Page 95 of Not Home Alone

“Oh. You’re right. I haven’t.”

“Do you still want to know?”

“Was it just to annoy me?”

“No. Not only that.” He takes both my hands in his. “After the last time I saw you in town, from afar, I realized the parents who owned that house were probably empty nesters by now. So I told my business manager to let the local realtor know to tell him as soon as she knew they were planning to put the house on the market. He told her his client wanted to buy it before it went on the market. That his anonymous client would do a big cash downpayment. I’d been saving up and living below my means for years. Last year I got the call, we set up the revocable trust, and I bought it.”

My head is spinning. My heart seems to already understand what he’s telling me, but my brain hasn’t caught up yet. “But why?”

“Because I didn’t want anyone else to own your favorite house, dummy. Not because I wanted to lord it over you. Because I just… it reminded me of you. And I honestly didn’t know why else. It’s the most irrational purchase I’ve ever made, but I’ve never regretted it.”

“So you remembered what I told you that night.”

“Yes, Tucker. In case it hasn’t been painfully obvious, I have always remembered everything about you and about that night.” He looks down at our clasped hands and says, “And I guess, if I’m being totally honest…”

“Do it. Say it.”

He laughs and looks me in the eyes as he brushes strands of hair out of them and strokes my cheekbone with the back of his fingers. “If I’m being totally honest, on some level, I think I wanted to be able to share that house with you someday.”

“Yes.”

When we get back to the house, we’re both yawning when we say at the same time, “I have a Christmas Eve present for you!”

“Fuck, babe. We’re so fucking cute, it’s disgusting.”

“We’re already my favorite couple,” I declare, “and we’ve only been a real couple for like three minutes!”

He picks up a Christmasy shopping bag he had hid at the back of the tree, and I go to the hall closet, carrying out a beautifully wrapped box. We sit on the sofa to exchange gifts. I remind him to be careful not to rip the paper so I can reuse it. I know he is definitely in love with me because he doesn’t tear the paper to shreds out of spite. I know I’m absolutely in love with him because I don’t give him grief about not wrapping my gift at all.

There’s a good chance we got each other the same things.

I pull out a black, red, and white matching his and hers Christmas pajama set. The men’s has a North Pole sign on the front of the shirt and the women’s shirt says: “Pole Dancer.” I snort-laugh and raise an eyebrow at him.

Grant pulls out the larger black, white, and red fleece shirt from the box. It says “I have everything I need.” The smaller shirt says “Everything.” Which is really sweet. “I hope you don’t feel like an asshole for getting me something so cheesy,” he says.

“I hope you aren’t embarrassed you got me something so pervy,” I reply, leaning in to kiss him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And in case it wasn’t clear, when I told you I wanted to share this house with you someday, I meant that I think you should live here. With me. Now.”

“Yes,” I say. “In case it wasn’t clear, I accept your offer.”

“Good. I hope you aren’t annoying to live with.”

“I hope you aren’t half as terrible as I expect you to be.” I kiss him again. “Ronald should probably go, though,” I say, glancing over at the horrendous reindeer statue.

“Ronald is a non-negotiable,” Grant says. “He stays.”

I know I’m insanely in love with him when I don’t even pretend to argue about it.

THIRTY-FOUR

GRANT

It’s the first Christmas morning I’ve woken up feeling excited about this day since I was nine years old. And it’s no coincidence that this is also the first morning I’ve woken up in a bed with Merrily Tucker. I thought I wanted to spend the holidays alone. But deep down, this is what I really wanted.

I’m wearing the fleece top that says I’ve got everything I need, and she’s wearing the top that says “Pole Dancer.” There are no bottoms. I have more gifts for her under every single Christmas tree in this house and in every ridiculous stocking she’s hung in stupid places. We’re going to watch Home Alone in bed together on my laptop while eating buttered waffles with syrup and drinking hot chocolate with candy canes. Then we’ll go to her dad’s house for lunch. I will wear my tightest jeans as a gift to her step-aunts.

But first…