Miracle Under the Mistletoe

Her selfish want to have a few hours to herself, to relax from all of the shopping, wrapping, baking and decorating had resulted in the loss of everything that meant anything.

So no, she couldn’t be with Grady. It was too hard. He brought too many memories, too many emotions, to the surface for her to find any type of peace.

Forty-five minutes later, Grady strode through the cemetery, not stopping until he reached his son’s gravestone. Nearly three years since he’d heard Cody’s laugh, since he’d seen the boy’s brown eyes light up in humor, since his arms had held his child to his chest in a hug. How was that possible? The pain ignited inside as if the loss had occurred yesterday.

Usually, Grady could set the hollow ache aside and move forward, do whatever needed to be done, and portray a man who lived and breathed and loved. It was only during these moments—when he came to visit Cody’s resting place—that he gave up the charade. There was no reason to pretend here. Not when it was just them.

He shivered, partly from the memories and partly from the dusting of snow that had fallen earlier all throughout the city. It seemed every recent winter brought more snow than the residents of Portland, Oregon, were accustomed to, but this was the earliest snowfall that Grady could recall. Silly and sentimental, maybe, but it was almost as if Cody were reaching out to him. His son had loved everything about winter.

Bending at the knees, Grady brushed the light layer of snow covering the etched letters that spelled out his son’s name. Losing Cody wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair, either. But hell, what in life was fair? Things happened. Some of the things were good, some of them were bad, and some of them were so bad that you didn’t think you’d ever recover. Grady almost hadn’t. But you played the hand you were dealt. You found a way to get through, to get a grip, and you carried on.

Not that carrying on without his son had been an easy task. Far from it. Never had he experienced such a profound loss, and he prayed to whatever God existed that he would never face anything so excruciating again.

“Hey, kiddo. I’ve been thinking a lot about you today. Every day, really. You’re never far from my thoughts.” Grady’s throat seemed to shrink as he spoke, but he continued to talk, knowing from past experience that as hard as these visits were, they also helped him feel close to Cody. “I saw your mom tonight. You should’ve seen her, son. She looked beautiful.”

Olivia had worn her dark brown hair loose and long, framing her face, showing off her gorgeous wide-set blue eyes. The second he saw her, he was lost all over again. God, what a fool he was. When Olivia had asked him to dinner, he’d been sure that tonight would be the night he’d been waiting for: the night they’d finally begin to clear the air and move toward reconciliation.

“I don’t want to give up on her,” Grady murmured into the cold night air. “I promise I’ll keep trying, Cody. Though, I’ll have to give her a few days to calm down. I upset her tonight, son. I didn’t mean to.”

When Olivia had left Grady alone at the restaurant, it was all he could do not to jump up and follow. He hated not knowing if she was okay. He hated knowing that there were some things he couldn’t shield her from. But he forced himself to stay put. He’d dealt her a low blow by bringing Cody into the conversation. He probably shouldn’t have, but he yearned to talk to Olivia about Cody, to revel in the life of their son together. But the facts were plain. She wasn’t ready. After tonight, he wondered if she ever would be.

He’d believed that given enough distance—since that seemed to be what Olivia needed—they’d find their way together again. So he’d held his tongue, waited for her to come to him, to say all the words she never had, and hoped that once that happened, they might have a chance at repairing their marriage. But now she’d asked for a divorce. Something that she’d hinted at often enough but had never before said straight-out.

“I wish…” Grady swallowed the rest of his statement away. He’d like to turn back time, just as Olivia had said, and return to that snowy, blustery day nearly three years earlier. With Christmas only two days away, five-year-old Cody had wanted to visit Santa before the big day. To be honest, Grady hadn’t been in the mood for a trip to the mall. Dealing with mobs of people didn’t sound nearly as much fun as playing in the snow with his son.

But Cody had looked at him with those big, brown eyes and pleaded in the way that only a five-year-old can. So off they went on a father-and-son outing. Grady would never, for as long as he lived, forget the look of pure joy on Cody’s face when he sat on Santa’s knee. That smile made the crowded mall, the long lines and the grumpy shoppers worthwhile.

The snow was falling fast and furious when they left, and Grady had a minute—one freaking minute—where he considered hanging out in the food court to give the storm a little more time to work its way through. But he’d worried that it would get worse with night approaching, so he made the decision to get them home. Where it was safe. Where Olivia waited.

So yes, he’d give anything and everything to revisit that day and spend the hours building snowmen with his son instead of going to the mall. Or left an hour earlier—later—hell, fifteen minutes in either direction might have made the world of a difference, might have put his car somewhere other than in the path of a driver who’d consumed far too many drinks.

“Stop. It’s done. Nothing to do about that now.” True, that. But knowing something couldn’t be changed didn’t stop a man from wishing it could. He brushed his fingers over his son’s name again, recalling the joy their lives had been together. They were, in nearly all ways, the perfect family. Or, at least, the way a family should be.

Yep, he’d had it all. The American dream. And now… “Your mom blames me, Cody. She swears that she doesn’t, but I know she does. If she’d just scream at me and quit trying to shield both of us from her feelings, we might stand a chance.”

Grady even understood why Olivia felt the way she did. He’d likely have had the same demons to fight if their roles were reversed, if Olivia had been at the wheel that day. He understood her blame completely. Hell, he’d yet to stop blaming himself.

Olivia stood motionless, her eyes glued to the scene in front of her. She wasn’t close enough to hear Grady’s words, but the sight of him kneeling at their son’s gravesite softened everything inside. They hadn’t been here together since that horrible, exhausting day they buried their son.

She swallowed, trying to ease the pressure in her chest, trying to find a way to feel normal. Even if only for a second. A choked-sounding sob escaped. She barely remembered what normal was. The tenor of Grady’s voice whisked along the November wind, wrapping around her, bringing a strange sort of anonymous comfort.

How odd that being with him brought her pain, but this—just listening to his voice—eased the panicky, twisty feeling that had existed within her for so long. The safety of distance, perhaps. Or the simple fact that he didn’t know she lurked nearby. Or maybe because she’d finally, after all of this time, made a decision about their marriage.

None of that mattered at the moment, because all she wanted was to feel normal again. So she didn’t think. She didn’t give herself a second to consider the ramifications, to wonder if she should or if she shouldn’t. She just stepped forward, her eyes resting on the one man—the only man—she’d ever loved. Her shoes crunched in the snow, the sound echoing in the silent night like tiny bursts of fireworks, but Grady didn’t turn his head.

She kept moving forward, expecting him to hear her, expecting him to stop talking and face her, at any minute. He didn’t. She stopped a few feet from where he knelt, close enough to make out his words, close enough to recognize the husky, emotional quality in her husband’s voice.

“It’s almost Christmas again, son. Soon, people will be putting up their Christmas trees, decorating their houses with lights. Kids will visit Santa.” Grady’s tone deepened. “I try not to be envious. I try not to think about what we would be doing if you were still with us. But it’s hard.”

Oh, God. No. She didn’t want to hear this. No, no, no. She took one silent step backward, and then another. But Grady kept talking, each syllable slicing into her like a blade.

“I saw this train set the other day, and I immediately thought how much you would love it. I had the box in my hands before I remembered…before I realized—”

She blinked and one tear, and then another, fell. How often had the same thing happened to her? Too often. “Stop,” she whispered. “Please stop.”

Grady rose to his feet lightning-fast. His arms crushed around her and his mouth pressed against the top of her head. “I didn’t know you were here. I’m sorry, Olly. I’m so sorry you heard…?.”

She burrowed her head into his chest, knowing she should pull away but unable to find the strength to do so. His arms felt so good around her. She closed her eyes and breathed in his familiar scent, allowing herself a few minutes of comfort.

He tightened his hold and kissed her hair softly. Gently. She sighed and nestled in deeper, wanting more, wanting everything she’d lost, wanting to be—even if only for one more night—normal. Again, the thought that she should pull back—leave and go home—processed, but her body refused to listen. So she hung on, curled her fingers into the back of Grady’s coat and tugged him closer.

The twisting sensation in her stomach gave way to warmth. Tendrils of heat teased through her muscles, winding through her body like a vine. Grady’s hands pressed against her back, offering her comfort, reminding her of everything they’d once been, of the passion they’d once shared, of the life they’d once had. It was a lot. It was too much to take in, too much to handle with her raw emotions, so she forced her arms to drop and her legs to retreat.

“I’m sorry I interrupted you,” she mumbled. “I should leave.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” He held out a hand. “Come here, Olly. Let me hold you.”

Her logical brain insisted she needed to hightail it out of there, but her body moved forward. She placed her hand in his, and he pulled her toward him. She looked up into Grady’s eyes, and before she knew what was happening, his lips were on hers.

And everything else disappeared.

Chapter Two

Olivia rolled over in bed and stretched. She reached blindly for Jasper, but instead of the soft, warm fur of her cat, her palm slapped against an empty pillow. Normally, the oversize Siamese perched himself next to her head, anxiously waiting for her to wake up. The second she’d open her eyes, the hungry meows would begin.

Weird. She couldn’t remember one morning in the last—

Oh, no! She hadn’t. Had she? Her skin warmed when the prior night’s events invaded her memory. Oh, yes. God help her, yes she had. Grady had kissed her. She’d kissed him back, and then followed him here, to his apartment. More kissing ensued. There were a few glasses of wine in there somewhere, along with the food Grady had brought home from the restaurant, and then more kissing. Her fingers touched her lips. A lot of kissing. A lot of touching.

Oh, hell. A lot of everything.

Fire had roared through her blood, she’d wanted him so badly. Still wanted him, if her body’s current reaction was anything to go by.

And how stupid was that? Panic threaded in when she peeked through half-opened eyes, expecting to find Grady watching her. When she didn’t see her husband anywhere, she opened her eyes fully and sat up, pulling the blankets around her, taking stock.

The room was simple and basic, containing only a bed, a dresser, one nightstand and a lamp. Other than a few pictures of Cody and one of her, the room was bare of any decorative embellishments. She remembered that the rest of the apartment was the same: functional, but without any of the extras that created a home. Not so much a bachelor pad as a place to get by, one day at a time, until something better came along.

And knowing her husband the way she did, that meant waiting for her. Waiting for the day that he could move back into their home to take up where they’d left off.

Olivia brought her knees tight to her chest and wrapped her arms around them in an effort to find her balance. This was bad. Monumentally bad, even. She heard movement from beyond the bedroom, along with a cacophony of banging and clanking. Grady was in the kitchen, probably making her breakfast. Her husband’s humming hit her ears next. Humming!

She groaned. Now what? She’d finally found the strength to ask for a divorce, and then she’d followed up with a roll in the hay? What kind of a woman did that—and enjoyed it, no less? Okay, huge understatement. She’d more than enjoyed it. She’d basked in their lovemaking. Images of him touching her, of her touching him, rushed in. Red-hot heat licked into her limbs. Last night wasn’t Grady’s fault. She’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her. Physically, anyway. And for what? To feel normal?

The humming in the next room changed to whistling. She tried to relax, but her muscles bunched into tighter knots. Her eyes drifted to a photo of Cody and another round of panic hit her squarely in her chest. What had she been thinking? Stupid question. She hadn’t thought. No, what she had done was react—to Grady’s voice, his touches…his kisses.

“Calm down,” Olivia murmured. “Think this through.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she allowed herself a moment to relive their lovemaking. Warmth and tenderness exploded inside as the memories wove through her. Dear God, she’d missed him. Last night was like coming home. “This is good,” she whispered. “Keep going.”

She envisioned walking into the kitchen and laying a kiss on her husband, on the image of his arms circling her and holding her tight, of her telling him that she wanted to move forward. Or, at least, try to move forward. A slow buzz trickled over her, further easing the weight on her shoulders. Maybe last night hadn’t been a mistake, but rather, a twist of fate to stop her from divorcing Grady. Was that possible?

Maybe. If she were to believe in signs, then this—having sex with her husband the night she’d asked for a divorce—was a huge one. Opening her eyes, she breathed in deeply and let the idea simmer. The panicky feeling was still there, but for maybe the first time in years, a tiny speck of hope existed. Why? What had changed? Maybe…maybe she’d needed nothing more than to take a step toward Grady, instead of pushing him away?

Her gaze found Cody’s picture again. Her beautiful boy’s face, forever captured in a photograph, made her heart flutter in a saccharine-sweet reminder. His mischievous smile and the light in his eyes turned the flutter into a stabbing sensation. Cody was still gone. A fresh wave of agony pulled a sob from her throat. How could she feel happy, even for a minute, without him? She couldn’t. So, no. Nothing had changed.

The walls closed in and suffocating pressure enveloped her. Last night, no matter how wondrous, was a mistake. Now she had to explain that to Grady. But first, she had to get out of his bed and put some clothes on. Sitting here naked while he cooked her breakfast wasn’t the way to fix anything.

That thought galvanized her into action. She scrambled off the bed and grabbed her clothes. Bra…check. Panties…check. She slipped her dress on over her head. The whistling from the next room grew louder…closer.

Crap! Where were her shoes? She scanned the floor and then dropped to her knees and peered under the bed. No shoes. Think, Olivia! Where did you leave them?

The door opened while she still had half of her body stuck under the bed. She jumped and hit her head on the bed frame. A curse that would redden a sailor’s cheeks flew from her lips.

“Checking for monsters?” Grady’s warm tenor was filled with forced humor. “Or just seeing what I store under my bed?”

“Neither.” She rubbed the back of her head while pulling herself upright. “I…um…was trying to find my shoes.”

“In the living room.” He gave her a quick once-over. “Are you okay?”

Olivia nodded, struck speechless by the sight of her husband. He stood by the door in navy flannel pajama bottoms and a black T-shirt that fit him like a second skin. She had a moment’s relief that he even wore a shirt, but that didn’t dispel the need swirling inside.

The tray in his hands held plates with bacon and eggs, along with a couple of mugs filled with coffee. “You…didn’t have to make me breakfast,” she said.

“I wanted to,” he said simply. “I figured you’d be ravenous after—”

“Right. Well…um…thank you, but I’m actually not h-hungry.” Her stomach growled, belying her words. Damn him for knowing her so well, anyway. “I’m not that hungry,” she corrected. “And I should probably be getting home. For Jasper.”

“Jasper will be fine for a little longer.” Grady nodded toward the tray. “I had this grand idea of breakfast in bed, but now that you’re up, we might as well eat in the kitchen.” Before leaving the room, he tossed her one of his sexy-as-sin grins. “Come on. Before everything gets cold.”

She eyed the door he stepped through and considered her options. She wanted—needed—to leave and go home where she felt safe. Where she could be alone and think about everything that had gone on here, and then—after she felt whatever she was going to feel—she could tuck it all away and work on forgetting. As if none of it had ever happened.

Yes. That was the plan she wanted to proceed with. But jeez, he’d made her breakfast! How in the world was she supposed to ignore that? She tried to imagine strolling out of the bedroom, finding her shoes, telling Grady, “Thanks, but no thanks,” while he sat at his kitchen table with food he’d prepared for her.

A sigh slipped out. She couldn’t do that. He deserved so much more than that. Okay, then, they’d eat. She could give him that much. But somehow, before she left this apartment, she’d have to dig deep and find the strength to tell him that last night hadn’t altered her decision.

“Olly? You okay in there?” Grady called out. “Should I bring the tray back in?”

“No! I’m coming.” As bad as this was, eating in the bedroom would be ten times worse. Straightening her spine, she plastered a smile on and exited the room. Her stomach growled again when she sat down at his minuscule kitchen table, a reminder that Grady knew her far better than she knew herself. And for whatever reason, that annoyed her.

“Hi,” she said. “I…I was looking for a hairbrush.”

“Hi, yourself. The brush is in the bathroom, but you don’t need it. I like the mussed morning-after look on you.” He gave her a closer look. “Actually, you’re a little pale. How hard did you hit your head?”

“I’m okay. A bit of a headache, maybe.” Just that fast, her annoyance fled. It wasn’t his fault that he knew her so well, and his concern touched her. It also made her feel like a heel. He was still watching her, so she said, “And I think I’m hungrier than I realized.”

“Dig in. I’m going to grab you something for that headache.” He reached over and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “We’ll have you feeling better in no time.”

She nodded and tried to focus on her meal. Even though he’d cooked everything just as she liked it—the bacon was crisp without falling apart, the coffee was strong and hot and the scrambled eggs had the exact right amount of cheddar cheese melted on top—it all tasted flat. She might as well have been eating cardboard.

Grady returned and handed her a couple of capsules. “Ibuprofen. You don’t have a lump, do you?”

She swallowed the pills with a gulp of coffee. “Lump?”

“On your head. From hitting it?” He took the chair across from her. “Do you need some ice?”

“Oh!” She reached up and felt the back of her head. “Nope. No lump.”

An odd expression darted over his face, but he nodded. “Good.”

The next several minutes were filled with silence as they ate. She managed to clear about a third of her plate before giving up the pretense. With a sigh, she pushed her plate back and picked up her coffee. “Thanks again. This was really good.”

He eyed her doubtfully. “You’re welcome. You didn’t eat that much, and I think that’s the third time you’ve thanked me this morning. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m feeling much better.” Liar! her mind screamed. “But Grady, I need to tell you…I mean to say…” Setting her cup down, she twisted her fingers together. “We should probably talk—”

He gave her a long, searching look. “I know you’re uncomfortable about last night, but there isn’t any reason to put it under a magnifying glass.” He pushed a lock of black hair off of his forehead. “We don’t have to talk about last night, Olly. I’m just glad you’re here.”

“We don’t?” Her mind zeroed in to the first part of his statement and a good amount of tension evaporated. Oh, thank God for small favors. Maybe last night had been nothing more than goodbye sex. A last hurrah of sorts. She could live with that—couldn’t she? “Well, good. I—I guess I should get home to Jasper.”

She started to push back from the table, knowing she should say more, knowing she should clarify that his statement meant what she thought it meant, but not sure how to get it out without sounding like an idiot, when Grady said, “Don’t leave. Please? I want to spend the day with you.” His husky tone poured into her like a salve. God, she loved his voice. “I was thinking we could get an early start on Christmas shopping. Maybe even—”

“It isn’t even Thanksgiving yet. I haven’t thought about buying gifts.” And she certainly hadn’t considered shopping with Grady. The last time they’d gone Christmas shopping together was forever ago. Before… Well, just before. “I don’t know. It probably isn’t a good idea.”

“Well,” he said slowly, his gaze level with hers. “I…I have an idea. Something I would like to share with you, but I’m not sure how you’ll respond.”

Warning signals bleeped in her brain. “Respond to what?”

“I thought we could shop for Cody…for presents that are appropriate for eight-year-old boys. We could think about him, what he’d be like at this age, what he might like, and then we could give anything we buy to Toys for Tots in his name.”

She stared at him without speaking. This was a nightmare. She was dreaming or something, because she couldn’t see Grady being so cruel as to suggest this. “Wh-what?”

“Don’t get upset. Just hear me out.” He wrapped his hand around his coffee mug and squeezed so hard that his knuckles turned white. “I miss him so much. We—” His voice caught. He coughed to clear his throat and then swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “We never talk about him. I miss talking about him with you. We were his parents and we never talk about our son. It’s killing me, Olivia.”

“And you think shopping for Christmas presents will help?” Everything inside went cold. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. “Why would we do that? How can that help anything? Why would you ask me to do that?”

“To remember our son, Olivia. To do something together with him in mind. To feel close to him around Christmas.” Grady let go of the mug and grasped her hand. “He loved Christmas, sweetheart. Do you remember?”

“All kids love Christmas,” she fired back. “And of course I remember.”

“I want to share this with you. Will you trust me enough to give this a chance? One hour,” Grady pleaded. “Give it one hour, and if it’s too much, we’ll stop.”

Emotions clogged her throat, tightened her chest. She shook her head blindly, barely able to see beyond the tears filling her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “No way.”

“Just listen,” he begged. “I’ve done this for the past two years. I’m not going to lie…it was tough the year after we lost him. It will be tough for you. But sweetheart, I found that doing this gives me a lot of joy. I want you to feel that joy.”

“Lost him? We didn’t lose him, Grady. Our son died! He’s not hiding somewhere waiting for us to find him.” Her anger shot out before she could edit her words. “He’s gone and no amount of thinking about him or shopping with him in mind will change that fact.”