Every December [Soon to be Self Published]

Chapter 25

Austin

Christmas Day marks our last day together. It's here. We're awake. My gaze flitters to the drawer in the coffee table. I open it and pull out the two envelopes we had made our bets during 500. Neither are opened, and neither winnings have been claimed. I glance at the closed guest room door and debate about whether to let her open it.

I decide no. I stick the envelopes back in the drawer and close it at the same time the guest room door opens. Lydia appears, looking like she did when I had thought she was an intruder. A grin rides up my mouth. How ready I had been to throw her out and call the cops. Her hair is the messy, straight-from-the bed look, and her skin is pale and smooth. My Pro Swing, long sleeve shirt hangs over her, going down to the tops of her thighs and leggings cover the rest.

"I'll want that back," I say, nodding at the shirt.

"No way. Too comfy." She takes a seat on the couch. Her eyes shoot over to the stockings. "You didn't leave cookies for Santa," she says dryly, "that's why there's nothing in the stockings."

I roll my eyes. "I left a bottle of whiskey and two glasses."

"A failed attempt at luring in the old bearded man." She sits back and stretches her leg out. "But it's your first time at this in a while so we'll overlook the errors."

"Meg sent me a message," I share with her. I shift forward rubbing my hands together. "After yesterday, I wish my father would have told me about Meg. I used to wish we had someone knocking on our door at Christmas carrying food, entering with laughter."

"You had that yesterday. And you will again. That was just the beginning."

I pull her face to mine, kissing her thoroughly, moving closer until she clings to me, her kisses are lit with aching passion I don't want to slow down. I lower my mouth to hers, taking her in a hungry kiss, putting my mouth into action for the words I can't seem to say but that she answers with silent assurances.

I back off and take in the sight of her eyes, full of desire. I'll tell her someday, how this was the moment I knew I would compare her to every other women. And they will all fall short. There's plenty of room in my heart for her. A space I needed filling, but I didn't know how to find the right fit.

Home has been an empty space I've occupied with a lot of good times and long nights, all the while I've been searching for a place to really start my life. And here she is, a hint of what home could be like, and I'm not brave enough to think about what will happen when she leaves in the morning. if we can't figure this out. I want a home. We're just not there yet-to wherever we're headed, and the time in between is what has me worried.

"Despite where you want this to go," I say, pausing to sit back and stretch out my arm, "I am not your Christmas present."

"Too bad for you." She reaches over to the end table drawer and opens it. "I got you something."

I take the small box wrapped in silver paper. Inside is an ornament that looks like my house. A tiny Christmas tree is on the outside. The windows are painted yellow to look like lights on inside.

"You don't have ornaments on your tree," she says quickly, mistaking my silence. "This one looked so much like your house."

The ornament is heavy in my hand and I set it on the coffee table. "It's perfect."

"It was either that or a golf bag ornament. I'm sure you have everything-"

"I'm flattered," I cut her off, hiding how much this means to me. "Here," I comment, going over to the tree and grabbing one of her presents. "For you."