Instead, I stay where I am. Turn off the light. Try to pretend the sound of her breathing isn’t driving me slowly insane.
Try to pretend I’m not already planning how to change her mind.
Then I strip off the flannel button-down shirt and toss it on the chair before climbing in behind her, while my mind spins with enough thoughts to land me on Santa’s naughty list permanently.
Chapter Thirty
Unwrapped
Clare
The Drake house hums with Christmas chaos—coffee brewing, cinnamon in the air, kids shrieking down the hall. It’s loud and messy and kind of perfect.
I’m curled into the corner of the couch, nursing my second cup of coffee, watching Sophie explain the complex rules of Drake family gift distribution to anyone within earshot. It’s elaborate, involving age hierarchies and some kind of rotation system that makes about as much sense as quantum physics.
Mitch settles beside me, close enough that our thighs touch, and slides a small wrapped box into my hands.
“What’s this?” I ask, because we hadn’t discussed gifts. Because this wasn’t supposed to be real enough for presents.
“Just something small,” he says, but there’s something careful in his voice, like this matters more than he wants to admit.
The box is wrapped in silver paper with a bow that’s clearly Karen’s handiwork—too perfect to be Mitch’s attempt. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, is a delicate gold bracelet with a small sunflower charm.
My breath catches.
“You remembered,” I whisper, thinking of that throwaway comment about my coffee mug, about how he noticed such a small detail about my workspace.
“I pay attention,” he says, echoing his words from the kitchen that first morning.
His fingers are gentle as he fastens the bracelet around my wrist, the metal warm from his touch. It’s perfect—subtle enough for work, personal enough to mean something. The kind of gift that says I see you, I notice what makes you happy, I want to be part of that.
“Thank you,” I manage, and the words feel inadequate for what’s expanding in my chest.
“Thank you for coming home with me.” His voice is quiet, meant just for me despite the chaos around us.
The word hangs between us, loaded with everything we’ve been dancing around.
Around us, the gift exchange continues. Tom gets a new fishing rod that he examines with the intensity of a surgeon. Karen tears into packages with the enthusiasm of a child, exclaiming over everything like it’s exactly what she wanted. Maddie unwrapsmaternity clothes with the resigned gratitude of someone who’s rapidly outgrowing everything she owns.
Through it all, Mitch’s hand finds mine. Not for show—his family isn’t even watching us. Just because he wants to touch me, wants that connection.
I’m not sure how to handle that.
His thumb traces over the bracelet on my wrist, a reminder of the gift, of the thoughtfulness behind it. I’ve never been good at accepting care, at letting people do things for me without calculating what they want in return.
But this doesn’t feel transactional. It feels like... belonging.
“Sophie, that one’s for Clare,” Karen calls, pointing to a wrapped package under the tree.
I blink in surprise. “But I didn’t—”
“Nonsense. You’re family now.”
Family. The word hits me like a physical blow because I want it to be true so badly it actually hurts.
The gift is from Karen—a soft cashmere scarf in deep blue that probably cost more than my monthly grocery budget. It’s beautiful, impractical, the kind of thing someone buys because they genuinely want you to have something nice.
“I can’t accept this,” I start.