“I bet you’re a real good teacher,” he said, drizzling syrup on each of the arms of the snowflake.
She pressed a hand to her chest, where an odd, warm pressure seemed to fill the space around her heart. “Why’s that?”
“Because you make even the littlest things special.”
“I try,” she said, moved far beyond those words. The minute he finished the pancake, she grinned. “Ready for a little surprise?”
He gave her a skeptical look again. “Sure.”
She laughed. “Come on, then. It’s time for presents.” He rose slowly, and she took him by the hand. She grabbed her laptop off the dining room table as they passed it by, and then she led him to the blanket again.
“Emma, I don’t have…” He shook his head, discomfort so plain on his face it made her ache.
She kissed him and stroked her hand from his cheek into his hair. “You already gave me you, silly. Your time, your protection, your company. Without you, I’d be completely alone in this. So you gave me exactly what I needed.”
She thought his eyes couldn’t blaze at her more, and then she handed him his gift.
“What’s this?” he asked, his voice near to a whisper.
She set a new chew toy in front of Chewy, and then she pulled a present in front of herself. “Our presents,” she said, grinning. “Santa left one for each of us.”
“Emma—”
“Trust me, it’s just something little.” She gestured for him to open it.
Finally, he pulled the tissue from the bag, then lifted out its contents—the tin of cookies and six-pack of bottled orange soda.
“I wanted you to have something to open,” she said. “And I thought that you could take a little taste of me home with you.”
His brow furrowed as he stared at the things on the floor in front of him. He swallowed thickly, and finally nodded. “Thank you,” he said, finally lifting his gaze. Were his eyes glassy?
The possibility that she was really seeing what she thought she was made her heart hurt. Because none of the reasons that she could imagine for why such a hastily thrown-together present would affect him so much were good. “Okay, my turn,” she said, pulling her wrapped package to her. “When my grandmother died, I started two new traditions. This one’s kinda silly, but it gives me something to look forward to.”
“Tell me,” he said.
She smoothed her hands over the colorful paper. “Early in the year, I find something I really want, something that’s kind of a splurge. And then I save money from each paycheck until I can afford it. Then I wrap it up and give it to myself for Christmas.”
He looked at her like she was maybe a little crazy. “What did you get?”
Grinning, she pressed the metallic green bow to the side of her hair and then tore open the paper, shreds going everywhere, until finally her new baby was revealed before her. “A new MacBook. Fifteen-inch screen. With all the bells and whistles. My current laptop is more than three years old and freezes up all the time.” She hugged the box awkwardly to her chest. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long.” She laughed. But at twenty-five hundred dollars, it was a big deal to have finally gotten this for herself. “I know, I’m a huge dork.”
Just watching her, Caine shook his head.
“I have one more present to give. Want to help me?” she asked, setting up her old laptop atop the box for her new one.
“How could I help?”
Her fingers moved over the keyboard as she pulled up the three websites. “I put away part of every paycheck throughout the year so that I can make a Christmas Day donation to a local charity. I usually try to pick something that has to do with kids, but it’s so hard to choose. What do you think?”
She clicked through the three sites, and Caine leaned in to view them with her. One foundation worked to help children of working-class families that made too much for government assistance but too little to fully provide for their kids. Emma saw this with many of her children at school, kids whose families didn’t have enough money for school supplies or new backpacks or even new shoes to fit growing feet. The second organization was a center and shelter dedicated to helping LGBTQ homeless youths, who were disproportionately likely to face homelessness and, once they ended up on the street, experienced greater levels of violence than other youths. And the third organization was the county’s CASA program, which assigned court-appointed special advocates for abused and neglected children who otherwise might be lost in the over-burdened child welfare system. Emma had worked with a few volunteers from this program over the years, and knew they did good work.
“I have a little over three thousand dollars saved,” she said, turning to him. “What do you—”