Remy gave his son a quick grin. “Just wrapping Lane’s presents.”
Braden watched him turning the key. “Why are you locking that door?”
“We’re not using this room,” Remy told him.
“But why lock it?” Braden persisted.
Because I don’t want you nosing around your gifts until Christmas morning,Remy wanted to say, but if he even hinted that there were presents inside, it would only fuel Braden’s curiosity. So instead, he shrugged and said, “No reason.”
“Why’d you go in there then?” Braden wanted to know.
Remy held up his duffle bag. “I didn’t want Lane to see what I got him, okay?”
“What didyou get him?” Braden asked.
Remy groaned. “Hello? He’s right over there.”
Braden glanced at the back of the couch. “Oh. Well, come in my room and tell me.”
“No, you’ll see on Christmas when he opens them.” Remy stuck the bedroom key in his pocket—he didn’t want Braden to see him put it on his dresser and get any ideas about checking out the room when Remy wasn’t looking.