24. Grateful

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I've been home for a couple of days and haven't slept in my bed once. And this morning, I woke up surrounded by Tara's smell and hair that tickled my nose.

She stole the blanket and managed to push me to the edge of the bed, and since half of my ass is already out, getting up isn't hard at all. What's hard is convincing myself I need to.

I close the bedroom door and head to my room. After brushing my teeth and showering, I dash down the stairs to see if Mom needs help with breakfast.

She's sitting at the kitchen table with a plate full of pancakes in front of her, admiring her painted nails.

"My hands never looked this good," she says, glancing my way. "Tara did some magic. Where's she, by the way?"

"Still sleeping." I grab a mug to pour myself some coffee. "I'll drink this but will have breakfast with her. The nails look great."

"So, you slept in Tara's room."

With my back against the counter, I nod, taking a sip from the mug. "Yeah. We talked until late. It made sense to stay."

"And you slept."

"I did. You don't mind that she's here, do you?"

Mom rises from the chair and pads to me. I don't move an inch, but she hugs my waist and leans her head against my bicep. "She's good for you. And she's a good girl. Why would I mind? Oh, and I noticed she didn't mention her parents. Do they not get along?"

I make sure the doorway's empty and refocus on Mom's curious eyes. "I'm not sure. I just knew she would spend the break alone, and I didn't want her to. We hadn't really talked until this year."

That doesn't mean I don't remember seeing Tara for the first time. She walked into the lecture hall, and all the guys in the room stared. It bugged me even though I knew why they did — she looked perfect. Impossible not to notice. Hard not to want her to notice you.

But I didn't. I was scared she would because, for a moment, our eyes met, and she seemed to read me better than Elena or my friends. 

That's why I made it my mission not to show her what she wanted to see, right until this year.

"Well, I won't bring them up." Mom pats my arm, jolting me out of my memories. "Basti."

I know this tone. I know what she'll tell me, and my body stiffens even before Mom opens her mouth.

"Maybe it's time to—"

"Good morning."

Tara steps over the threshold and backtracks when her gaze rests on my face. "Sorry. You were talking. I didn't want to—"

"Nonsense. Basti was waiting for you to have breakfast," Mom says, pushing herself off the counter. "Sit, help yourselves, and give Tara some coffee, Sebastian."

As soon as she's gone, Tara saunters over to me and giggles, poking me in the ribs. "Yes, give me some coffee, Sebasti."

I tap my finger on the tip of her nose. "To thank you for making me freeze at night?"

"You're a big boy. You can bring your own blanket."

"Sharing is caring, Tara. Sit."

I pour her the drink and add some cream. We load our plates with pancakes and have breakfast in the sun-soaked kitchen. On days like this, Ashwick seems less dull. Or maybe it's the company.

"I'm going to help your mom cook Christmas dinner," Tara says. "Cara, my housekeeper, texted me a few recipes."

I take our mugs and plates to the sink and open the faucet. "Thank you for spending time with Mom. It means a lot."

"It's not a favor. I like her."

Angling my face away so Tara wouldn't see my smile, I pass a soapy sponge over a plate. "She likes you too."

***

During Christmas dinner, Tara chats with my parents as if she's known them her whole life. Dad compliments her cooking, and Mom gushes about her makeup Tara did. For the first time since she lost her job, Mom looks happy.

"You know what?" she says before it's time to eat desserts. "I need a new picture. I look great, and the photo on my resume is horrendous. No wonder nobody wants to hire me."

Tara pushes her chair back and stands. "Let's take some, although I'm sure the one you have is great."

"You're too kind." Mom takes Tara's hand and leads her out of the room. "The light is better in the kitchen."

Tara says something about a clear background, but they're too far for me to make out the rest of her words.

"Your mom's smitten," Dad says, bringing the wine glass to his lips. He takes a sip and looks at me over the rim, narrowing his eyes to slits.

I groan. "If you have anything to say, say it."

Dad chuckles. "A defensive reaction usually means the suspect is guilty. Nothing, Sebastian. I said nothing."

"Ray, you have to see this," Mom's voice carries through the room. She rushes to Dad’s side and shows him his phone. "This is your wife."

"My wife is beautiful," Dad says. "I want this picture."

"I hope someone will want me now, too," Mom says, sighing. "Thank you, Tara."

Tara sits by my side, and I smile at the sight of her cheeks that look almost as red as her dress. A modest, innocent dress, while my thoughts are neither of those things.

"You're welcome." Tara turns to Mom. "I hope you're lucky with the job hunting."

"Unfortunately, luck has nothing to do with it." Dad picks up a napkin and folds it, frowning. "Nora used to work in a group home, and they closed it. Not enough funding, and even less interest in making sure kids who have nobody are protected, growing in a healthy environment and getting qualified help."

"I'd accept almost anything at this point," Mom says. "Very few homes are hiring, and I've been looking for way too long. Look."

Mom walks to the mantel and picks a framed picture. "My kids some years ago." She shows Tara the photograph. "Some are doing great now, but others…"

Dad gives her a look full of pity. "Well, let's not think about it now. Cake, anyone?"

"And gifts," Mom says.

***

Somehow, Tara managed to find perfect gifts for my parents - cosmetics for Mom and a book for Dad. 

Instead of opening our presents for each other, we leave them under the tree and play chess instead. Tara promised to kick my ass, and much to my shame and my father's amusement, that's what she's been doing for the last hour.

Even when I took advantage of her distraction and made her lose her queen, she managed to corner me with a freaking bishop and a rook.

"See, Sebastian? Tara Van Doren never gives up."

Mom's laughter tinkles in the air, and warmth engulfs my cheeks. I'm not a sore loser; what makes me embarrassed is how badly I underestimated Tara's intelligence. 

I tell myself it doesn't matter now, but maybe it does. Maybe Tara still doesn't trust me. Perhaps she still thinks I'm a judgmental asshole. 

Looking at her is hard, and I avert my eyes to my dad, who's been leafing through the book Tara gave him.

Except now, he's absent-mindedly staring ahead of him, rubbing his chin, the open book still in his lap.

Mom leans in and whispers something in his ear, and he smiles at her, but then, the intense stare is back.

This time, it's directed at Tara, who's busy picking up the chess pieces scattered over the couch.

***

When my parents go to bed, Tara and I climb the roof of my house. I carry the mugs with hot cocoa and a blanket, and she has our gifts.

I spread the blanket on the shingles and hold Tara's hand as she sits next to me.

She wraps her hands around the mug and throws her head back. 

"You didn't tell me we could see stars from here."

"Why else would we risk breaking our necks?"

Tara beams. "True. It was a very nice Christmas Eve."

"You might change your mind once you open your gift. I apologize in advance."

"So do I." She winks.

Of course. I forgot who I was dealing with. 

Excitement drips from Tara's gaze as I hand her the pink box. She shakes it close to her ear and frowns. "I guess I'll have to open it."

"Please do. In my defense, I picked it when I didn't know you so well."

Tara smirks. "Maybe you still don't, Basti."

"Sebastian."

"Basti."

"Open the box."

Tara unwraps it and freezes. A massive grin spreads across her face as she pulls the swan out and twirls it in her hands. 

"It's a pen holder," I say. "And it has glitter."

Her shoulders shake with laughter, and I lean back on my elbows. "You hate it."

"Hate it? I love it. It's so over-the-top; it's already my favorite thing."

"I aim to please," I say. "Now, if you don't mind, I'll open mine."

"I wasn't as creative," Tara says. "In my defense, I also picked it when I didn't know you."

The box is flat. I rap my knuckles on it, and the dull sound tells me something hard is under the black and golden gift wrap. 

I tear it open, revealing a set of calligraphy pens.

"Your handwriting is beautiful," she says. "You can start practicing your doctor's signature now."

Moving closer to Tara, I leave the gift on the blanket and sling an arm around her shoulders. "Thank you."

She must think I'm grateful for the present.

But it's way more than that.

Well, the plot thickens. Sebastian seems to have realized he cares, which is good. Let's see if he and Tara are on the same page.























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