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Perfect.

Very calm. Very normal. Very much a woman who has not been hiding in a pantry having feelings about forearms.

I take a breath.

Then I open the door and go find my family.

The thought is out before I can stop them.

My family.

I don’t take them back.

chapter

eleven

Maverick

By the time Shiloh finishes giving me the grand tour of my own house, I’ve identified seventeen new Christmas decorations.

A garland of felt snowflakes across the dining room windows. A ceramic Santa on the powder room sink with a soap dispenser where his belly should be. A plaid ribbon tied around the newel post. A bowl of pinecones on the coffee table dusted with fake snow.

Shiloh narrates every one of them like a museum docent. He holds my hand the entire time, tugging me from room to room, his sticky fingers wrapped around two of mine. He doesn’t let go once.

I don’t ask him to.

He knows where everything is. Which drawer the tape lives in. Which closet Noelle hid the extra lights in. Which stair creaks if you step on the left side. Three weeks ago, he still tiptoed through half these rooms like they belonged to someone else.

Now he walks through them like he owns the place. I’m trying very hard not to let that undo me.

I’m certain there are more decorations.

I’m equally certain Noelle is hiding some of them from me.

She’s been trailing a few steps behind us the whole time, hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweater, wincing a little each time Shiloh flings open a new door.

Then he leads me into my office.

It’s the one room in the house I assumed was safe. Dark walnut paneling. Leather chair. Rolled blueprints in a brass umbrella stand by the window. A whiskey decanter I rarely touch and a desk I’ve spent far too many nights behind. It smells like old paper and furniture polish, the same way it always has.

For one brief, hopeful second, I think it’s been spared.

“And this is Mr. Jingles,” Shiloh says. He points to an elf sitting on the bookshelf in my office.

Wedged between a book on structural engineering and a framed photo of my first completed development. Red felt suit. Pointed hat. Legs crossed at the ankles like he’s settled in for the season. A smile painted on his face that is, in my professional opinion, far too knowing.

He’s very creepy.

And he’s in my office.

I stare at it. The elf stares back. He doesn’t blink. Obviously. That’s somehow worse.

“Nope.”

Behind me, Noelle makes a noise.

I turn.