Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
“It’s got a certain charm,” I admit, turning it over to examine it. Pieces of the string covering the ball have come loose, and it looks bedraggled.
“I made that for my parents in third grade, I think it was,” she explains with a laugh. “I was never the crafty type.”
I place this last ornament front and center on the tree, stepping back beside Corinne to admire our handiwork. “You know, I don’t remember the last time I decorated a Christmas tree.”
Her head whips my way, eyes wide. “Really? You don’t do one?”
I shake my head. “Probably haven’t since moving out of my uncle’s house to go to college. He always had one for us, of course.”
Corinne smiles since she knows my family history. Those few years we’d grown close while I hunted and captured Katz, then as we saw him convicted together, we came to learn a lot about each other. The circumstances that brought us together made us more alike than I ever wanted to be. My parents died in my early teens, and I lived with an uncle until I was eighteen. He died in my sophomore year of college, so I had no family left other than some distant cousins across the country.
“We’re not finished,” Corinne proclaims, scanning the living room until she spies what she wants. It’s a red square box with a cellophane front, through which I can see a silver star.
She opens it, pulls the star out, and hands it over to me. Examining it, I ask, “Not an angel?”
Corinne shakes her head, holding my gaze. “Sort of fell out with religion.”
I’m able to control my facial muscles, so she doesn’t see how surprised I am by her confession. Corinne and her parents belonged to an Episcopal church in Atlanta, which they were extremely active in. The church and its members were a strong component of strength for her after her parents’ deaths. I even went to several Sunday services with her. Even up until the time Katz had been convicted and we parted ways, she’d still been devoted to her faith.
I want to ask why she would give it up, but I don’t have the courage to hear the answer. It could be something as simple as she fell out of practice because of the rigors of medical school, or it could be something deeper.
I’m tall enough that I don’t need a stool, but I do need to go to my toes to reach the top. I turn from Corinne, stretch tall, and put the star on the very top vertical branch. When it tilts, I correct it. Corrine proclaims it to be straight, I step back once again so we can both admire it.
“Ooh, wait,” she exclaims. She moves quickly around the perimeter of the open area, turning off all the lights—kitchen overheads, the lamps in the living room, and the rustic chandelier over the dining table. The only light now is from the fire we’d started before the tree went up and the glow of Christmas lights.
Returning to my side, she exhales happily. “It’s so magical.”
I dare not turn my head to see her, knowing she’d be the magic that might weaken me.
And then… I feel her lightly slide her palm against mine. Her fingers curl to grasp my hand while mine reflexively does the same. I’m stunned when she merely sidles in closer to me to lay her head against my upper arm since she’s not quite tall enough to rest it on my shoulder. “I’m really glad you’re here, Clay.”
The stiffening of my spine that occurred at the first touch of her hand is only momentary. By the time her head touches me, I’m ready to let her melt into me. I realize it’s her leaning on me that I missed so much. She’d told me often enough that I was her rock through everything, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to loving that.
To loving being her hero.
My conscience starts to argue, reminding me I can never be her hero because I had so fundamentally let her down by allowing her parents to be killed, but I immediately stop myself. Not once tonight has she given me a reason to think she feels that way.
On the contrary, I believe her when she says she’s glad I’m here.
Corinne starts humming to the music, and I realize it’s Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas”. It’s the best of all the classics and a perfect fit for this evening.
And before I can stop myself, I turn into Corinne, raising our joined hands and placing my other on her waist. “Let’s dance.”
Her eyes flare wide with surprise, then drift low as her lips curve into a dreamy smile. “I’d love to.”
Sliding my hand from her waist to her lower back, I pull her in closer to me. Close enough that her temple rests against my jaw. We sway together, moving among the empty ornament boxes to the crooning voice of Crosby. It’s turning into the best Christmas I can remember having in a long time.