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Christmas Morning

PEYTON

It’s quiet. Still. The kind of quiet that makes me forget where I am for a second. But then I smell baked bread, cinnamon, and nutmeg wafting up the stairs, and I remember—I’m in Hunter’s childhood home.

He’s already out of bed, the space beside me still warm, and I can hear faint humming from downstairs.

Carly’s cheerful voice, totally on-key, humming “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” has me tempted to jump in and sing the melody, but my voice sounds more like fingernails against a chalkboard than Hunter’s mother.

I’m not ready to scare Hunter off with my horrifying singing just yet.

I roll over and stretch, my cheek still pressed into the soft pillowcase. Something about this house, this morning, feels like I made the right decision to come.

I slip out of bed, pull out one of Hunter’s old college hockey hoodies from the brand-new dressers under the window, and follow the sounds of clattering pans and laughter down the stairs.

Carly’s in the kitchen in a Santa apron with flour dusting her hair, smiling like she’s been waiting all morning for Christmas to arrive.

Her cheeks are pink and flushed, her voice steady and full of happiness.

Whatever Hunter’s fears were…maybe Bethany was wrong.

Carly seems stronger and in good health.

Then again, this is the first time I’m meeting her.

“Good morning, dear. Are you hungry?” I hear Carly say, noticing me coming through the kitchen threshold before Hunter does.

But then his eyes are on me in a split second. Those deep green eyes that I know could find me in a crowded room or a packed stadium. A shiver shoots down my spine and my cheeks warm to a blush that must be evident because his soft smile turns to a smirk.

He knows he’s winning me over.

Cocky bastard. I can’t help it—I smile back.

“Starving. It smells really good in here. Can I help with anything?” I ask, as Carly fills batter into the waffle maker and Hunter turns to open the fridge, reaching in to grab the orange juice carton.

Carly waves me off with a spatula. “You just enjoy. You’re our guest.”

“I don’t mind,” I say, stepping up beside her. “I’ve been known to dominate the cinnamon roll icing game. Legendary, even.”

Carly grins. “Then you’ve come to the right place. The icing’s cooling by the window. You want to be on drizzle duty?”

“Drizzle duty is my calling,” I say, already moving to the bowl of thick icing. I pick up the spoon and test the consistency, giving Hunter a look. “Cream cheese frosting?”

“Of course,” he says, pouring juice into glasses. “This isn’t amateur hour, Collins.”

I glance up at him as he closes the fridge and catches me staring.

He walks coolly up behind me and bends, his mouth close to my ear.

“That hoodie on you is doing it for me, by the way. I might like it even better than my jersey,” his voice low and private.

“It’s almost unfair that we’re not alone.

I’d take you on this island if it were just us. ”

There’s a deep need in his voice. One that I can relate to wholeheartedly.

I glance down at myself in his oversized hoodie and fuzzy socks. “Your hoodie looked more comfortable than mine.”

“I like it,” he says and then glances around the kitchen. “In fact, I think you look good in everything of mine.” As if meaning that I look good in his childhood home.

And that right there…that undoes me.

Hunter leans in, brushing a kiss to my temple. “Remind me to send you home with every hoodie I own.”

Carly clears her throat, clearly amused. “Save it for the mistletoe, you two. You’re making the waffles jealous.”

We all laugh, the kind of warm, genuine laughter that settles into your bones. I drizzle icing over the cinnamon rolls, and Carly flips waffles with ease, like she’s done this every year of her life. Hunter slides up beside me with two mugs of hot tea, offering me one.

“Peppermint. Drizzle of honey,” he says, almost shyly.

“You remembered?” I ask, taking it.

“You make things hard to forget,” he says simply.

Something flickers in my chest. I glance around—at the steaming food, the snow falling lightly through the kitchen window, the garland strung over the doorway—and realize I’ve never had a Christmas morning that feels quite like this in a really long time. Not since my dad passed.

Like for once, it doesn’t feel as hard to breathe without my dad here.

Carly sets a bowl of eggs on the table. “Okay, time to eat before the food gets cold. Hunter, don’t hover over the bacon tray this year.”

“Not my fault the bacon and I have unresolved tension,” he says, already grabbing a slice. “Don’t worry…it’s consensual.”

I snort into my tea. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”

Carly shakes her head and then looks over at me. “He’s always been like this. And I’m sorry to tell you honey, but I don’t see it improving anytime soon,” she teases.

“Good,” I say, plopping down at the kitchen table next to Hunter. “I like him just as he is.”

Carly giggles, and Hunter smiles over at me with a mouthful of bacon and then reaches over to squeeze my thigh in solidarity.

We all sit, plates loaded and conversation flowing easily. Carly tells stories about Hunter’s middle school years—his obsession with glitter glue in third grade…which brings new light to his previous gift—and his brief phase as a magician’s assistant in fifth.

“Wait, you were in a magic show?” I ask, nearly choking on a bite of waffle.

“He wore a velvet cape,” Carly says with a wink. “He was so cute.”

“A burgundy velvet cape,” Hunter mutters. “With gold trim. I’ll never live it down.”

“I’m going to need photo evidence,” I say, reaching for my phone.

“There are photos,” Carly confirms. “I’ll send them.”

“I’m taking back everyone’s presents. No Christmas this year,” Hunter grumbles, but his grin betrays him.

We eat until we’re stuffed, and then—finally, we carry our mugs into the living room. The tree is large, with only a handful of gifts beneath it—nothing extravagant, not with such short notice. But none of that matters. Because somehow, this all feels perfect. Warm, simple, real.

Hunter flops onto the couch beside me, still in sweatpants and a T-shirt, looking way too good for someone who woke up like that. I tuck my legs beneath me with my hot tea in hand.

“Open that one,” Carly says, pointing to a soft, fabric-wrapped package.

I pull the ribbon loose and let out a soft gasp. “Is this…handmade?”

“It’s a game-day blanket,” Carly beams. “Hawkeyes’ colors, and if you look close—”

“My number’s stitched all over it,” Hunter finishes, smiling proudly.

I smooth a hand along the edges, touched in a way I didn’t expect. “This is incredible. Thank you. I’m definitely bringing it to the next home game.”

How she could have made it so quickly with the little notice that Hunter had given her about me coming along this year, I have no idea—but I love it.

Hunter leans close and mutters under his breath, “It’s also the exact shade of that sparkly toy in your nightstand.”

My eyes widen, and I elbow him sharply. “Do you have a death wish?”

Carly doesn’t seem to notice. She’s already unwrapping the gift that Hunter picked up under the tree from me and handed to her—a sleek, digital photo frame. As soon as the screen lights up and begins rotating through candid snapshots of Hunter over the last few months, she goes still.

“These are beautiful,” she whispers. “Are these from the recent games?”

“I have a folder on my phone where I can keep adding more,” I say, trying not to sound too emotional. “I just thought…maybe it would feel like you were there. At the games. Behind the scenes. I’ll take them while I’m there and upload them so you feel like you’re there with us.”

She presses a hand to her chest. “Oh, Peyton…”

Hunter looks away, blinking hard, like it’s a lot for him, too.

She gets up off the couch and heads straight for me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “I knew he picked a good one. I’m so relieved he finally found you,” she whispers against my hair.

“Okay, my turn,” Hunter says next to me, handing his mom an envelope.

She takes it in her hand and looks at it for a second, then glances back at him. “You didn’t have to get me anything. You two being here is what I really wanted for Christmas.”

“I know but I think you’ll like this one,” he says, reaching her arm over the back of the couch behind me. “Merry Christmas.”

The second she sees the paperwork inside, her eyes widen and her face almost goes white. My stomach drops. What the heck did he give her?

“You paid off the deed to the house?”

I glance at him in shock but he’s staring at her, his expression calm. He hadn’t said anything about this to me. I had no idea. Not that it was my place to know any of this.

Hunter’s taking care of her, the way my father made sure that my mother was taken care of if anything ever happened to him. Emotions flood and my eyes begin to well.

“I meant to do it back when I signed with New Jersey,” he says softly. “But...life got in the way. I can now. So I did.”

He stands and she throws her arms around him, and I swallow the sudden lump in my throat.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she muffles against his shoulder.

He’s so much taller than her, and the height difference makes me smile.

“I didn’t have to…I get to, and that’s the best part. You took out a second mortgage to put me through hockey camp, then again to help me through college, and again for your first round of chemo. It’s my turn to take care of you. Now you can do anything you want to do.”

She nods, “Thank you,” she says, sliding the paperwork back into the envelope and wipes a tear from her eye.

Hunter reaches for the gift I got him and opens it.

It’s a ridiculously oversized weighted blanket that I had to pay an overweight fee to fly here, but it was worth it.

“For movie nights,” I grin. “The one we have now doesn’t even cover your legs. You let out all the heat.”