Chapter 148 You're on Thin Ice

Chapter 148 You're on Thin Ice
Bruce had been suspiciously quiet throughout everyone else’s stories, content to sit in his chair with one ankle crossed over the opposite knee and his coffee balanced against the armrest. Amelia eventually turned toward him.

“And you?”

Bruce looked up. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Where did you go for Christmas?”

“My sister’s.”

Amelia waited.

Bruce took another drink.

She continued waiting.

Eventually his brows drew together. “What?”

“That cannot possibly be the entire story.”

“It was Christmas at my sister’s house. I ate. We exchanged gifts. I came home.”

Maya looked between them before whispering loudly to Martina, “Does he always talk like somebody charges him by the word?”

Bruce's eyes moved toward her.

Maya immediately raised her hot chocolate. “Respectfully.”

Bryson laughed into his coffee.

Even Bruce's mouth twitched.

Amelia tucked herself more comfortably against Bryson. “Does your sister live in the city?”

“Brooklyn. She has three children and a husband who believes owning a smoker has made him a culinary authority.”

That got Amelia’s attention. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.”

“You cooked, didn't you?”

“I was specifically told I was not allowed to.”

Bryson looked over. “How'd that go?”

“Poorly.”

Bruce's dry delivery sent another ripple of laughter around the room.

“He overcooked the brisket,” Bruce continued, his expression tightening with what appeared to be genuine personal offense. “Then my sister asked me to please keep my opinions to myself because it was Christmas.”

“Did you?” Amelia asked.

“For almost eleven minutes.”

Maya burst out laughing.

Bruce looked at her. “It was an exceptionally bad brisket.”

“Eleven minutes is actually impressive,” Maya conceded.

“Thank you.”

Amelia grinned. “Did you at least have a good time?”

The humor eased from Bruce's expression. “I did. My sister is happy. The kids are healthy. They were excited to see me.” He shrugged, uncomfortable with even that much sentiment. “It was good.”

Amelia smiled. “Good.”

She didn't push for more.

That seemed to surprise him.

For another few minutes, the conversation wandered easily between them until Martina looked toward Amelia and Bryson.

“Wait. We've told you everything about our Christmas. How was yours?”

“Yeah,” Marcus added from his chair. “We haven't heard anything except that Mrs. Hearst apparently declared war on Christmas ending.”

“I did not declare war.”

Bruce lifted his mug. “There are ten people drinking hot chocolate on December twenty-sixth.”

“And everyone looks happy.”

“I have coffee.”

“Because you're difficult.”

Bryson chuckled beside her before looking toward Martina. “Christmas was good.”

Amelia turned toward him. “Good?”

His brow lifted.

“That's all you're giving them?”

“You're going to tell them anyway.”

She considered it. “True.”

Amelia immediately launched into the highlights, beginning with Christmas Eve dinner and the matching pajamas she'd insisted everyone wear. She told them about the ornament exchange, the desserts, the snow, and the way both families had somehow turned breakfast into another full-scale meal on Christmas morning.

She deliberately left out some of the more intimate details of the gifts between her and Bryson, but she couldn't keep the happiness from her voice when she mentioned the key.

“The house?” Samantha asked.

Amelia nodded, unable to stop smiling. “He built the house.”

“Designed,” Bryson corrected. “It's still being built.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You make it sound like I was outside laying brick.”

Ethan looked at Bryson. “Were you?”

“No.”

“Then I'm with Mrs. Hearst.”

“Thank you, Ethan.”

“You're welcome.”

Bryson shook his head, but Amelia felt his hand settle over her stomach again.

“We had a beautiful Christmas,” she said finally, her voice softening. “Probably one of the best I've ever had.”

Bryson looked down at her.

“The best,” he corrected quietly.

Her eyes met his.

“The best,” she agreed.

For a moment, the room grew warm and quiet around them.

Then Amelia straightened.

“Okay. Gifts.”

Samantha started to rise.

“Nope.” Amelia pointed at her. “Ours first.”

Samantha stopped. “Mrs. Hearst—”

“Sit.”

Bruce murmured, “She has become drunk with power.”

“I heard that.”

“I intended you to.”

Bryson laughed as Amelia reached toward the stack of identical cream boxes that had been arranged near the tree before they left for the Hamptons. Each bore a name in gold script.

She picked up Samantha's first.

“Merry Christmas.”

Samantha accepted the box, clearly touched before she'd even opened it. “You two didn't have to do this.”

“We know,” Bryson said.

That silenced the protest.

Samantha lifted the lid.

For several seconds, she simply stared.

Nestled inside were a beautiful pair of professional figure skates.

Her hand rose slowly to her mouth.

“No.”

Amelia was already smiling.

“No, you didn't.”

“You've been talking for weeks about wanting to skate again,” Amelia said. “You said you used to love it.”

“I haven't skated seriously in years.”

“Exactly. So maybe it's time.”

Samantha lifted one skate carefully, running her fingers over it.

“There’s something underneath,” Bryson told her.

She looked inside again and removed an envelope.

Her eyes widened as she read.

“One week?”

“In St. Lucia,” Amelia said. “Resort, airfare, everything.”

Samantha looked up.

“And there's a companion ticket,” Amelia added. “So take whoever you want. Your daughter, a friend, somebody special. I don't care. But you are going.”

Samantha's eyes immediately filled.

“Mrs. Hearst…”

“Amelia.”

That only made Samantha laugh through her tears.

“Thank you. Both of you. Really.”

Bryson smiled. “You've earned it.”

Marcus was next.

His box contained a custom pair of professional boxing gloves, handcrafted specifically for him, his initials worked subtly into the leather.

For perhaps the first time since Amelia had known him, Marcus looked genuinely caught off guard.

“How did you know?”

Amelia gave him a look. “You talk.”

“Not that much.”

“You talk enough.”

Beneath the gloves was another envelope.

Marcus opened it.

“Turks and Caicos?”

“One week,” Bryson said. “Private villa. Companion ticket included.”

Marcus stared at the paper before looking toward Amelia.

“When exactly am I supposed to use this?”

“Whenever you want.”

His gaze dropped almost unconsciously toward her stomach.

“Great. So... eighteen years from now.”

The room erupted.

Amelia laughed with everyone else, but as Marcus smiled, she caught something beneath it.

Something fleeting.

His joke hadn't been entirely a joke.

His eyes had gone to her stomach before he'd said it, and there had been something almost painfully serious in his expression.

Then it was gone.

Marcus tucked the certificate back into the envelope. “Thank you. Both of you.”

“You're welcome,” Amelia said, still studying him.

Bruce came next.

The moment he saw the shape of the package, suspicion entered his expression.

“What did you do?”

Amelia smiled sweetly. “Open it.”

He did.

Then stopped breathing.

Inside was a pristine vinyl pressing he'd mentioned weeks earlier during one of their conversations in the kitchen—an album he'd been hunting for for years, rare enough that Amelia had spent an absurd amount of time locating a collector willing to part with it.

Bruce lifted it with both hands.

“How did you find this?”

“You told me you wanted it.”

“I mentioned it once.”

Amelia shrugged. “I remembered.”

Something changed in Bruce's face.

He looked down quickly.

Bryson noticed too but mercifully said nothing.

“There’s more,” Amelia prompted.

Bruce found the envelope beneath the record and opened it.

His eyes moved across the page.

Then stopped.

He read it again.

“France?”

Amelia practically bounced in her seat. “France.”

Bruce looked at Bryson.

“Don't look at me,” Bryson said. “This one was mostly her.”

“A week in France,” Amelia explained. “And three days in the kitchen at a three-Michelin-star restaurant with Chef—”

She barely got the name out before Bruce interrupted.

“You're joking.”

“No.”

His idol.

The chef Bruce had studied for years. The man whose techniques he had once spent nearly an entire evening explaining to Amelia while she sat at the kitchen island eating something he'd made.

“He agreed?” Bruce asked.

“Bryson made a phone call.”

Bruce looked at him.

Bryson shrugged. “A few.”

For once, Bruce had absolutely nothing sarcastic to say.

He simply looked down at the certificate again.

“Thank you.”

The words were quiet.

Amelia smiled. “You're welcome.”

Evan received a high-end camera he'd been eyeing for months after casually mentioning that he'd gotten into landscape photography during his military years, along with a week in Iceland where he could chase winter landscapes and the northern lights.

Ethan's box contained a custom set of golf clubs after everyone learned he'd been trying—and failing spectacularly—to improve his game, along with a week at a luxury resort in Hawaii with several rounds included.

Cole, the resident foodie despite having absolutely no talent in a kitchen, received reservations and prepaid tasting experiences at several restaurants he'd been desperate to try, along with a week in Tokyo.

Every vacation included a companion ticket.

Every gift reflected something they'd mentioned, sometimes only once.

By the time they reached Martina, she was already shaking her head.

“No.”

Amelia laughed. “You haven't opened anything.”

“I know how you are now.”

“Open it.”

Martina lifted the lid.

There was only a key.

She frowned.

Then stared at it.

“Is this…”

“Your car,” Bryson said.

Martina's head snapped up.

Maya screamed before Martina could.

“You got a CAR?”

“Maya!”

“What kind?!”

Amelia burst out laughing.

Martina looked genuinely panicked. “Mrs. Hearst, I can't accept a car.”

“You told me you wanted one.”

“I said eventually!”

“Eventually came early.”

“I live in Manhattan!”

“And?”

“And parking costs more than some people's rent!”

Bryson finally stepped in. “Parking will be covered.”

Martina stared at him.

Maya slapped both hands over her mouth.

“You're kidding.”

“No,” Bryson said.

Martina looked down at the key again, tears gathering before she could stop them.

“There’s another envelope,” Amelia said gently.

Martina found it.

Disney World.

One week.

Two tickets.

Hotel, flights, park passes, meals—everything.

Martina closed her eyes.

Maya was already crying.

“You said she'd never been,” Amelia said quietly.

Martina looked toward her sister.

Maya wiped furiously at her cheeks. “I'm not crying.”

“You absolutely are.”

“Shut up.”

Amelia laughed softly.

“There's one more thing,” Bryson said.

Maya looked at him.

A smaller envelope bore her name.

She took it hesitantly.

Inside was a complete professional art set—drawing pencils, charcoal, pastels, markers, sketchbooks, supplies far beyond the inexpensive materials she'd been making do with.

“Oh my God.”

“You're talented,” Amelia said. “Your sister showed me some of your work.”

Maya looked at Martina. “You showed her?”

“Of course I did.”

Maya turned another piece of paper over.

Her expression changed.

She stopped moving.

Martina immediately noticed. “What?”

Maya handed her the document because she apparently couldn't speak.

Martina read it.

Then covered her mouth.

Amelia's own eyes began to burn.

Bryson spoke gently. “It's an educational trust. Enough to cover four years of undergraduate tuition, housing, books, and reasonable expenses. Whatever school she earns her way into.”

Maya stared at them.

“College?”

“All of it,” Amelia said.

Her face crumpled.

The teenager crossed the room so quickly that Martina didn't have time to remind her about asking permission.

This time Maya threw herself into Amelia's arms and sobbed.

Amelia held her.

“I didn't know how I was going to…” Maya tried, but the words disappeared.

“You don't have to figure that part out anymore,” Amelia whispered.

Martina was crying now too.

She looked at Bryson. “You don't understand what you've done.”

Bryson's expression softened. “I think we do.”

“No.” Martina shook her head. “You don't. I was trying to figure out how to save enough for her. I kept thinking maybe community college first, maybe scholarships, maybe if I worked two jobs—”

“Martina,” Amelia said softly.

She looked over.

“You've been taking care of everybody for a long time.”

Martina's face broke.

Amelia reached for her hand while still holding Maya with the other arm.

“Let somebody help take care of you.”

That did it.

Martina leaned forward, and Amelia pulled her into the embrace too.

For a few moments, the three of them simply held one another while the rest of the room respectfully pretended their own eyes weren't suspiciously wet.

Bruce cleared his throat.

Ethan stared aggressively into his hot chocolate.

Cole rubbed his face.

Marcus looked away.

Bryson simply watched his soon-to-be wife.

Eventually Martina pulled back and wiped her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Both of you. I don't know how I'll ever repay you.”

Bryson shook his head. “You don't.”

Amelia squeezed her hand. “That's not how gifts work.”

Maya sniffled. “I'm still drawing you something.”

Amelia smiled. “That, I'll accept.”

A little laughter returned to the room, softening what had become almost unbearably emotional.

Then Samantha stood.

She wiped beneath one eye and exhaled.

“Well. Now I feel significantly less confident about our gift.”

Amelia immediately frowned. “Don't you dare.”

“We pooled together.”

“I already love it.”

“You haven't seen it.”

“Don't care.”

Ethan and Cole disappeared from the room.

When they returned, both men were carrying one end of something large.

Amelia sat forward.

It wasn't a basket.

It was a beautiful white wooden storage chest, large enough to sit at the foot of a bed. Its finish was soft and elegant, the design timeless rather than childish, and across the front, carved delicately into the wood, were two simple words.

Baby Hearst

Amelia went completely still.

Her hand rose to her mouth.

“Oh…”

Bryson leaned forward beside her, his fingers tracing the carved letters.

“This is beautiful.”

“We thought it could go in the nursery,” Samantha explained. “Blankets now. Toys later. Whatever you want. Something the baby can keep.”

Amelia was already blinking rapidly.

“You guys are trying to make me cry again.”

Bruce leaned back. “Given recent evidence, that isn't particularly difficult.”

She pointed at him. “You're on thin ice.”

“Speaking of ice, Samantha has skates now.”

Samantha laughed.

“Open it,” Maya urged.