be fine for a little longer.” Grady nodded toward the tray. “I had this grand idea of breakfast in bed, but now that you’re up, we might as well eat in the kitchen.” Before leaving the room, he tossed her one of his sexy-as-sin grins. “Come on. Before everything gets cold.”

She eyed the door he stepped through and considered her options. She wanted—needed—to leave and go home where she felt safe. Where she could be alone and think about everything that had gone on here, and then—after she felt whatever she was going to feel—she could tuck it all away and work on forgetting. As if none of it had ever happened.

Yes. That was the plan she wanted to proceed with. But jeez, he’d made her breakfast! How in the world was she supposed to ignore that? She tried to imagine strolling out of the bedroom, finding her shoes, telling Grady, “Thanks, but no thanks,” while he sat at his kitchen table with food he’d prepared for her.

A sigh slipped out. She couldn’t do that. He deserved so much more than that. Okay, then, they’d eat. She could give him that much. But somehow, before she left this apartment, she’d have to dig deep and find the strength to tell him that last night hadn’t altered her decision.

“Olly? You okay in there?” Grady called out. “Should I bring the tray back in?”

“No! I’m coming.” As bad as this was, eating in the bedroom would be ten times worse. Straightening her spine, she plastered a smile on and exited the room. Her stomach growled again when she sat down at his minuscule kitchen table, a reminder that Grady knew her far better than she knew herself. And for whatever reason, that annoyed her.

“Hi,” she said. “I…I was looking for a hairbrush.”

“Hi, yourself. The brush is in the bathroom, but you don’t need it. I like the mussed morning-after look on you.” He gave her a closer look. “Actually, you’re a little pale. How hard did you hit your head?”

“I’m okay. A bit of a headache, maybe.” Just that fast, her annoyance fled. It wasn’t his fault that he knew her so well, and his concern touched her. It also made her feel like a heel. He was still watching her, so she said, “And I think I’m hungrier than I realized.”

“Dig in. I’m going to grab you something for that headache.” He reached over and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “We’ll have you feeling better in no time.”

She nodded and tried to focus on her meal. Even though he’d cooked everything just as she liked it—the bacon was crisp without falling apart, the coffee was strong and hot and the scrambled eggs had the exact right amount of cheddar cheese melted on top—it all tasted flat. She might as well have been eating cardboard.

Grady returned and handed her a couple of capsules. “Ibuprofen. You don’t have a lump, do you?”

She swallowed the pills with a gulp of coffee. “Lump?”

“On your head. From hitting it?” He took the chair across from her. “Do you need some ice?”

“Oh!” She reached up and felt the back of her head. “Nope. No lump.”

An odd expression darted over his face, but he nodded. “Good.”

The next several minutes were filled with silence as they ate. She managed to clear about a third of her plate before giving up the pretense. With a sigh, she pushed her plate back and picked up her coffee. “Thanks again. This was really good.”

He eyed her doubtfully. “You’re welcome. You didn’t eat that much, and I think that’s the third time you’ve thanked me this morning. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m feeling much better.” Liar! her mind screamed. “But Grady, I need to tell you…I mean to say…” Setting her cup down, she twisted her fingers together. “We should probably talk—”

He gave her a long, searching look. “I know you’re uncomfortable about last night, but there isn’t any reason to put it under a magnifying glass.” He pushed a lock of black hair off of his forehead. “We don’t have to talk about last night, Olly. I’m just glad you’re here.”

“We don’t?” Her mind zeroed in to the first part of his statement and a good amount of tension evaporated. Oh, thank God for small favors. Maybe last night had been nothing more than goodbye sex. A last hurrah of sorts. She could live with that—couldn’t she? “Well, good. I—I guess I should get home to Jasper.”

She started to push back from the table, knowing she should say more, knowing she should clarify that his statement meant what she thought it meant, but not sure how to get it out without sounding like an idiot, when Grady said, “Don’t leave. Please? I want to spend the day with you.” His husky tone poured into her like a salve. God, she loved his voice. “I was thinking we could get an early start on Christmas shopping. Maybe even—”

“It isn’t even Thanksgiving yet. I haven’t thought about buying gifts.” And she certainly hadn’t considered shopping with Grady. The last time they’d gone Christmas shopping together was forever ago. Before… Well, just before. “I don’t know. It probably isn’t a good idea.”

“Well,” he said slowly, his gaze level with hers. “I…I have an idea. Something I would like to share with you, but I’m not sure how you’ll respond.”

Warning signals bleeped in her brain. “Respond to what?”

“I thought we could shop for Cody…for presents that are appropriate for eight-year-old boys. We could think about him, what he’d be like at this age, what he might like, and then we could give anything we buy to Toys for Tots in his name.”

She stared at him without speaking. This was a nightmare. She was dreaming or something, because she couldn’t see Grady being so cruel as to suggest this. “Wh-what?”

“Don’t get upset. Just hear me out.” He wrapped his hand around his coffee mug and squeezed so hard that his knuckles turned white. “I miss him so much. We—” His voice caught. He coughed to clear his throat and then swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “We never talk about him. I miss talking about him with you. We were his parents and we never talk about our son. It’s killing me, Olivia.”

“And you think shopping for Christmas presents will help?” Everything inside went cold. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. “Why would we do that? How can that help anything? Why would you ask me to do that?”

“To remember our son, Olivia. To do something together with him in mind. To feel close to him around Christmas.” Grady let go of the mug and grasped her hand. “He loved Christmas, sweetheart. Do you remember?”

“All kids love Christmas,” she fired back. “And of course I remember.”

“I want to share this with you. Will you trust me enough to give this a chance? One hour,” Grady pleaded. “Give it one hour, and if it’s too much, we’ll stop.”

Emotions clogged her throat, tightened her chest. She shook her head blindly, barely able to see beyond the tears filling her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “No way.”

“Just listen,” he begged. “I’ve done this for the past two years. I’m not going to lie…it was tough the year after we lost him. It will be tough for you. But sweetheart, I found that doing this gives me a lot of joy. I want you to feel that joy.”

“Lost him? We didn’t lose him, Grady. Our son died! He’s not hiding somewhere waiting for us to find him.” Her anger shot out before she could edit her words. “He’s gone and no amount of thinking about him or shopping with him in mind will change that fact.”

Grady winced as if she’d struck him. “I know he died. Do you really think I’m capable of forgetting that?” His Adam’s apple bobbed with a heavy swallow. “Look, I know this is a lot to ask, but if you try, if you go along with me on this, it might be—”

“Might be what? Painful? Yes! Sad? Yes!” Overwhelming and scary and way, way more than she could handle? Oh, God, yes. Another round of despair pressed in, reinforcing her surety that being with Grady was impossible. “I can’t choose gifts with Cody in mind and give them to someone else! I can’t think about how he would be at this age, or what he would want for Christmas…or…or…”

She bit her lip harder, willing the tears to recede. Grady continued to hold her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. A million and one heartbreaking minutes passed before he said, “Okay, I get it. You’re not ready for this. I’m sorry I brought it up.” His shoulders lifted in a heavy shrug. “I thought it might help. I hoped… Hell, it doesn’t matter. We can do something else.”

“No. We can’t do something else. I need to go home.” She tried to yank her hand out of his grip, but couldn’t. “Let go of me,” she said between clenched teeth, trying to hold back the gush of tears she felt coming.

“Please stay,” he said again. “We don’t have to discuss Cody or what happened last night, but I don’t want you to leave when you’re this upset. Let’s spend the day together. We can go see a movie or visit my folks. They’re always asking about you.”

She shook her head, not trusting herself enough to talk.

“If you leave, it’s like we’re taking one step forward and two steps backward. Let’s not do that. Let’s keep moving forward.” Grady’s voice was even and calm, but each word held the strength of his love, of his conviction that they should be together.

She held her eyes wide open, refusing to blink. The heavy weight of anger dissipated, changing to fear. Not of Grady. Never of him. But of what he wanted. Of what she couldn’t give him. “We are as far back as we can get. There is no moving forward, Grady. I…I haven’t changed my mind about the divorce. I’m sorry for leading you on—” her voice caught as an unwanted sob emerged “—I didn’t mean to lead you on, but I still want a divorce.”

Grady sat so still, she wasn’t sure if he was breathing. But then, “You didn’t act like we were making a mistake last night. You had plenty of opportunity to slam on the brakes.” Frustration deepened his voice. “Don’t do this.”