Everything I Give: A Holiday Romance Read online

  Copyright 2020 by A.K. Evans

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributer, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Cover Artist

  cover artwork © Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

  Editing & Proofreading

  Ellie McLove, My Brother’s Editor

  Formatting

  Stacey Blake at Champagne Book Design

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Preview of Obsessed

  Acknowledgments

  Connect with A.K. Evans

  Other Books by A.K. Evans

  About A.K. Evans

  “I’m ready to start now.”

  I looked over at my eager child from where I was standing at the kitchen counter making dinner and smiled. Nearly a week ago, Taj marked another birthday. Seven years ago, I’d celebrated Thanksgiving as a very pregnant woman with the love of my life, Wes Blackman. Two days later, our son made his way into the world.

  And now he was seven.

  Seven.

  It hardly seemed possible that so much time had passed. The years were flying by, and there was little I could do to stop everything from changing so quickly. The only thing that helped save this for me was the knowledge that I’d been so very fortunate. Life had made it possible for me to not miss much in my son’s life.

  It was now Friday, just over a week after Thanksgiving. We’d thrown a birthday party for Taj on Sunday. It was, as things often were in our group of friends and family, filled with lots of fun and laughter.

  Initially, I’d been concerned that he was going to regret asking for a party at home. Taj loved going out and experiencing new things, like laser tag, rock climbing, and indoor trampoline parks.

  And snowboarding.

  He was, if nothing else, his father’s son.

  Taj Blackman was everything my dear husband could have ever dreamed for in a son. Where I relished in his compassionate and determined spirit, Wes couldn’t have been more excited at Taj’s affinity for snowboarding.

  It’s not that Wes didn’t appreciate everything else that made his son who he was. It was simply the fact that Taj wanted to know anything and everything about his father’s business that made my husband emotional.

  When Wes started Blackman Boards all those years ago, I don’t think the thought that he’d one day have children to take over the business when he was ready to retire ever really crossed his mind. Now, there was a very strong likelihood that Wes would have someone following in his footsteps.

  This was precisely the reason why I had been so caught off guard when Taj asked to have a birthday party at home this year. But when I sat down and talked with him about it, he insisted it was what he wanted. Ultimately, I realized he’d reached that stage where presents were important to him. And the idea that he’d have to go out to have a party elsewhere and he’d have to wait until we returned home in the evening to open said gifts was just not appealing.

  Taj wanted to be with his family and friends, celebrating his birthday, while being able to enjoy the gifts with the people he loved most. Especially when he’d have to go to school the very next day.

  So, I considered myself lucky and gave him what he wanted.

  And now he was further proving his love for gifts by pressing me to start tonight’s activity. With the madness of Thanksgiving, the craziness of Taj’s birthday, and the school and work week behind us, we were finally going to be able to focus our attention on one of my son’s favorite things ever.

  Christmas.

  And on this evening’s agenda: writing letters to Santa.

  “Where’s your sister?” I asked.

  “She’s coming,” he answered. “She said she wanted to make sure Santa knew exactly what she wanted, so she’s going to draw what she wants instead of writing a list of words. She’s picking out all the different markers she needs.”

  My heart swelled.

  Savanna was her mother’s daughter. I couldn’t have loved her more if I tried. And that surprised me considering I’d been very worried when I got pregnant with her. Taj wasn’t even a year old when I learned I was pregnant with my daughter. My little boy had been the center of my universe from the moment I learned I was pregnant with him. I had been concerned about my ability to give just as much love to another child as I gave to him. And I worried that he’d feel less loved.

  But when Savanna was born, she proved me wrong. Somehow, it all just worked out and there was no shortage of love anywhere.

  As my five-year-old daughter—who would soon turn six in February—grew up, she made it clear what she liked. The same pride that Wes felt about Taj’s love for snowboarding is the same joy I feel about Savanna’s love for art.

  Graphic design had gone from being my passion to my career. To this very day, I still work as the senior graphic designer at Blackman Boards. Nothing made Savanna happier than to see my artwork on the snowboards her dad made. I hoped, much like Wes did with Taj, that one day she’d want to take over and fill my shoes.

  “We have to wait for her,” I insisted. “If you want to go and help her pick out what she needs, maybe we can get to it faster.”

  Taj rolled his eyes at me. “You want me to help her?” he scoffed. “Mom, she’s never going to let me do that. She’s so picky about stuff like that.”

  He had a point there.

  Though, I couldn’t say I blamed Savanna. When an artist has an idea in their mind of what they want to do, there was little anyone could do to change that.

  “Okay, then you can get the paper out of the bag and set it out for the both of you,” I instructed. “As soon as she’s here, you can start.”

  While I continued to work on preparing food for dinner—the kids had requested my baked homemade chicken fingers—Taj grabbed the bag off the opposite counter. After I picked him and Savanna up from school, I took them to the store to buy some specialty holiday-themed paper to write their letters on. Of course, Taj had initially selected one he liked, but Savanna had something else that caught her eye. Determined as my son was to make sure he was able to write his letter today, knowing his sister would not likely budge in her choice, he quickly acquiesced and went with her choice. Though, the truth was that Taj adored his sister. He’d been fascinated with her from the moment he realized she was growing in my belly. And from the moment he met her, he couldn’t have been a better big brother than he was.

  In fact, he reminded me a lot of his namesake. My brother had been the same way with me that Taj is with his sister. Truth be told, my son was also a lot like his father. Wes had doted on his sister, Elle, much the same. So, it wasn’t surprising to see how lucky Savanna was when it came to her brother. I hoped, if nothing else, my children would have the same strong relationship that Wes and I both had with our siblings growing up.

  I’d just finished cutting up all the chicken breasts when Savanna came skipping into th
e kitchen.

  “Hey, kiddo,” I greeted her. “Do you have all your supplies?”

  “Yep,” she answered. “Santa won’t mind, will he?”

  “Mind what?”

  She glanced to where her brother was setting the paper out on the table momentarily before she brought her attention back to me and replied, “I want to draw him a picture of what I want. Is that okay or do I have to write it out?”

  Grinning at her, I promised, “Santa accepts all letters. In fact, I think he’ll appreciate the unique approach you’re taking to letter writing. Pictures will be more than fine.”

  She beamed up at me and declared, “Then I’m all ready.”

  “That’s good because Taj was probably going to lose his mind soon if you weren’t,” I noted, throwing a look in his direction.

  He let out a laugh but didn’t deny my accusation.

  At that, Savanna climbed up into the chair and got to work. Taj had already started writing things down before she selected her first marker.

  My children hadn’t even been at their lists for more than two minutes when my phone rang. I’d just gotten all the chicken coated in egg and was about to transfer it to the bread crumbs but quickly moved to the sink and washed my hands.

  I answered the phone by the fourth ring.

  “Hey, honey. Everything okay?” I greeted my husband.

  “Yeah. I was just getting ready to leave work and wanted to make sure you didn’t need me to stop and pick up anything on my way home,” he responded.

  “No, I’m good here,” I answered. “The kids and I stopped on our way home to get paper for their Christmas lists. They’re working on them now while I make dinner.”

  “Okay, then I’ll see you in a little bit,” he returned.

  “Sounds good.”

  “Can Daddy get something special for dessert?” Savanna piped up from across the kitchen.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked.

  Chuckling, Wes replied, “I heard her. Does she want anything in particular?”

  I asked Savanna if she had anything in mind for dessert, but she shook her head. Taj, on the other hand, had no problem making a selection. “I’m good with whatever Dad wants to get, but can he make sure it has chocolate?” Taj asked.

  And that’s where Taj proved he had a little bit of his mother in him. He was a chocolate lover.

  “Taj wants chocolate,” I relayed to Wes. Then, I added, “His mom would appreciate some, too.”

  Laughing again, Wes promised, “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, gorgeous. I’ll be home soon. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  With that, I disconnected and got back to dinner preparations. Every so often, I glanced up and watched my kids as they worked diligently. And I did it feeling more blessed than ever that this was my life.

  The only thing that was slightly different now was that Wes and I had gone into work separate this week. Normally, we’d go in together after we dropped the kids off at school. Then, we’d leave together to pick them up when school was over.

  But it was that time of year. The holidays were here, and things were busier than ever at Blackman Boards. So, for the next few weeks, Wes and I would go into work separately so he could put in the extra hours needed to help lighten the load at work. This would continue until the kids went on their winter break when I’d stop going in altogether until they returned to school in the new year. Of course, Wes and I were both home on the weekends, and he had planned to be off from work starting a few days before Christmas until after the new year rolled around.

  And we were going to take advantage of all the time we had together over the next several weeks. Our days were jam-packed with holiday fun, and our nights would prove to be no different. I was truly looking forward to it. As much as I hated how quickly my kids were growing, the holiday season and all its excitement helped to ease that dislike just a bit. Something about watching how much they changed from one Christmas to the next made my heart feel so full.

  “Mom?” Taj called just as I finished putting the breading on the last chicken tender.

  I transferred it from the bread crumb bowl to my baking sheet, moved to the sink to wash my hands again, and replied, “Yeah, buddy?”

  “How do you spell stilts?” he asked.

  “Stilts?” I repeated, bringing my eyes to his.

  Nodding, he confirmed, “Yeah. I think stilts would be a fun gift.”

  My eyes widened.

  Taj instantly noticed the look on my face and asked, “Is that not a good idea?”

  Tears filled my eyes as I stood there absentmindedly allowing the water to run over my hands. I tried to blink the tears away, but it was useless.

  Just then, I heard the garage door opening.

  Wes was home.

  I turned off the water, dried my hands, and swiped at my tears. The moment he walked through the door, I knew he saw Taj’s worried face.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  I tried swallowing past the lump in my throat so I could respond, but Taj beat me to it. “I don’t know, Dad. I asked Mom how to spell something, and she just started crying,” our son replied.

  Wes’ concerned eyes came to mine as he moved toward me. “Gorgeous, what’s wrong?” he wondered.

  “He wants stilts,” I rasped.

  Wes cocked an eyebrow and cautiously asked, “Is this a bad thing?”

  Ever so slowly, I shook my head.

  His face grew curious and he wondered, “So, what’s wrong?”

  “Taj asked for them,” I replied.

  “You just told me that,” he noted.

  Shaking my head, I clarified, “No, I mean his uncle. My brother, Taj, asked for stilts for Christmas when he was a kid.”

  Understanding dawned and Wes’ face immediately softened. He placed the bag he’d been holding down on the counter and pulled me into his arms. There was nothing like a comforting embrace in the arms of my husband. He’d held me so many times over the years, and the feeling I got from having his arms around me hadn’t diminished in the slightest.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Taj wondered from across the room.

  Keeping my body pressed tight to Wes, I lifted my cheek from his chest and brought my eyes to my son.

  “No, not at all,” I insisted. “It’s just that… well, your uncle Taj asked for stilts for Christmas when we were kids.”

  My son’s face lit up. “Really?”

  Nodding, I confirmed, “Yep.”

  “Did he like them?” Taj asked.

  I gave him a look of indifference and shared, “He never got them. Every year he asked for them, and sadly, he never got them.”

  Wes’ arms tightened around me as Savanna whipped around in her chair. “Does that happen?” she questioned us.

  “Does what happen, princess?” Wes asked.

  Looking more than just a bit alarmed, she said, “Not getting what’s on your list.”

  “Sometimes,” he confirmed. “Santa can’t always bring everything you ask for.”

  “Why not?” Taj wondered, genuine curiosity in his voice.

  Wes gave me one final squeeze before letting me go and moving toward our children. He gave each of them a kiss before he sat down at the table with them. As I got back to making dinner, I listened to Wes’ response.

  “There are all sorts of reasons Santa might not get everything on a kid’s list, Taj,” he began. “Sometimes, it’s because some children ask for things that might not be appropriate for their age. Other times, they might be asking for too many things, which wouldn’t leave a whole lot for other children. And then there are times that Santa just happens to know what your parents’ rules are. If you ask for something that Santa knows your parents have already said you can’t have, then he won’t get it for you.”

  “I think that’s what happened when I was growing up,” I chimed in. “Your uncle kept asking for those stilts
, but your grandparents had strict rules about them. They were worried he’d get seriously injured.”

  Taj’s shoulders fell as his eyes went back and forth between his dad and me. Eventually, he asked, “Do you have rules about stilts?”

  I didn’t.

  I was relatively certain Wes didn’t either.

  But before either of us could answer him, Savanna’s strangled voice called, “Daddy?”

  Hearing her voice like that worried me, so I knew it terrified Wes. I stopped what I was doing and watched.

  Wes took in Savanna’s terrified face and asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Has Santa ever not gotten a kid a present?” she rasped.

  Confusion marred Wes’ features. “Why would you ask that?” he returned, looking down at the paper in front of her. Then he asked, “Where’s your list?”

  Our daughter focused her attention on the piece of paper in front of her. At this point, I’d rounded the counter and moved toward the table. The longing in her gaze nearly brought me to my knees.

  “Princess?” Wes called.

  Lifting her head, she shared, “Mommy said Santa wouldn’t mind getting a picture of what I wanted instead of a list.”

  Wes’ eyes dropped to her picture just as I made it there.

  I saw what she’d drawn and felt a mix of emotions. The very first thought that went through my mind was just how talented she was. She might have been young, but there was no doubt in my mind that she’d do big things in her life if she continued to practice. Unfortunately, that thought was overshadowed by the other. Is this what she wanted for Christmas?

  Before I had the chance to ask her that question, Wes spoke. “That looks like a cat,” he pointed out the obvious.

  “It’s a kitten,” she corrected him.

  “Okay,” he replied, an edge of caution in his tone. “What other things are you going to be putting in your picture?”

  Shaking her head, Savanna answered, “Nothing. This is all I want. And I want him to look exactly like this one.”

  My eyes shot to Wes.

  A kitten?

  “You don’t want anything else?” he pressed.

  “No,” she murmured. “Just a kitten.”