My Kind of Christmas

staring at the ceiling. Angie was looking off at nothing in particular.
    “Tired, babe?” he asked her.
    She focused on him for a moment. “Did I ever tell you that I love jigsaw puzzles?” He just shook his head. “Do you?” she asked.
    He gave a shrug. “I think I could find something a little more exciting to do.”
    She flopped down on her stomach, her chin braced on her hands. “We don’t have all that much in common, do we?”
    “Scrabble,” he said with a small smile.
    “And maybe one or two other things. But I love jigsaw puzzles. I put one together once that was the size of the dining room table. My mother stopped me before I tried one as big as the family room floor. My family would try a few pieces now and then but it was mainly all mine.”
    He ran a hand over her hair. “Got a little OCD going on there, honey?”
    “Oh, yeah, piles of it, I’m sure. But I don’t do the kind of fun things you do—I don’t want to speed or jump out of planes or take tight turns. Patrick, have you ever felt your life changed by a few words?”
    He was still stroking her hair. And he was thinking , Do what you have to do. Jake’s instructions. “Like what?” he asked her.
    “Dr. Hernandez put me in that O.R., let me watch him take apart a face and put it back together. Then he talked to me. He belongs to a small group of medical professionals who donate time and energy to people all over the place. I asked if they could use someone like me and he said, ‘They need doctors.’” She frowned. “I guess I was wrong. I’m going to have to finish school, after all. If I could ever do what he does…”
    They were both silent for a while, looking into each other’s eyes. “USC?” he finally asked.
    “I guess so. If they haven’t given up on me.”
    “You’ll find the best place,” he said. “I have to admit, I like this idea better. You have a lot to offer, Ange.”
    “So do you, Paddy. What do you suppose becomes of us now?”
    “It sounds like we have a good few days, then begin new lives.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Going to be a doctor! A surgeon! How am I not surprised?”
    “Patrick, do you think we’ll… Will we stay in touch?”
    He couldn’t stop stroking her hair. “Would that be a good idea?”
    “I hate the thought of not ever knowing where you are,” she said. “What are we going to do?”
    “Ange, I made a commitment to a man who’s dead. I gave my word. I don’t think there’s anything to do but carry on. I should have fought this thing harder, this thing we have. I never wanted to hurt you, to disappoint you.”
    “Just tell me this—are you going to be hurt or disappointed?” she asked.
    “I’m going to be grateful,” he whispered. Then he pulled her down beside him. “Come here. Let me hold you. It’s all I’ve got.”
    * * *
    Angie refused to give up or give in. If there was one way she wanted Patrick to remember her, it was without pity or regrets. She slapped a smile on her face. She teased him and laughed with him; she slept curled up beside him and asked herself how to best memorize the smell of his skin, the texture of his thick hair. She wanted to never forget how bright and sharp his green eyes were or the way his hands felt when he caressed her. She wondered if, when he let go of her and went away, she would ever find a love like this again.
    The ride back to Virgin River was quiet—Lorraine held Megan while she slept, and Patrick and Angie didn’t want to disturb her. When they arrived at the Thicksons’, Angie helped get Megan settled on the couch before leaving them. Her little brothers edged close with caution, peering at the new incision on her cheek.
    “How about a beer?” she said once they were back in the Jeep. “It’s been a very long day.”
    “My place or yours?” he asked.
    “Jack’s?” she suggested. “We can have a beer, catch him up on the condition of our little ward and flip a coin to see where we go next. Maybe we can grab some dinner from Preacher. Neither of us should have to cook tonight.”
    “Sounds like a plan.”
    They got to Jack’s just ahead of the dinner crowd and jumped up on stools that sat side by side.
    “Well, my missionaries have returned,” he said, giving the bar a wipe and putting down a couple of napkins. “What’s your pleasure?”
    “Cold draft,” Angie said.
    “I heard from Mel that things went very well,” he said while drawing up a couple of beers.
    “I don’t think it