Page 31

Chapter twenty-nine

Foxx

Since Finn and I spent the evening babysitting for Daphne, the days have blurred together.

Between the end of semester chaos and exams, Rosie teething, and Finn helping out where he can so Daphne and Hudson can study, we’ve only spent a few stolen late nights and early morning goodbyes together, our time mostly consumed by frantic kisses and toe-curling orgasms that neither of us complain about.

I wonder if he misses it all when he’s alone…

My apartment is quiet except for the scratch of Eugene’s slippers as he shuffles in like this is his place and not mine. He’s carrying a tin of cinnamon rolls under one arm and a cat that looks ready to bite someone under the other.

“You don’t own a proper robe,” he says, judging my festive snowman sweatshirt and sweatpants combo. “I’ve raised you better than that.”

“You didn’t raise me.” I laugh.

“Semantics.” He sets the rolls down, opening the tin between us, passing me a plate he just got from the kitchen. “Merry Christmas, Professor Grinch.”

“Back at you, Scrooge.”

There’s a comfort in our shared loneliness sometimes, and I can’t help but feel like it’s so easy to overlook moments like this with people who mean so much to you. I glance over at him. His white hair’s a mess, he’s got icing on his chin, and he’s halfway through his second roll already.

And maybe that’s the thing about people like him.

They just show up. They knock on your door on a cold holiday morning with bakery tins and remind you that you’re not as alone as you feel.

So I take my time. I eat the best cinnamon roll of my life with my best friend next to me. And I let it matter.

Once we’re finished and plates are discarded on the coffee table, Poppy growls from the couch next to him. “She’s still pissed at me for putting on that Christmas sweater.”

I smile, watching the sequined fabric glint across her back. She looks less like a festive cat and more like a furious ornament. “It’s cruel,” I say, amused. “She looks like a gremlin in sequins.”

“She’s festive,” he counters, though there’s a smirk tugging at his mouth.

The Ella Fitzgerald record plays low in the background, a warm, crackling balm against the cold outside. The scent of cinnamon and coffee lingers in the air. It’s peaceful, familiar, and I’m happy to be here with him.

Eugene shifts in his seat and reaches into the canvas bag he brought with him. He pulls out a small, neatly wrapped rectangle, covered in dark green paper.

He holds it out without looking at me. “Here.”

I blink at it. “I thought we said we’d skip presents this year?”

“It’s Christmas,” he says with a shrug, like that explains everything. “Don’t make a thing out of it.”

I huff out a quiet laugh, already unwrapping. Inside is a black fountain pen that’s simple, elegant, clearly well-made. It’s heavier than I expected. There’s an inscription near the clip in tiny, etched lettering: Do the math.

I don’t trust myself to speak. It’s the thought behind it that’s got me. The way he knows me without ever needing to say it out loud. Gratitude wells up so fast it stings, burning behind my eyes before I can stop it.

Eugene glances over and makes a face. “Don’t get mushy. You grade like a lunatic. That one doesn’t smear.”

I nod, fingers curling around the pen. “Thank you,” I say, quietly clearing my throat. “It’s perfect.”

He shrugs, taking a long sip from his mug.

A smile works its way onto my face. I set the pen down gently and reach for the slim package I tucked behind the coffeepot this morning, passing it over. “Your turn.”

“So you ignored our agreement too, huh?” He eyes it with suspicion, but takes it anyway. “What is it?”

“Open it and find out.”

He unwraps with zero finesse, ripping at the edges and discarding little pieces around his lap like confetti. It’s a hardcover copy of The Secret Garden , old but well-kept, the spine still firm.

Hands resting lightly on the edges of the book, he goes still. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he clears his throat, shuts it carefully, and sets it down beside his coffee.

“I know it was Greta’s favorite book…”

“You sentimental little shit.” He releases a watery laugh, wiping a tear away.

I smile, warmth blooming in my chest. “Merry Christmas, Eugene.”

Lifting his mug in response, he clinks it gently against mine. “You too, Foxx.”

***

Finn

As a surprise, my family rented a cabin near Aurora Valley, Hudson’s hometown, so they can see his family too.

On the drive up, we passed The Den, the bar where Foxx and I first met all those weeks ago, and even though the memory had me smiling to myself, I didn’t say anything.

There was something about keeping that moment as mine alone that made me feel a little giddy and miss him a lot more than I’d ever admit.

Well, admit to anyone else but him , because I texted him to tell him as much. God, I’m a needy fucker.

We’re spending eight days here. So, right up until January first. Mom and Dad said we are all free to leave, but there’s something about all of us being together again that’s nostalgic, so we all agree to stay, with the exception of Hudson and Daphne making time for his family too.

“Now she’s sleeping,” my sister says quietly to not wake Rosie laying on her. “How are your night classes going?”

“Pretty good,” I reply, setting down the book that Foxx lent me by his favorite mystery author. “I’m at a point where I need to figure out what to do with the classes for next semester.”

“Have you been inspired to take more classes?” Daphne asks.

“Just the minimum right now. English composition, physiology and anatomy, and a math class. The English class is usually virtual, so I only go to campus two evenings.”

Daphne nods thoughtfully, running her hands up and down Rosie’s back. “Is that because you think you’ll want to get back to surfing?”

The million-dollar question that I still don’t feel I have the answer to, no matter how many times people ask me. My eyes drop to the floor, but Daphne doesn’t push. “I miss it,” I admit. “But it’s not the same anymore. Even if… I don’t know, Daph. It’s complicated.”

My sister hums her understanding of what I’m not saying. My journey to process everything with Jared hasn’t been easy, and she knows that.

“I’ve thought about physical therapy.”

“I remember you talking about that in high school,” she says. “Before mom and dad let you compete in senior year.”

Hudson interrupts before I can respond. “Oh, I can help if you go that route. My friend Miles recently graduated from CLU, and he works with Oregon Beavers as their assistant physio. I can pass on your number if you want?”

My future speeds up in my mind’s eye, unfolding at a pace I’m not sure I’m ready for just yet. “I, uh, thank you… Maybe hold on to it for now, and then when I’m ready for it, I can let you know.”

Daphne doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her eyes on me.

That knowing frown pulling at her brow. There’s a fear bubbling beneath the surface of my thoughts.

I try not to lean into it, but it creeps in when I think about what comes next sometimes.

I hate that I wonder if I fail at one more thing…

is this just who I am now? But I don’t have to say any of it.

Daphne feels it. I know she does. Like the ache is hers too somehow.

Suddenly, the smoke alarm shrieks from the kitchen, and Daphne and I roll our eyes at each other. Hudson jumps to his feet in a panic. “Shouldn’t we be, like, evacuating or something?”

“Calm down, baby, it’s just Dad burning something in the kitchen. Happens every year,” Daphne says, pulling his arm down to sit again. He nods, but his brow remains creased.

“Mom,” I call out over the noise, secretly thankful for the interruption. “Everything okay?”

She comes out into the lounge, wiping her hands on a tea towel, coughing through a laugh. “Your dad set fire to the roast potatoes again.”

“They’re not on fire,” Dad argues from the kitchen. “Just extra crispy.”

Mom snorts, finally managing to reset the smoke alarm with the jab of a button. She turns to us all sitting in the living room area. “It’s so nice to have my babies together for the holidays. I’m pretty sure I see Daphne more than you, Finn, and she doesn’t live at home.”

“Finn’s been busy, ” my sister says with a pointed look.

“Busy?” Mom asks, not getting the inuendo, and thank god for that.

“She’s talking about the night classes and looking after Rosie.”

“Ah yes, I know you’re all working so hard.”

“Plus, all that extra credit you’ve been working on, Finny,” Hudson says from the floor, and Daphne stifles a laugh.

I widen my eyes, staring at them both, moving my thumb across my neck in a slicing motion to tell them they’re dead.

“Well, I didn’t know about the extra credit, but that sounds great, honey.”

Daphne makes another amused noise, but our mother doesn’t pick up on the not-so-subtleness of my sister and her boyfriend, just keeps her attention on me. “Thanks, Mom.”

“And how’s Rosie’s teething coming along?”

“We have one snaggle tooth so far, but no more. Loads of dribbling though.” Hudson replies, looking up from where he’s making Rosie’s Jumparoo—without instructions, I might add—and he softens. “Look at my girls,” he murmurs grinning to himself. “So damn cute.”

Mom takes in the scene too and smiles like her chest might burst. “I’ll take the quiet, the noise and the burnt potatoes, all of it to have this time with you all.”

I know exactly what she means when her hand finds mine and squeezes. I’m meant to be here, even if that means I’m not the same person I was last Christmas.

There’s so much love in the room, it feels like it might spill over. I didn’t know how much I needed that until now, how much I missed it without even realizing. And Rosie, somehow, has become the center of it all. This little person who doesn’t even know what she’s given us.