A Hamilton Family Christmas - Donna Kauffman Page 0,108

“When you talk about what you do now, a look comes into your eyes. That’s your soul, all aglow. But you know that.”

She nodded, but looked surprised at his description. “You’re very—”

“Observant,” he finished for her, feeling somewhat exposed. She brought out things in him even he didn’t know resided there. “It goes with my line of work.”

“Thoughtful, was the word I was going to use. You put a lot of thought into what you do, what you say.”

He had a laugh at that. “Most of the time, I’d say aye to that. But around you? Let’s just say I haven’t found it to be the case. Apparently I’ll blurt out just about anything.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He grinned. “If you say so. What is it about baking that soothes the savage tax attorney?”

“I’m not certain,” she said, and that smile came across her face again. It truly did light her up from the inside. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I still haven’t any idea. Except you used the right word: soothe. It’s exactly that. I don’t know that I needed soothing. I needed something I cared about more than taxes, maybe. But it wasn’t like my life was horrible. Just not fulfilling. I only started baking to help Bernie. But it seemed to . . . I don’t know, settle my mind, center me. Working with my hands, understanding the basic chemistry of cooking, and then applying imagination to that . . .” She shook her head, but the dreamy look was there again, and when she turned that smile on him, it was incandescent. “You’d think a tax lawyer wouldn’t have a creative side.” Her smile widened. “But, apparently, I do. And it has been an endlessly satisfying and gratifying experience, giving myself a chance to explore it.”

It was at that precise moment, the very look on her face, in her eyes, made an ache bloom inside his chest. For the first time in his adult life he let himself want something other than business success. He let himself want the one thing he’d very, very carefully made sure he’d never allowed himself to consider. He understood that the whole world did not operate the way his family had. Even in his own family, despite the passionate squabbling, he’d seen a lot of loving relationships. He just hadn’t been part of one personally.

What he knew about love had a lot more to do with ducking punches and being constantly belittled for looking different, being different. He’d ducked, he’d hidden, he’d done whatever he could to avoid the kind of “love” his father had for him. His own grandmother had tried to protect him, but his father was her only child, and she doted on the drunken bastard. She’d done what she could for Griffin as her son’s only son, scuttling him into her kitchen at the restaurant as often as she could, shielding him as best she could. But at the end of the night, she sent him home to sleep under the same roof as his father. There were only so many ways to disappear in a twobedroom flat.

When Griffin had gotten older, he’d fought back. Against his father, against his cousins, against his schoolmates. Against everyone who belittled or made fun of him. Everyone except Grandmama. She’d at least tried to help him. She loved him, in her own way. It was as close to an honest love as he knew. But she also loved the violent bastard who had been his father. She hadn’t wanted to involve anyone in what she viewed as a private family matter. She loved Griffin, but she hadn’t made the torment stop. When he was finally old enough to make it on his own, at age sixteen, he’d left. He’d decided then perhaps love was an emotion best avoided altogether. At least where he was concerned.

He didn’t doubt its existence. He’d even entered into relationships, seeking companionship, if not much more. But he hadn’t truly made himself available in any of them. He understood the self-fulfilling prophecy there. He hadn’t been motivated or willing to reach beyond his past, beyond his choices, and change the pattern. He knew he was afraid of trying ... and failing. He didn’t want to know that about himself. So Thomas Griffin Gallagher had focused on the things he knew he could do.

The ache tightened further inside his chest as he watched Melody begin to work on her cake. His thoughts