Page 42 of This Broken Heart

“Now you’re speaking my language.”

I’ve never really helped with Christmas decorations. Ana had her own way of doing things.

Even when I was a kid, I preferred being outside with dad. Calving always struck me as infinitely more interesting than ornaments and tinsel.

But watching Erin conjure decorations out of thin air is an impressive sight. I shouldn’t be so surprised. She studied childhood development in college, has worked in childcare for years.

But the woman literally turned applesauce and cinnamon into gingerbread shaped ornaments.

The day passes easily in a lazy swirl of garland and spice.

When the kids start getting a little snarly she switches on the TV, putting The Grinch on. Making sure both kids have popcorn and their water bottles, she carries a huge bowl of popcorn over to the couch where I’m sitting.

I scoop out a big handful and she lightly slaps the back of my hand. “That’s for the tree.”

“The tree isn’t hungry.”

She chuckles quietly, threading a needle before handing it to me.

“I have literally no idea what you expect me to do with this.”

“Patience, my friend.” She makes me pinch the needle between finger and thumb, stringing a piece of popcorn along its length. Her shoulder leans into mine, arm brushing along my lap as she sweeps the kernel down the string.

She plucks another piece of popcorn from the bowl. “Now you.”

I bend down, snagging the piece from her fingertips with my teeth. My teeth gently graze her thumb, and she squeaks. She scowls at me, but her cheeks are flushing a pretty shade of pink.

27.

Erin

Josh eats more popcorn than he threads, but bit by bit, his garland grows.

With each inch, he seems to relax, one foot tucked up under his thigh. And the more he eases back onto the couch, the more he’s pressing up against me.

I should probably move. My thoughts are like a dog chasing its tail when it comes to Josh. Until I know what I want, I’d be smart to stay away from him.

But I don’t want to be smart, I want to be happy.

And Christmas is turning out to be harder than I bargained for. I miss my dad and Josh’s presence is the only thing that eases the ache in my heart.

So even though I should slip into the kitchen, get some distance, I lean into him instead. Having made a five-foot string of popcorn, Josh retires from elf duty, throwing an arm over my shoulder. He pretends he’s not sneaking popcorn by the handful and I pretend to be annoyed, but the truth is, I like the weight of his arm on my shoulders. I like the way he smells mixed up with the scent of a fresh cut cedar tree and popcorn.

Touching him like this, absorbing his warmth, makes me feel almost giddy. When his fingertips start threading through my hair, coiling and uncoiling a curl around his finger, I tumble right past giddy and straight into buzzed.

If it weren’t for the kids, I might be inclined to climb right onto his lap and see if he kisses as good as I remember.

Trace has fallen asleep with one hand curled in his popcorn bowl. Little Maven is curled up like a puppy, kicking and squirming in her sleep.

She coughs and settles down.

But then, there’s another cough.

And another.

Josh is grower more tense by the minute. When the cough turns particularly barky, he’s on his feet, scooping her up. He turns to me with a hardened expression. “She’s burning up.”

“Let’s see.” I stand and he brings her to me. I put the back of my hand on her forehead, then rest my cheek against hers. Bending closer to him, I can almost hear his heart racing. “She’s warm. I’ll go get the thermometer.”