I tip my head back to look up at him. His handsome face shielded in shadow by the brim of his hat.
“I think…” I inhale, and on the exhale, I say, “I’m ready to pack my bags and come home.”
“Been waiting to hear you say that for three damn years now.” He loops his arms around me and rests his chin on my shoulder.
On top of this hill, we take in the silence of the blue-hued Christmas Day. Snow swirls in the wind, but the bright sunlight cuts the chill.
It’s bittersweet, having lost three years with Hank, but I’m a stronger, better woman because of it. I may not know everything, but I know what’s important.
“We need to head back soon.” I sink into his warm chest, savoring his touch. “Papa Blue will be over at three.” And that means presents and pie. Eggnog and whiskey and Papa Blue singing along to Merle Haggard with Zelda as backup.
Hank hums low in his throat. He wants to stay here as much as I do.
That’s when it hits me. I gasp.
He stiffens. “Sugar?”
I twist to look at him. “I don’t have an ornament for you.”
“I didn’t get one either.” He presses his lips to my messy hair and inhales. “Next year. We’ll start fresh.”
I shiver against the wind but smile at the promise in his words.Next year.
Whatever next year holds, I’m all in. Whatever it is, with Hank, I can handle it.
“What do you think?” His husky voice pulls me out of my happy thoughts. He lifts his chin, gesturing to the farmhouse, puffs of white breath billowing between us. “You want to go inside and get your ring?”
“You still have it?” I laugh, overcome with delight. Unexpected tears fill my eyes.
A smile tilts his lips. “My nightstand drawer, sugar. Been waitin’ for you.”
“Of course I want it.”
Hank’s smile grows bigger. He’s so beautiful and he’s mine, and I don’t ever want this moment to end.
“I can’t wait to love you again,” he breathes against my skin as he tilts my mouth toward his and leans lower to kiss me. He tastes like maple syrup and smells like firewood.
Sighing, I close my eyes and curl up in his arms. “This is my favorite Christmas ever.”
A rumble of a chuckle rolls through his chest. “And we got more to come.”
“Promise?”
His voice, choked with emotion, is low and rough as he tightens his hold. “Yeah, sugar. I promise.”
DECEMBER 24TH- ONE YEAR LATER
Lights twinkle from the Christmas tree. Three stockings hang on the fireplace mantel. Firelight illuminates Hank’s tall, broad silhouette from behind. He sways slow and steady to a country song on the radio.
“You’re being territorial.” I set the tray filled with hot cocoa and whiskey on the coffee table. At the noise, Zeldaruffs and lifts her head from her dog bed.
My husband turns, grinning down at our one-month-old son, Jackson, cradled in his arms. “Ain’t my fault he’s already got mewrapped around his little finger.” His voice is low and rough. It warms me all over.
All I can do is stare. I cannot get enough of my very precious little family.
“That so?” I step closer, head lifted, peering at the bundle in his arms.
“That’s so.” Hank’s gaze lands on my face. “Same goes for his mama.” Keeping one arm beneath the baby, he loops his other around my waist.
