I snuggle into the huge body that’s currently serving as my pillow, and pull the blanket closer to my neck. We never did make it upstairs to my bedroom, but instead fell asleep on the couch after several long hours of rediscovery. Van groans and wraps his arms tighter around me. “What time is it?”
“I’m not sure. I’m guessing it’s Christmas Eve, though.”
“Mmm,” he murmurs. “I think Christmas came early last night.”
I chuckle and burrow into his chest. “Several times. Happy Christmas Eve, Van.”
“Merry Christmas, baby.” He sighs contentedly. “Naw, shit. I didn’t get you a present.”
“Yes, you did.” I kiss his chest. “It showed up on my doorstep around nine p.m. last night.”
For a minute we’re quiet, as he strokes my back with gentle fingertips. Van turns his head and stares at the twinkle lights on my Christmas tree. “Oh baby, that’s a sad tree.”
“My tree is not sad.”
He laughs, and it resonates all around his chest. “Look at it—it’s miserable. It’s white, for god’s sake.”
“What’s wrong with a white tree? It should remind you of home.”
“Okay, for a start, no self-respecting Canadian would have this tree in their house.”
God, I love how he says that word. House. Gah! It’s like an ovary explosion. I swear I could hear him talk all night. I could just lie here and listen to his beautiful Canadian weirdness.
“Okay, come on. Get up.”
“What?” No. No, no, no. I don’t wanna get up. I want to stay right here forever. “Why?”
“Because we’re getting you a damn tree.”
“I have a tree,” I say, and pull the blankets up again, snuggling farther into his warmth.
“You have a sparkly bit of plastic. That is not a tree.”
“And where exactly do you think you’re going to get a tree on Christmas Eve?”
“Oh, I’ll find a damn tree, even if I have to chop it down myself.”
I lift my head and smile wistfully at him. “I’ve never had a real tree.”
“What?”
“We never had the money for one, not until I signed a record deal, and even then, we lived in hotels and on tour buses and there just wasn’t room for a tree. After my momma died it’s only ever been Lana and I on Christmas.”
“You don’t have any other relatives?”
“Oh sure, I have four half-brothers and sisters from a deadbeat dad whom I’ve never met, but no, I’m it.” It’s not like this is something new for me, but tears spring up in my eyes, and I blink rapidly and rest my head on his chest so he won’t see. This time of year has always been difficult for me. I love the music, the lights, giving presents, and seeing all of Nashville lit up with Christmas cheer, but I still never can shake the loneliness.
Van’s fingers stop moving against my back and he whispers, “Country?”
I don’t want to answer because he’ll know that I’m crying. And it’s ridiculous, really. This is the first year I’m not alone. I should be cartwheeling around the room right now.
“Baby, look at me.”
“I don’t want to.” My voice is a choked, terrible thing, and I’m two seconds away from losing it. He tucks his finger beneath my chin and gently tilts my head up to look at him.
“You got me now. And Emmett, and my crazy mother. I know you’re used to being alone, but you don’t have to be anymore.” He smiles and brushes the tears from my cheeks. “Now come on. We don’t have to get rid of your sad little tree, but we’re buying another to keep it company.”
Four hours later I’m admiring my new tree, alongside my “sad little one” while Van pops some corn on my stove. He had to have the biggest one on the lot, and he haggled the man down only to tip him two hundred dollars anyway. He then drove us to Walmart where he proceeded to just throw everything that was left in the decoration aisles in the buggy. It took us an hour to decorate the damn thing, and it wasn’t even covered halfway. He lifted me up to place the star on the top, and didn’t bother setting me down on my feet, but pushed me up against the wall, tore off my clothes, and buried himself inside me.
“Hey, popcorn’s ready,” Van says, carrying a bowl filled to the brim with fluffy white goodness.
“Great.”
“What are you doing?”
I grin. “Lookin’ at my new tree.”
“Oh yeah? You like it?”
“I love it. I love you.” The smile slips from my face, and I chew my bottom lip. I can’t believe I just said that. I wait for him to freak out, but he just laughs and sets the popcorn down on the table.
“I know.”
I blink several times. “What do you mean, you know?”
“Stella, baby, I know.” He wraps his arms around me from behind and squeezes me tightly. “Everyone but you knew.”
“They did?”
“Of course,” he adds with a smirk. “It’d be impossible not to fall in love with me.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m betting I could fall out of love just as easily if you kept saying shit like that.”
He picks me up, and I shriek as he deposits us on the fluffy couch. I sink into his warmth, and Van pulls the bowl of popcorn closer and rests it in my lap. He turns on the TV and a Country Christmas special that I filmed right after the CMAs is on. I never watch these specials back unless Lana forces me to, but when my face flashes up on my huge flat-screen, Van squeezes me tightly.
“There’s my girl.”
I lie back against his big body and sing along to the TV version of Stella Hart singing “I’ll be Home for Christmas,” and decide I finally got something right. I am home for Christmas. I’m right where I need to be, in Van Ross’s arms.