There he went again, wanting us to have a sexual relationship when I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to maintain a strictly recreational relationship with him. I stared at the tree in all its sparkling glory as confusion reigned inside me. This man had broken my heart years ago and wrecked me in the process. I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to risk he’d do it again.

He set his eggnog and mine on the nearby coffee table. Standing beside me once more, he put his arm around my shoulders. I didn’t pull away though I should’ve. Instead my traitorous body leaned into his warm, solid strength.

“How are the kids doing?”

“They’re struggling without their fa—without Mark.”

“It’s okay. You can call him their father. He’s the only father they’ve known.” I could tell it stung him to say the words, and my ever-present state of guilt reared its ugly head, threatening to ruin the good mood I had going.

“I don’t blame you anymore. We both made mistakes and handled things the best we could considering our age at the time.”

“You don’t?” I glanced up at him. He was smiling down at me.

“I don’t. I have a confession to make, Caro.”

“A confession?” My heart was beating harder than the Little Drummer Boy had on Christmas Eve all those centuries ago.

“I was too young to realize what we had wasn’t easily duplicated with someone else. I thought I’d have it again when I was ready. I had the same college girlfriend for three years, and when we mutually parted ways, I was half as bothered as I was when we broke up. I had several other girlfriends, stayed with them long enough to know they weren’t what I was looking for, and moved on. A couple years ago, I admitted the truth to myself. Not one of them was you, and they could never be you. I didn’t know if my memory was playing tricks on me, and maybe what I recalled wasn’t what was, but I had to find out. I paid for an internet background check and found your address. I drove there and sat outside your home, waiting for you. Pretty soon a guy came out of the house with one of the twins, and you came out with the other.” He paused and waited for me to digest this information.

“You looked for me?”

“I did. This guy had my life, and I had hockey. I thought the tradeoff was fair, but later I wondered.”

“You knew the kids were yours?”

“No, I didn’t make that connection. I assumed you’d have told me if they were.”

“I would’ve if I’d known.” Was I telling the truth? If Mark had still been alive, and we’d done that DNA test, would I have told Easton? I hoped I would’ve.

“No more sorrys. We’re beyond that, Caro. For the next two years, I tried to convince myself hockey was enough, but when I made the Sockeyes, I found myself looking around and asking myself if that was all there was, and then you came back into my life, and I was mad, mad at you for not telling me, mad at myself for cutting ties with you and causing the problem.”