I anchored my hip against my bathroom vanity and willed my hand to steady as I applied onyx liquid liner to my upper eyelid. My third attempt. Seriously though, who had time for this on a daily basis? It was usually around this point in the beautification process that I’d call Jenna and ask for a step-by-step tutorial on how to create a proper “smoky eye” look, preferably one that wouldn’t land me in the center of a sarcastic meme with the hashtags #nailedit and #failed. But seeing as Jenna’s cell coverage was spotty in the mountains—and also how I wasn’t quite ready to divulge my current mental standing with All Things Joshua—our limited communication was probably for the best. All she really needed to know was that I was keeping my promise: I wouldn’t be alone on Christmas. Other details, like how I was meeting Joshua’s family tonight for caroling, cider, and a stroll through the Winter Gardens . . . well, I’d catch her up later on all that.
My phone buzzed with a text from Joshua.
When should I pick you up?
I rubbed my freshly glossed lips together.
I didn’t realize going to the gardens meant getting a chauffeur, too?
It’s too bad my horse-drawn carriage is still in the shop. Hope you’re okay with a Ford Explorer.
Sigh. Guess it will have to do. 😉
Thanks for compromising. Also, my mom wanted me to tell you to dress w-a-r-m. (In case you weren’t aware that it is winter. In Idaho.)
Butterflies pinged off my abdomen wall as I imagined meeting Joshua’s parents for the first time.
Are you POSITIVE it’s okay for me to intrude on your family time tonight? I’m feeling a little weird.
Sorry to break it to you sweetheart, but you ARE weird.
You’re not helping.
Are you asking me to spike your cup of apple cider?
No. 🙄 But seriously, you’re 100% sure?
You’ve exceeded the statute of limitations on that particular question. See you in fifteen minutes.
I set my phone back on the counter and tapped my thumbnail against the porcelain sink basin. This was really happening. I was spending an evening with Joshua and his family. I was actually going to meet George Avery. Tonight.
The next fifteen minutes were spent pulling on an extra pair of socks and trying on three different tunic-length sweaters—none of which would even be seen under the twenty-pound sleeping bag of a jacket I’d be wearing. I unearthed the deeply discounted mid-calf, fur-lined snow boots I’d purchased last spring but never worn. I quickly removed the tags, but unfortunately for me, these babies still needed to be laced. I carried them downstairs, secured a place on the middle of my sofa, and began the tedious task.
Joshua knocked twice, and I hollered over Skye’s frantic barking for him to come inside since my fingers were currently tangled in a set of bootlaces I was ready to burn.
Joshua paused in the entryway to pet Skye’s head. “Hey there, Skye. I brought you something. Look!” He reached into his coat and pulled out a Milk-Bone the size of my forearm. Eyes wide, she stilled immediately. “First you need to sit.” She obeyed with excited panting. “Ah, what a good girl. Here you go.” Gently, she bit the edge of his offering and padded off to her doggie bed in the corner of the living room to feast upon his gift.
“You realize that bone just earned you a million brownie points in doggie currency, right?”
“Too bad, my goal was two million. Guess I’ll have to bring better treats next time.” He made his way over to the sofa, where I fumbled with the ends of my laces, pulling hard as I crisscrossed them under another set of stiff metal pegs. Where was good old Velcro when you needed it?
“Wow,” he said, eyeing my boots. “Those look like . . . a process.”
As if on cue, the laces snapped away from my thumb and forefingers. The once-taut cords went slack, releasing all the ground I’d gained in the last four crisscross passes. I let out an exasperated cry and fell back against the couch cushions like one of Skye’s flimsy rubber toys. “I hope your parents are okay with me showing up in my Cat in the Hat slippers, because that’s about all I have energy to wear at this point.”
He laughed. “Here, let me have a go.”
Before I could stop him, he knelt in front of me and placed my foot between his knees. My next breath stalled out as he pinched each shoelace and started to thread. Through one hole, and out the other, he climbed his way up my calf, weaving with a precision that made me question his true calling in life.
“Were you a cobbler in a past life?”
“No, but I was a Boy Scout.”
“Of course you were.”
He finished crossing the last three X’s on my right boot with enviable ease before tying the laces at the top. “The trick is not to release the tension as you lace.”
“Right.” And what of the tension in my abdomen that was near combustion level?
He double-knotted the bow he’d just tied and took care to tuck the excess string behind the tongue of my boot. My gaze refused to stray from the deftness of his fingers as he worked the same kind of voodoo on my left boot. Women all around the world would pay good money for Joshua Avery to assist them with their shoe-lacing needs. Jealousy licked up my spine at the mere thought of him doing this for any other female under the age of eighty-five.
“See?” He patted the side of my leg before pushing up to full height from his squatted position on the floor and offering me his hand. “You just needed a little help.” I accepted his hand, allowing the warmth to envelop me like a fleece blanket on a snowy evening.
“A little?” My voice sounded surprisingly hoarse. “The only thing I did was put them on my feet.”
“And what a fine job you did at that,” Joshua said, pulling me up to standing position. The rubber toes of our snow boots bumped as the ghost of his hand grazed my waist. Our eyes held for a full three seconds before he cleared his throat and inclined his head toward the front door. “We should probably get going. Do you have everything you need? Coat, gloves, hat, scarf? My mom is the designated Winter Police in our family. She can’t relax if she even thinks about someone shivering. She’s the worst with my nephew.”
“Calvin,” I recalled easily, mentally reciting the facts he’d told me on the phone last night as I reached for my coat on the couch. Emma and Calvin were his niece and nephew. Four years old and eighteen months. Emma was extroverted, sassy, and totally smitten by what she called “the Mary Poppins accent.” Calvin was her opposite. Reserved and reluctant to leave his mama’s shadow. I ignored the pinch in my chest as such an image came to life in my mind.
“Good job remembering his name.” Joshua took the puffy black coat from my hands and held it open for me to slide into easily. I zipped it up and tied the sash at my waist. “Although I’m pretty sure being great with names is a teacher’s gift. My dad has that ability, too. He can still remember the names of kids he taught in his class twenty-five years ago.” At the mention of his highly esteemed father, an echo of insecurity resounded inside my head.
My family wasn’t like the Averys. A fact I knew implicitly, even without having met them yet. The contrast of our vastly different upbringings was as obvious as the star that led the wise men to baby Jesus. The Baileys didn’t have lighthearted inside jokes or sweet nicknames for each other, and the number of family outings we’d planned in public since my middle school years amounted to exactly none. At best, my family tolerated each other. Although recently that practiced tolerance had been stretched to a new breaking point.
As if he could hear the doubts fogging up my brain, Joshua took my hand and pulled me to the front door. “Stop overthinking whatever it is you’re overthinking about tonight. They’re going to love you, Lauren. You’ll see.”
We’d only been at the Winter Gardens for a few minutes, yet I was certain I never wanted to leave, no matter the massive drop in temperature expected later tonight. The light displays along the main cobblestone path were pure magic, embodying the Christmas spirit with twinkling movement and sentimental holiday music piped in by underground speakers.
I spotted Joshua’s father easily. He was lifting his granddaughter to point out an angel hidden on the highest branch of a barren dogwood tree. George was tall like Joshua, his hair more silver than brown, and his midsection a bit more filled out, but their smiles were a carbon copy of each other. How had I not seen the stark resemblance the first time I’d met his youngest son at Brighton?
Joshua was speaking to me as we approached the Avery clan, but I couldn’t focus on anything but my fangirling thoughts. I was about to meet the George Avery. And his wife, Elizabeth, and his older son, Joel, and his daughter-in-law, Rebekah, and his two precious grandbabies, who were currently digging through his popcorn bag with bulky gloved hands. He laughed as a pile of kernels fell to the sidewalk, the sight only adding to the surrealism of the moment. What was the appropriate response for meeting a man who’d shaped and challenged your entire career path . . . and so many other life choices, as well?
“Hey, hey now, you two! You better save some of that popcorn for me!” Joshua hollered seconds before sweeping his well-bundled niece into his arms and spinning her around like he was a carousel ride.
Several pieces of popcorn escaped her clutches mid-flight as she squealed, “Uncle Joshua!”
I giggled at the sight of them, unable to stop the flare of desire that settled in my chest.
He placed her feet back on the ground, but Emma immediately clung to his side, wrapping her arms around his leg and begging for him to do it again, all while speaking in the best pretend English accent I’d ever heard. He set one hand on her puffy hat and held his other one out to me. Nerves churning, I stepped up to his side and stared into the eyes of a family I’d been idolizing for years.
“Everyone, this is my good friend Lauren Bailey. World’s most dedicated first-grade teacher, epic spaghetti-sauce maker, and a talented Christmas-gift supplier.”
“Hello,” I said. “Thanks for letting me join your family tonight.”
“Well, with an introduction like that, we should be the ones thanking you for joining our ragtag crew.” George Avery was talking to me. Actually speaking and walking and holding out his hand to—Oh my gosh! I was shaking his hand.
“Joshua’s told us quite a bit about you. I’d love to pick your brain about a few things for my next book when you come over to the house—I’ll give your ideas full credit, of course.”
I blinked. Maybe twice. Or maybe a hundred times. I couldn’t be sure about my blinking because I wasn’t even sure I was taking in oxygen. “You want to pick my brain?” I shot a questioning glance in Joshua’s direction. What exactly had he been saying about me? “Why? Almost everything I’ve learned is from you—your books and lectures. I owe so much to you. This is . . . it’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
If possible, his smile stretched even farther up his cheeks. He turned to his wife, who had just finished securing a tiny blue mitten onto Calvin’s little hand. “Elizabeth, are you hearing this? I have a fan who’s not even old enough to be an AARP member.”
“Ha, and that’s quite the ego boost at our age.” Elizabeth, a classy, petite woman wearing red cat-eye glasses and a purple parka placed a hand on her husband’s back and extended the other to me. “It’s so nice to meet you, Lauren. We’re happy you can join us for Christmas, too. And I’d love to get your red-sauce recipe. Joshua told me it was better than my mother’s.” She looked admiringly at her son, warmth and pride shimmering in her eyes. “A revered compliment.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s not nearly as good your mother’s, but—”
Joshua cut me off by draping his arm around my shoulders and tucking me in to his side. “Hey, nothing against Me-maw, but you all know I call a spade a spade. And Lauren’s is better. Plain and simple.”
His parents laughed as Joshua rotated us a full hundred and eighty degrees to introduce me to Joel—a slightly trendier, slightly shorter version of Joshua—and then to Rebekah, Joel’s wife. Decked out in matching black Columbia jackets and buffalo-plaid winter hats, they could have graced the cover of a J. Crew catalog—the holiday edition. Especially with that handsome toddler boy strapped to her back. Rebekah had obviously given her children her gorgeous Mediterranean complexion and slender build, while their big eyes and Avery smiles were one hundred percent Joel’s contribution.
A slight tap on my hip diverted my attention to the darling dark-haired girl blinking up at me. “And I’m Emma Elizabeth Avery.”
I curtsied low and replied in kind, using my best Downton Abbey–worthy impression. “It’s lovely to meet you Emma Elizabeth. I’m Lauren Delane Bailey.”
Her eyes twinkled as she gave me a curtsy of her own, causing the entire group to stifle their amusement. “It’s lovely to meet you, too. Do you like peppermint candy canes?”
“I do, indeed,” I said, keeping up the ruse.
Emma twisted toward her mama, and in a sweet all-American accent she asked, “Can I share mine with Lauren, Mom?”
“Of course, honey.”
The little girl beamed as she flitted off to unhook a candy cane from the strap of Calvin’s baby carrier to bring it back to me with a heart-melting grin. The generous gesture clouded my vision as I thanked her for her kindness. Rebekah smiled in a way that suggested she was accustomed to such spontaneous sweetness from her daughter, and I couldn’t help but wonder at the pride she felt over her child. The faint echo of a yearning I hadn’t quite managed to mute taunted me with wants and hopes I wished I could temporarily sever from my heart.
After a casual conversation regarding the dropping temperatures and approaching snowstorm headed our way within the next few days, we migrated up the path as a singular unit. Joshua jogged away momentarily to secure us each a cup of hot apple cider. We remained at the rear of the group, though I could still hear the easy banter of his parents and the oohs and aahs regarding the elegance of the Winter Gardens.
We slowed our pace as a seasoned group of carolers ended a pop version of “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” and transitioned into a hallowed rendition of “O Holy Night” next to a gorgeously elaborate Nativity scene. There had to be ten thousand twinkle lights outlining the stable-like structure, all of them reflecting the truest meaning of Christmas inside, a babe swaddled in muslin and lying in a manger. Emotion thrummed in my throat as the chorus broke into multiple layers of harmony, the high notes pricking my eyes with tears that froze on my lower lashes.
My gaze traveled from the carefully carved infant snuggled on a mound of hay to the statue-still face of his mother, Mary. Her expression, etched in eternal awe, beckoned to me, as if daring me to consider the questions I’d never been brave enough to ponder in years before. But as I held her divine gaze, I wondered at the God who’d destined this young woman for such a high calling. How had her faith been strong enough to handle such a daunting task? How had she been ready for such an unconventional journey to motherhood? For all the heartache and struggle ahead of her?
I fought to break the tangled web of thoughts before they could take me somewhere I couldn’t afford to go. Somewhere too raw and untouchable. Because if my calling was even a shadow of Mary’s, then why hadn’t God offered me the same strength to endure my trial? Where was the faith I’d been promised? The unshakable peace?
How had I gotten it so, so wrong?
I twisted my body away from the holy family just in time to catch Joshua’s father circling his arms around his wife, nuzzling her neck until she gave in to his efforts. She rewarded him with a tender kiss on the mouth. And in that one affectionate act, shared between an adoring husband and wife, the contrast between my childhood and Joshua’s was made perfectly clear. If my parents had ever kissed that way, it hadn’t happened for many, many years. And wasn’t that what a child deserved? Two loving parents who were in love with each other? Had I really been so blinded by my own selfish desires, my own intention to erase the past and start again on my own, that I’d neglected to account for the role of a father? And the role of a devoted husband? Had my yearning to adopt stemmed from my own brokenness or from God’s heart?
Joshua’s voice warmed the wool headband covering my ears and redirected my focus. “I’m glad you decided to come tonight.”
His words stoked an internal fire that had no business burning, especially with the promise of snow in the air. Yet defying the odds proved to be what Joshua did best.
I tipped my chin to face him. “Me too.”
Without another word, he reached for my hand and tucked it inside his own, squeezing it as his full baritone sang out the end of a chorus I would never listen to the same way again.
“O night divine, O night, O night divine.”