CHAPTER EIGHT
Wynn wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders and sipped from her mug of hot chocolate. While the warmth of the drink was comforting, the powdery texture remained on her tongue after each sip, leaving behind an unsatisfying aftertaste. Her sister, Tammie, sat across from her, braiding her daughter, Clara’s, hair before bedtime so it would be “crinkly” for the annual Christmas day photo with the family. The subtle scent of strawberry shampoo permeated the air.
In a graceful Waltz, Wynn’s mother danced into the room, crossing in front of a heavily decorated tree and the fireplace adorned in lighted garland, old fashioned stockings, and family photos. I’ll Be Home for Christmas, her mother’s favorite carol, played in the background. “Well, Wynn, I don’t know what we owe your early arrival to, but I sure am happy you’re here already,” she said, setting a tray of Wynn’s cookies and nut roll on the coffee table.
Wynn glanced up at her mother and tried her best to give her a genuine smile. “The weather was getting pretty bad, and I wanted to make sure I got here in time. Plus, there was no way I was spending the night at Uncle Leroy’s. When I got there, it was still early, yet I think everyone was on their fifth round of cocktails and his homemade eggnog. And, Aunt Minnie cornered me.”
Her mother groaned and gave her a knowing look. “Is her diverticulitis acting up again?”
Wynn nodded. “Yep.”
Immune to the topic of conversation and impervious to her sullen mood, Clara scurried over to Wynn and begged for a bedtime story. Neat, thick braids hung from both sides of her head.
“How about as soon as I finish my cocoa. If that’s okay with your mom that is…” Wynn glanced at her sister for approval.
Tammie pointed a finger of warning at Clara. “You can stay up until Wynn’s finished, and then after your story, that’s it—bed time. Your brother will have a fit in the morning if he discovers you got to stay up over an hour longer than him.”
“Maybe I’ll see Santa Claus!” Clara’s voice was filled with glee. Her eyes sparkled at the prospects of every child’s dream.
In her footed, red and white pajamas, Clara danced skipped the room, celebrating her victory. Wynn winked at her as her step-father came into the room, placing his finger over his mouth, signaling them to keep quiet. He stepped lightly, tiptoeing behind her mother, until he reached her, wrapped one arm around her waist and held the other high above their heads. A clump of mistletoe dangled from his fingers. Her mother giggled, planting a solid kiss on his lips.
A myriad of reactions to the display of affection trickled through the room. Tammie rolled her eyes and her husband Pete groaned as he walked past them with a handful of Wynn’s cookies. Chuckling, Clara leapt onto her mother’s lap. Wynn, on the other hand, glanced away. Despite being happy for her mother at finding Jack (seven years following her father’s death) a discontentment in her own life gnawed at her. When was it going to be her turn? Her time to find the one?
The chatter ceased at a knock on the door.
“I’ll get it,” her mother sang. She swayed and moved to the music, proceeding out towards the hall and into the foyer. The red wine sloshed in her glass, punctuating her cheerful dance. Chatter filled the hallway, but Wynn ignored it, not in the mood to care about what the commotion was all about. Less than a minute later, her mother yelled. “Wynn. Someone’s here for you.”
Puzzled, Wynn glanced towards the hallway, realizing for the first time that everyone had left the room. She got up and walked to the hall, where she found her entire family and all the friends in attendance, lining the walls. Smiles painted their faces, and their eyes glimmered, as if they were a part of the Christmas decorations or some cheesy, live family portrait. Wynn wiped her clammy palms on her thighs. Why was everyone staring at her?
Wynn stepped to the door, eyeing the group, waiting for some sign of what was going on, until Gemma stepped into the open doorframe. Moisture pooled in Wynn’s eyes. How had she known? She needed Gemma tonight. She needed her sarcasm, her flippant attitude. She needed her friend.
With outstretched arms, Wynn moved forward, ready to embrace Gemma. But something caught her eye in front of the door. She hesitated. A man’s shoe peeked out from beside the doorframe. Wynn focused on the shoe, preparing herself to look around the corner and see who it was, when she glanced back up and saw Zane standing there. Her breath caught in her throat.
“I brought you a little early Christmas present.” Warmth emanated from Gemma’s voice. She squeezed Wynn’s arm as she brushed by her, leaving Wynn and Zane face-to-face.
Wynn spoke past the lump in her throat. “What are you doing here?”
Zane stepped forward so he was just inside the foyer and only a foot away from her. Cheeks flushed and nose red from the cold, his eyes glowed. Everything about him resonated warmth. “Wynn,” he whispered. His breath came out in puffs of steam as the cool air whipped inside the house and around them. “I have something to tell you,” his gaze moved over hers as if trying to read the emotion in her eyes.
A burning in her chest made it hard for her to breathe, but Wynn swallowed, took a deep breath, and dowsed the flames. “What?”
He smiled and reached out, grasping a lock of her hair and running his fingers down it. “I absolutely hate pumpkin pie.”
Everyone around her chuckled.
He grabbed her hands, his skin cold in sharp contrast to the warmth of hers. Regardless, her skin burned from his touch, making it hard to think. “You what?”
“I hate pumpkin pie. The only reason I’ve been eating it for the past five years is because I didn’t have the heart to tell you otherwise. And because I wanted to please you. Wynn…,” his voice lowered, nearly a whisper, “I think I’ve been in love with you for the past five years. It just took me this long to get the courage to tell you.”
The gasps, the intake of breath behind her were nearly palpable, but Wynn only heard one thing—Zane’s words mingled with the beating of her own heart. She let the meaning of them soak in. Then slowly, as if she was afraid he might disappear, she moved her hand up to his face and placed it over his cheek. The feel of his skin, rough from a day’s worth of stubble, was a welcome sensation. She smiled as she rolled the relevance of what he said, along with the fact that he went to such lengths to find her, around in her head—in her heart.
She leaned forward, standing on her toes, as she threw her other arm around his neck, and kissed him. His lips were soft and his breath sweet, more perfect than she had ever imagined.
All the years she had agonized over not being good enough faded away like a forgotten memory. All her wishing and pining for Zane, heightened to a crescendo by the applause of her family members around her, turned their kiss into the perfect moment.
Their lips parted and Wynn leaned back so she could see his face. “Next time you have something to tell me, don’t take so long.”
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