“Yeah, I get that,” Duncan mumbles. “If you see him around here, let me know. I don’t mind setting him straight.”
“Ease up, papa bear. Rose and baby bear need you not in jail.” I pat his back.
“What’s his name?” Rose asks.
“Sam. He’s massive and scary at first glance, but super sweet.”
“Hmm.”
“It could end up being nothing, but we have a get together planned later.”
“Today?”
“Yes, at Peddler’s Village.”
Rose claps her hands. “Oh my God. You’re going on a date.”
“Not a date!” I point at her, shaking my head. “No one said the D-word.”
“What else would you call it?” Rose tilts her head.
“A social gathering for two,” I answer glumly.
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Duncan asks.
“You guys are making me regret this whole relocation thing.” I poke out my bottom lip as we fall back into our usual banter.
“Hey, I think it’s great. Just be careful,” Duncan’s voice rumbles in his chest.
“Always.”
Rose slips her hand into mine. “When they say treat yourself to a Christmas present, I don’t think this is what they were referring to.” She squeezes my hand.
“Brat. We can’t all meet and marry our Prince Charming on the first go-round.”
“Pfft. Duncan was anything but my Prince Charming. Remember how he used to tug on my ponytail and chase off any boy who looked at me too long?”
“I was trying to get your attention.”
“Oh, believe me, you had it. Just not in the way you wanted.” I laugh, thinking of the way she complained about him.
“You take pleasure in my pain. Cruel woman.” Duncan placed a hand on his chest.
“Dramatic.”
“He is a ginger, so all that fiery energy has to go somewhere,” I say.
“You know our baby might have this hair.”
Rose turns to him and smiles with love shining in her eyes so bright it almost hurts to look at. “I sincerely hope so.”
I want that kind of love. I thought I had it once, only to realize in the end, it was merely a mirage.
STEPPING INTO THE HOUSE after Duncan and Rose, I begin the task of unbundling. Between the temperature and the wind, the city gets plenty cold during the wintertime. Looking cute has always fallen second to evading frostbite. Unwinding my scarf and removing my ear warming headband, I hang them on the hook with my initials. We’d all lived here once upon a time. Each paying our share toward a place that no one could take away from us.
Inhaling the familiar scent of gingerbread and cranberry, I smile at the festive display. Silver tinsel is wrapped around the curtain rods. Lights line the windows, and Christmas-themed cloth covers tables. Happy snowmen line the buffet table where we always rest our keys. Stepping through the entryway hall, I see him seated on the couch. I swallow.
He stands. Flynn. He looks the same with his coarse, black hair cropped close to his head. Large, dark brown eyes fringed with thick lashes fix on me. The silence stretches out between us—my stomach tenses. Dressed in a pair of dark denim and a black, cable knit sweater that emphasizes his thick frame, he’s effortlessly gorgeous. It should be illegal for a man to be this handsome without putting any effort in. I love his broad forehead, wide nose, and full lips. The dominant features are a representation of his African heritage. Unlike me, he knows something about his family history. I always envied him for that, just a little. His dark brown skin reminds me of milk chocolate.