Page 42 of I’ll Paint You a Sunset Someday

December 2045

Hallee

Focusing on my five senses seems to calm my pounding heart. Sight: Dean. Gray sweatpants and morning hair all tousled from waking up early. Smell: homemade cinnamon rolls. Sound: a TV fireplace, crackling in the background of our friends’ laughter. Smart of the landlords to not include actual fireplaces in the apartments. I nearly burned the building down without one; imagine the damage that could be done with one. Touch: the cold countertops. Taste: Irish coffee topped with whipped cream and peppermint chips.

The taste was my way of proving that I can be helpful in the kitchen, and Marlowe and Avery seem thoroughly helped. Cuddled under a blanket by the tree, they’re two princesses waiting patiently for their breakfast.

Beaming with satisfaction, Dean plates the food. He looks happier this year than last. What a strange thing—to be able to compare where we started to where we are.

What an important thing.

Makes my love for them stronger.

As we gather around the coffee table, Matt turns on Christmas music. It feels like a knife to the chest and sounds like a funeral procession. As our forks hit the plates, we laugh over the montage of memories made this year. Tiptoeing around the elephant in the room is our strongest talent.

“I’d give anything to see Dean’s face again when he realized it was Hallee standing on the counter,” Hudson quips. Nods of agreement are passed around as everyone finishes their bites.

“I’d like to revisit the look on Marlowe’s face while Matt walked them out. What did you whisper to me, Marlowe? I can’t seem to remember,” I tease.

It’s all in good fun, but what even are they? They still haven’t come clean, and my need for control is making me pushy. The blush on her cheeks signals for a subject change, and Dean jumps in to save the day.

“Who’s ready for presents?”

As the guys clean up, I take a long drink of my coffee and lean toward Marlowe.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“We aren’t together, okay? It’s complicated. Please, drop it.”

Everything is complicated these days, but the embarrassment on her face hints that it isn’t Marlowe who chose their label. Were they ever anything? All those times I’ve teased her—could I have been rehashing a wound?

Dean is listening intently to Matt, who looks like he might throw up, and that’s enough to make me retire. Cupid is done shooting the arrow. What will be will be. They would’ve been great together, though.

I don’t dare let my eyes linger as Avery and Hudson break off on their own to exchange gifts. Matt and Marlowe do the same, exchanging together but not together gifts, and Dean and I settle onto the couch.

“Buying a gift for you was hard, okay? I did my best.” I sigh. “Nothing was good enough . . . for me, anyway. Anything would be good enough for you.”

His eyebrows raise, flagging me down.

“Wait, that sounds wrong! You’d love anything I’d give you. That’s right.”

“I’m going to love it, Hal.”

The silence as his hands carefully unwrap the present is loud as hell.

“It was so important to get it right that I could barely pick anything at all, but after countless sleepless nights, I recruited the help of an artist in town.”

It’s priceless, the vibrance that art adds to the world.

“A mug,” he cheers, chuckling as he glances up at me.

“Your very own handcrafted mug, and look!” He spins the mug as I point.

Reading the hand-stamped clay, he smiles. “Meet me at The Marmotte.”

“She painted the front of the shop. Absolutely crushed it, right?”

“Right. You did too.”

“Even if you won’t know who you’re looking for—”

“I’ll know where to find you.”

Tears fill those galaxy eyes, and I can’t help but think about the first time I saw them, but if they overflow, my eyes will too.

“Look inside,” I squeak, ignoring the obvious tension in the room. “The artist painted a marmot! We thought if there was a cute little mascot it’d ease the sting of finishing your coffee.”

There’s been a lot of sting to ease lately. Carefully setting it down, he cups the sides of my face.

“I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. It’s perfect.”

As he kisses my forehead, I rub the side of the mug three times. Lots of threes happening lately, but we need a lot of luck. Maybe somehow it’ll release a genie to grant us three wishes. I’d probably wish that the genie would bottle us up, put us on a shelf, and save this moment forever. How many years would it take for that to feel like a trap too?

“Your turn, Hal,” Dean says, sliding the present into my lap.

“Why are you looking at me?”

“We’ve been over this. Life’s too short to not appreciate beautiful things, like watching the love of your life open their Christmas present.”

“Can you not?” I ask, laughing and tearing it up quickly to get out of the spotlight.

Oh.

My.

“Cream crewneck!”

“I knew it!” Matt gasps from across the room.

“Oh my gosh, it’s pristine. Softer than I ever remembered. How did you fix it?”

“Fix it? Nah, that thing was long gone from the moment we said hello. This is a new one.”

Well, that’s the sweetest thing he’s ever done. I knew I’d picked the right guy to love.

“Dean, I looked for a replacement for months! Searched high and low, scavenging the internet from dead end to dead end! I couldn’t remember what store it came from!”

“What can I say? I’m an excellent detective.”

Oh my gosh, no wonder I could never find it. Holding it up now, I remember—it was always a present from him.

“Did you get this at the same place as last time?”

Subtle, Hal. Very subtle.

Puzzled expressions fly around the room, and Dean’s head tilts like it always does right before he smiles.

“What?” He asks, smiling.

I knew it.

Giggles flow out of me like champagne bubbles. There’s no taking it back once the nervous energy flows. Time for damage control.

“Where did you find this?”

“A magician never reveals their tricks,” he whispers, leaning in and kissing my cheek.

“Psssst, Hallee,” Avery mutters, pointing to Hudson.

“Did you keep a secret, Hudson?”

“He’s been looking for that since the day he walked through our door with your ruined one. He clung to that thing like a lost puppy, it was actually a little embarrassing.”

Dean’s bashful stare confirms it. Shoving aside the wrinkled wrapping paper, I climb to snuggle on his lap.

“Thank you,” I breathe, laying my head on his shoulder.

“You’re welcome.”

While he holds me, we take mental pictures of the family we’ve built. The next holiday is the one I dread the most, and these are the memories that will break my fall when we plummet down with the landslide.