The Mitchells’ Christmas Eve Open House was a tradition in our neighborhood. It started early, and almost every family stopped in before heading to their family dinners and parties. The house was already full of revelers when my mother and I arrived.

After placing the gifts I’d brought beneath the tree, I found Cole pouring drinks at the makeshift bar in the dining room. The moment I saw him, my stomach flipped like a pancake. He was so handsome in his French blue shirt with the sleeves cuffed up, his charcoal gray dress pants, and shiny dress shoes. His scruff was trimmed back, his hair was neatly combed, and he smelled like he had our first night together.

“Hey there,” I said, approaching the bar with a grin. “Don’t tell my boyfriend, but you’re the cutest bartender I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh yeah? Well, you see what’s right above our heads?”

I looked up. “Mistletoe. How convenient.”

“I know. Come here.” He leaned forward over the bar and I did too, our lips meeting in the middle.

“Eww,” said a high-pitched voice. “That’s gross.”

We looked to see Mariah standing to one side of the bar with a few neighborhood friends. “I know, and they do it all the time,” Mariah said, rolling her eyes.

“Beat it,” Cole said, jerking his thumb. “No kids allowed in my bar.”

The kids scampered off, and I turned back to Cole, studying him more closely. “How are you?”

“Good.” He smiled, but I could see the dark circles under his eyes, the pallor beneath his normally golden complexion. “How are you?”

“Good. Want to pour me some wine?”

“Of course. Red or white?”

“Red, please.”

He opened a bottle and poured me a glass, handing it over the bar. “There you go.”

“Thanks.” I took a sip as a few dads from the neighborhood approached the bar, wanting to clap Cole on the back for the rescue earlier in the week and open a bottle of good whiskey one of them had brought.

A discussion ensued about the merits of Irish versus Japanese versus Tennessee whiskey, and I excused myself, saying I was going to offer my help to his mom in the kitchen. He gave me a look that said he was sorry, and I reassured him with a smile.

In the kitchen, I found a harried Mrs. Mitchell trying to keep the trays of appetizers full, make room on the table for dishes neighbors had brought, and keep up with the empty plate and glass collection. When I offered to help, she called me an angel and asked me if I’d stir the meatballs, then dump them into the serving bowl on the counter.

I stayed busy in the kitchen for the next hour, during which Cole brought me a second glass of wine and kissed my cheek before disappearing again. When the second glass was gone, I had to use the bathroom, and since someone was in the one on the first floor, I went upstairs to the second. The door was closed, but I decided to wait rather than go back downstairs.

I couldn’t resist peeking into Cole’s room, pushing the door all the way open and snapping on the light. I hadn’t been in here since the night I’d helped choose his outfit for Griffin’s party over a month ago. It made me smile, thinking how much things had changed.

But one thing hadn’t—the wedding photo was still on his dresser. Unable to help myself, I picked it up and looked closer. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel a punch of jealousy because he’d loved her. I understood she was part of his story the way Mariah was too. And even though I knew he’d always have a place in his heart for her, it didn’t bother me. I knew there was room for me too.

I just wanted to be part of his story—even if I hadn’t been the beginning, I could be the happily ever after.

If he’d let me.

“Cheyenne?”

I turned and discovered Mariah in the doorway. “Oh! Hey, honey. I was just . . .” I set the photo down and decided to change the subject. “Are you having a good time?”

“I was, but my friends had to leave.” She shrugged. “Now I’ll be bored the rest of the night. What are you doing up here?”

“Um, I came up to use the bathroom, but someone was in there.”

“I was. Sorry.” She looked guilty.

“That’s okay.” I smiled at her. “Then I just wandered in here. Your dad is a very neat person, isn’t he?”

“We have to be. Grandma gets mad if we don’t make our beds first thing when we get up.”

“Well, it’s not a bad habit to form.” I turned and looked at Cole’s bed, surprised to see a stuffed animal there. Laughing, I pointed at it. “What is that?”

“Oh, that’s Prewitt.” Giggling, she went over and retrieved it. “He’s a platypus. My dad gave it to me once because I was scared there were monsters under my bed. He first tried to tell me there was no such thing as monsters, but I didn’t believe him, so he got me Prewitt, because monsters are only afraid of one thing, and that’s platypuses.”

I laughed, taking the stuffed animal from her. “Your dad is smart. What’s it doing in here?”

“Oh, I gave it to him for a while because of his bad dreams.”

My heart skipped a few beats. “Bad dreams?”

“Yes. He said there’s a monster in them.”

I nodded slowly. “Oh.”

“He woke me up one night last week because he was yelling so loud, so I offered to let him sleep with Prewitt.” She made a face. “Then he hugged me, but he was all sweaty so it was gross.”

I tried to smile, but I’m not sure I did. “What—what night was that? When he woke you?”

“Hmm, let me think.” She squinted. “It was the night my grandma was gone. The night we watched The Grinch.” Her face lit up. “Hey, I bet that’s why Daddy had a nightmare about a monster!”

I swallowed, but the lump in my throat remained. “You could be right. But we better put Prewitt back so your daddy doesn’t miss him.”

“Okay.” She took the stuffed platypus from my hands and replaced it on Cole’s bed. “Daddy said you’ll share his room at the new house. So maybe he won’t need Prewitt.”

“And is that okay with you? If I share his room?”

“Sure. I can’t wait for you to live with us.” She hesitated, like she wasn’t sure she should say what was on her mind.

“It’s okay,” I said. “You can tell me anything.”

“He says he loves you the right way—the way that will last,” she said in one breathless rush. “I asked him, because I wanted to make sure it wasn’t the wrong kind that wears the costume.”

I smiled, even as the lump in my throat got bigger. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

“You’re welcome.” She looked proud of herself. “Should we go downstairs and open gifts? I have one for you.”

“I have something for you too,” I told her. “Come on, let’s go downstairs. I’ll use the bathroom down there.”

With one last glance at Cole’s bed, I turned off the light and shut the door.

That fucking platypus was making me want to cry.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. I could hardly look Cole in the eye because I was constantly on the verge of tears, but I held myself together. On the inside, though, I was a mess. If Cole was having such bad nightmares, why hadn’t he said anything to me about them? Did he think it was something he needed to hide? That it would make him less attractive? Or was it possible his bad dreams had something to do with our relationship? What about the timing? Was it coincidence he’d just started having them within the last week? That he’d had one the night he’d asked me to move in with him?