Jak asked, eyeing the glasses in Harper’s hands as though she was holding two big goblets of poison that he’d just drunk from.
“Just cream and eggs and well . . .” Harper looked helplessly at Mark who glanced back at her, sheepish.
“I should have realized that this might be a taste you’re not quite used to,” Mark said. Laurie came back into the room and handed Jak a glass of water, which he took, a grateful look on his face before he tipped it, drinking it all in three quick gulps. Jak let out one final shudder as Harper placed the two glasses on the table, looking at the trays of food with new eyes. There was an array of cheeses, but there was also vegetables and crackers and a few nuts and dried berries. She let out a sigh of relief. He had plenty of options there of foods that wouldn’t cause his stomach to protest. Hopefully. She wasn’t a medical professional, but knew his diet was limited and his body would probably react poorly to things it wasn’t used to.
Damn, I should have thought of that sooner, she admonished herself. By the look on Mark’s face, she could tell the same thought was crossing his mind.
“Why don’t we open a few gifts before Laurie’s sister, Pam, and her boys get here,” Mark said, leading them to the tree and, Harper knew, trying to ensure Jak didn’t feel awkward about spitting out the eggnog. He didn’t look awkward exactly—yet—more aggrieved that they’d all tried to poison him on Christmas. But Jak was self-conscious, and as soon as he had a moment to wonder if he’d reacted wrongly, he would. Not that he had done anything inappropriate, considering they should have thought a few things through—but regardless, Jak would wonder and she was glad Mark was moving on quickly to something else.
“Great idea, Mark,” Laurie said, heading toward a grouping of bags under the tree near the back.
Harper grabbed the pile of gifts she’d brought and when she went to hand Jak the gift she’d gotten for him, he was standing at the tree, a look of utter bafflement on his face as he rubbed the “needles” of the fake tree between his fingers. He leaned forward and tentatively sniffed at it.
“It’s not real,” she whispered, leaning toward him.
He glanced at her. “Not real?”
“Right, it’s um, made of . . .” Plastic? Nylon? Harper actually had no idea.
Jak’s brow wrinkled, but then his fingers found one of the twinkle lights and he touched it lightly as though he thought it might burn him. “They’re like tiny stars, cold enough to hold in your hand,” he murmured. He seemed pleased by them and Harper’s lips tipped as she watched him. She gazed at him, studying the look of childlike wonder on his strong, handsome face. I’m in love with him, she thought. It was too quick, too much too soon, too risky in so many ways, too . . . oh, so many “toos,” but it was true and real. I love you, she thought as he gazed at the fake tree, a look of awe and perplexity mingling in his open expression. The strength of the feeling almost brought tears to her eyes.
When did it happen? she wondered, trying to pinpoint the exact moment she had fallen. It should have been . . . momentous, wasn’t that true? But no, she realized dreamily, it hadn’t been one singular stopping of time. It was a beautiful string of moments, each one opening her heart to him little by little. And this was one. Watching Jak under the twinkling lights of his first Christmas tree, it was suddenly clear. Sometimes miracles—like love—arrived gently. Softly. Without fanfare. Without a lightning strike. For true miracles needed no such thing. Their eyes met and her heart sang. I love you, she thought again. And it was as simple and as wondrous as that.
“Here,” she whispered, and his gaze moved downward as she placed a wrapped gift in his hands.
He blinked at her, then considered the package wrapped in bright red shiny paper, tied with a white and red bow, a look of pure delight coming over his face. “Thank you,” he said. “I love it.”
She laughed softly. “There’s something inside.”
“Inside?” He turned it over.
“Have you never received a gift before, Jak? Even when you were a child?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Her heart squeezed—even she, a foster child, had received a few Christmas gifts—but she didn’t