Page 66 of The Holiday Games

I laugh. “Yeah? You’re sure? I mean, I’m a city boy, but I’m sure I could find something to do in Christmas town.”

“You’d be fed up with fudge by February and going stir crazy from the lack of intellectual or cultural stimulation by March. By April, you’d be wandering naked in the fields, trying to talk the cows into doing something interesting enough to film for television.”

I grunt. “I would not. I’d keep my clothes on while I talked to the cows. I’m sure it’s still fucking freezing up here in April.”

She grins. “So freezing. And muddy and gross with no break in the misery in sight until the end of May. I’ll always love this place, and want to visit as often as possible, but I’m ready for something new.” She lifts a slim shoulder. “And maybe a career change. I may not be a reality star in the making, but I loved being on set. Working behind the scenes seems like fun.”

“We could work on something together,” I say, excited at the thought. “Unless you think you’d get sick of me. Working and living together can be a lot.”

“I want a lot,” she says, sliding closer. “I want as much of you as I can get.”

She proves it by straddling my hips, rocking against me as we kiss until I’m forced to rise out of the water and take her on the fluffy bathmat.

Hours later, when we’re finally too tired to talk and bang and dream, we fall asleep in the heavenly cloud of a bed. And when I wake up the next morning, she’s still there, and she’s beautiful, the way I knew she would be.

Beautiful and happy and mine.

epilogue

. . .

Leo

Two years later…

“Quiet on set. We’ll cue music first, Fred, then the actors. Let’s get this final scene in the can and head home for the holidays.” Caroline’s voice is tinny through the studio speakers but holds the same confidence it has since the day she put on her first show-runner headset.

She’s a natural at keeping our cast and crew organized, inspired, and on time.

And I’m far more comfortable in front of the cameras than I ever thought I’d be.

It helps that I’m only playing bit parts in our new comedy show’s sketches, and that I’m supported by people I trust. Ainsley was born to produce, leaving me more time to focuson leading the writers’ room, and our director, Fred, is equally incredible.

But we don’t need much from Fred for this scene aside from the cues. We just need our guest host to wish the viewers at home a Happy New Year—we’re filming our New Year’s Eve special a week early to give the editing team time to cut the footage—and the band to play us out.

“And five, four, three,” Fred calls out, falling silent as he mouths the final two numbers and points toward Biff, our band leader.

Biff and his musicians launch into a bluesy version of Auld Lang Syne and our host, a precocious teen pop singer who turned out to be a delightful comedic actress walks onstage, waving at the cameras. She’s followed by the rest of the cast, minus yours truly.

I’m only a bit player, after all, and our stage is small.

But that will be changing soon. The Laugh Bag filled a family-friendly comedy show niche the network didn’t realize was desperate for content until we took off in the ratings. Turns out, families are dying for something to watch together that’s just pure, whacky fun. We’ll be moving to a larger theater space in the new year and testing what it’s like to film some of our episodes in front of a live audience.

I couldn’t be more excited or prouder of what Caroline and I created.

This show is one of the best things I’ve ever done, with the exception of Bump.

We don’t know yet if Bump is a boy or a girl—we decided we’d rather be surprised—but I already know I’m going to love our baby with everything in me, just like I love his or her mother.

Half an hour later, after filming has wrapped and Caroline and I are standing outside the theater, waving goodbye to thenewly engaged Ainsley and Trevor, I marvel again that this magical woman is mine.

“Want to cut through the Union Square holiday market on the way home?” she asks, leaning into my hug. “Get more of that spicy kettle corn to bring to Mom and Dad’s hotel tomorrow?”

“You’re a spicy kettle corn addict,” I tease.

“It’s not me, it’s Bump,” she says, motioning toward her midsection. “He needs spicy kettle corn to grow big and strong. He told me so.”

I mold a hand to her enormous belly. Bump is due in just two weeks, so Cherry and Bart came to the city for Christmas this year. We’ve been having a blast showing Caroline’s parents the sites and eating at all our favorite restaurants, but I secretly hope they’re back in Vermont before the baby comes. I adore my in-laws, but a selfish part of me doesn’t want to share the moment we welcome our child into the world with anyone but Caroline.

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