liquid. “How about school? Did you guys rehearse that play?”
“Forget about me,” she said, smiling slyly. “How was your audition?”
Ugh. “I, uh…” He wiped his hands clean. “I didn’t actually make it,” he murmured in a quiet tone.
“Why?”
“Traffic jam.” Easier to blame that than his own fear. And it was kind of true—he was really late because of that woman, and there was a possibility he wouldn’t have made it in time anyway. Keep rationalizing your cowardice, Max, his conscience chided. “Sorry, kiddo,” he said when he saw her look of disappointment. He hated letting her down, but he just wasn’t ready. “Next Christmas, okay?” By then, he’d for sure have his A game back. He hoped.
“But that’s 372 days away,” she said, eyeing him. She could see right through him.
“It’ll go fast.” He scooped a serving spoon into the pot and brought it to her, laden with golden broth. “I’m working on our famous Yuletide Stew,” he said as she sipped.
She thought for a moment. “Needs more turmeric.”
He frowned. “Turmeric, eh?” He downed the rest of the spoonful to confirm her thoughts, then dug through the spices to find it. The girl was right, as usual.
Lauren gave a small sigh. “Remember when you and Mom used to sing at the holidays and write those funny songs?” The longing in her voice made his chest ache as he had a flash of memory of him and his sister. Sitting around the Christmas tree, him with his ever-present guitar, both of them laughing at their ridiculous lines and getting their whole family in on it.
They’d had such a good time. His sister had been not only his singing partner, but his best friend.
He shook the spice into the stew and said in a low voice, “I remember.”
“Why can’t you just start again?”
If only things were that simple. Lauren wouldn’t understand, though. “It isn’t that easy, kiddo.”
He glanced over from the pot to see her looking down at the floor, her face unreadable. “’Cause you have me,” she said in a hushed tone.
“Of course not,” he said, turning his full attention to her. “I love having you.” He hoped she could hear the truth in his words as he stirred the stew. “I was just never any good without your mom.” Since she’d died, everything had changed. He’d lost his mojo. His talent. His inner fire.
“But you are good,” she protested.
Max saw the meat on the cooking surface was ready to turn. He grabbed the spatula and went to it, flipping it over. “Remember when you told me you were stuck on those lines in your school play?” he asked her.
She nodded.
“I’m stuck, too.” The admission was hard to say, but he wanted her to know why he just… couldn’t. He put the spatula down and scooped another spoonful of stew for her to sample. “Come on. Turmeric, or not turmeric? That is the question.”
She took a sip and gave him a knowing look. “You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you?”
“How did you guess?” he said smoothly at her smile. So much like his sister—her mom—the kid was too smart for her own good.
“Uncle Max?” Lauren asked as Max tucked her into bed later that evening. “I know you’re not a morning person, but is it okay if we get up early and go sledding?”
He tucked a teddy bear beside her. “Who says I’m not a morning person?”
“You said musicians were night owls.” She said it in a tone far too mature for her age.
Hah. The child remembered everything he ever told her. He shifted on the bed beside her. “Well, that was before you moved in.” He gave a heavy, fake sigh. “Now I never sleep at all.”
They grinned at each other, and she snuggled the bear against her chest.
“When Grandma and Grandpa leave, are you going to teach me to play guitar?” she asked innocently.
His heart thrummed against his ribcage. He wasn’t ready for the conversation he knew they needed to have. Not yet. “Let’s talk about it after New Year’s,” he said with a forced smile. “Okay?” He patted her leg. “Good night, sweetie. Sweet dreams.” He shut off her light, closed the door, and walked into the living room. Eyeing the guitars lined up against the corner, he rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled softly.
On the mantel was a picture of him and his sister, her smile piercing, eyes sparkling, him with his guitar beside her. He picked up the photo and looked at the image, the familiar pain of missing her rushing into him. Since her death two years ago, he felt like he’d aged a hundred years. His whole life had changed. He settled down into his chair and got caught up in memories of a time when life was easier and music was in his soul.
Now, his soul was silent, and he felt empty inside. Like a big piece of him was gone. And he suspected he’d never get it back.
The next afternoon, Carter, a Santa hat tilted on his head, came by Eve’s office and handed her a mug full of eggnog. Outside her door, she could hear people chatting and festive music playing. The Christmas party had started, and everyone was having a fantastic time from the sounds of it. Good for them. Part of her wished they were a bit quieter so she could focus, but she knew the parties came with the territory. Oh well.
“Thank you,” she said to Carter with a chuckle as she took the offering. “Is this poisoned?” she teased. She knew he wouldn’t do something like that, that the competition between them was healthy and fair, but it was fun to harass him.
Instead of laughing, his face turned serious. “A little piece of advice from someone who’s been doing this longer.” He paused and she eyed him. “I know how badly you want this partnership. And you’re probably going to get it. But some really good stuff is passing you by.”
She stared at him for a moment, unsure what to make of the frank remark. Wait a minute. She knew what this was, what he was doing. “Are you trying to psych me out?” she asked with a smirk.
Carter smiled then and rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Oh, don’t give up that easily!” she protested.
She could see flashes of emotion pass in his eyes, something that looked suspiciously close to pity. For her. It made her a little uncomfortable. “I’m going home to Christmas carol with my family.”
“Okay,” she replied quietly. “Have fun.”
“You’re welcome to join us,” he offered.
Right. Because she was so the singing type. “Thank you. But while you’re out caroling, I’m going to be here, signing new clients.” He already was aware of this, of course, but she felt she needed to reiterate. This was why he’d admitted that she’d be getting the partnership. They both knew it. Because her work ethic was
