Before turning out all the lights, I thought about Griffin’s first Christmas tree. The thought of his childhood without them still haunted me. It made such an impression that I had never forgotten. I had known almost from the beginning that it would be the tree that captured his attention. It was beautiful. Listening is the most rudimentary form of love. It’s true in business, but it’s at its truest and best when applied to the human heart.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

I heard a knock at my door. “Bae, get up. Henry just called.” God it was early. “C’mon, rise and shine. I made coffee.”

“Holy shit. We never did this when we were children.” But I got out of bed, threw on some clothes, and splashed water on my face before going to see Christmas through a child’s eyes.

“Can I come down now? Did Santa Claus come?” Hank poked his head through the banister. He was almost four, and he looked like an Edgeworth, but his olive coloring was that of his mother.

I tried to adopt the carefree feeling of the holiday. Being carefree was about as difficult for me as wearing a dress that required a slip. “I’m not sure, Hank. Have you been a good little boy?”

He looked at me with the most somber brown eyes. My eyes. “Yes ma’am,” he said. My heart did somersaults and grew just like the Grinch’s. He came downstairs and threw himself into Griffin’s arms. Then Hank gave me a big hug. Clearly, there was a great affinity between the men and the new boy in their life.

Henry had done a wonderful job selecting Santa gifts. But what a four-year-old chooses to care about is anyone’s guess.

After Hank had successfully waged his assault on what Santa had left for him, we turned to opening grown-up gifts. I knew Hank would not like the gift I gave him. But in time, I hoped he would appreciate that I had found a rare set of nesting dolls made to look like chefs in various colors and nationalities. I found them when I was out one day with Penny. While Hank liked the way they neatly sat inside one another, both Henry and Griffin were mesmerized. If I had given them to either man, I would’ve hit a home run.

I gave Henry a pair of mother-of-pearl cufflinks that I found at an estate sale. They had a wonderful patina to them, and their uniqueness had come with a price. Henry had started wearing French-cuff shirts soon after he opened NOIR. He felt the upscale atmosphere demanded more formal attire.

“Wow, Bailey, I don’t have anything like these.” He got up and hugged me and kissed me on the cheek.

Only Griffin and I remained. I insisted on going last.