Georgia looked at Chris and found him staring, not at his brothers, but her. She didn’t hide her tears or wipe them off her cheeks. Nicholas deserved them. He sounded like a hero. One who believed in Christmas miracles as much as she used to.
Chris was the first to look away, placing a keychain that obviously belonged to an old mustang onto the lowest branch of the tree. He hesitated, closing his eyes for a moment before downing his shot as well.
She set down her wine glass and stood, hardly aware of what she was doing. She reached up, under her curls and unclasped the necklace she hadn’t taken off in over ten years. The heart-shaped locket that held an image of her and Grandpa Bale on her fifth birthday.
Maybe she should have asked them if it was okay, if it would be too intrusive, but none of them stopped her. The three men watched her place her locket on their tree. A silver locket that glittered like tinsel in the fire’s light.
It looked right there, somehow.
A large, warm hand took hers and placed the fourth shot glass in it, wrapping her fingers around it gently. She looked down at the tequila and thought about the man who had written that letter. The man who had the power, in death, to bring a family that had been broken back together again in his name. At least for Christmas.
To Nicholas.
She drank.
The tequila burned down her throat and she gasped, feeling the heat in her limbs almost instantly. She coughed and placed a hand on her chest. So that’s how straight tequila tasted. She was more of a frozen margarita girl. Still, it was powerful stuff.
She looked up to find Jimmy and Flynn grinning at her reaction. Jimmy lifted the bottle. “Nick was a lightweight too. But he said the second shot always went down easier.”
Was that a dare? Georgia lifted her chin, embracing the lighter mood he offered. She lifted the tiny glass. “I hope he was right.”
A few hours later, Georgia decided he had been. The second went down easier. The third was a breeze. Before she could have a fourth she remembered she’d brought a bottle of peppermint schnapps for Connie’s famous eggnog in her bag. Unfortunately, she told Flynn about it, so he decided to mix her up one of his special cocktails.
While he and Jimmy were in the kitchen arguing over ingredients, she walked around the living room. She knew she was weaving more than walking, but it felt nice. She wasn’t drunk. She was very, very tipsy, but she wasn’t drunk. She never drank to excess. In fact, one of her ex-boyfriends had broken up with her because he said she, “didn’t know how to party”. Lord, she knew how to pick ‘em.
Now, of course she’d found the perfect man. Only he was broken up into three, very large delectable pieces. She felt for them, for the pain and loss that she’d recognized in them. And she envied them because they had each other. Though that obviously wasn’t always the case.
She traced her finger along the bookshelf, silently reading off the titles in her head. Medical textbooks, science fiction and cooking recipes lined the top shelf. She was just checking out the second row when someone touched her shoulder.
“Thank you, Georgia.”
Chris. She turned and smiled. “For what?”
He grimaced. “For helping us trim the tree. For being kind. For distracting Flynn. This time of year is usually hardest on him.”
“What a fibber you are.” She covered her mouth at his shocked expression. “Oops. I’m sorry. Did I say that out loud?”
His eyebrow lifted. “Are you upset that you called me a liar or that you used a word like fibber?”
“I am a writer, I can use any word I want. I can also make up new ones. Like fibasity. Which I have decided means the audacity of fibbing.” Georgia giggled through her fingers. “I probably shouldn’t have whatever they’re making in the kitchen.”
“Probably not,” he agreed, moving closer. “And I probably shouldn’t still want to kiss you, not after seeing you with James.”
Her voice rose up a surprised octave. “But you do?”
He nodded grimly. “I do. Why did you call me a liar?”
What had they been talking about? Georgia searched her memory until a light bulb weakly flared. “The time of year…it’s hardest on you. A healer faced with something he couldn’t fix. The caretaker who always has to be strong. Stand apart. Be the oldest.” He flinched and she raised her hand to his face, loving the way his beard felt against her fingers. “And in case you were wondering, I probably shouldn’t still want to kiss you after kissing Jimmy.”
Jimmy’s voice startled them both. “But she does.”
Chris turned around, keeping Georgia behind him. “James, I know what this looks like—”
“Me too,” Jimmy quirked his lips. “It looks like our traditionally morbid tree trimming party has taken a turn for the interesting. Flynn, get in here. You’re missing all the fun.”
Georgia frowned at him. “Why aren’t you upset? Was I such a bad kisser?” Oh heaven, had she just said that? She needed to never drink again. Ever.
Flynn arrived in time to watch Jimmy walk over to the couch and sit back lazily, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. But Georgia could see the intensity in his eyes. “On the contrary. Chris, I can tell you from experience, she is the best damn kisser this side of the hemisphere. Once you taste her, you can’t think of anything else. You won’t want to stop.”