Page 71 of Stuffed

"Some things are worth fighting for." I meet Tessa's eyes, remembering all the walls we broke down together.

"Mom!" James calls from upstairs, his voice deeper now at fourteen. "Uncle Asher's twins are trying to hack my laptop again!"

"Boys!" Ivy calls. "Leave your cousin alone!"

The twins—exact replicas of Asher at that age—thunder down the stairs, all innocent smiles and mischief.

"We just wanted to see his new bakery management program," they protest in unison.

It still amazes me sometimes—how our little bakery grew into this empire. Four locations, Ivy's cooking show, Tessa's brilliant business acumen making it all possible. Our kids growing up between board meetings and baking sessions, between high school entrepreneurship clubs where James is already showing signs of following in our footsteps, and elementary school bake sales that Charlotte runs with CEO-level precision.

"Speaking of the bakery." Tessa sits up excitedly. "Are we ready to host Christmas this year? Twenty-five people isn't too many, right?"

"Please." Ivy waves her hand. "Between my cooking show prep kitchen and your organizational skills, we could handle fifty."

It's become our tradition—all our families together for one big celebration. Parents, siblings, kids, the whole chaotic, beautiful mess of it.

"Remember our first Christmas together?" I murmur to Tessa. "Just us and Espresso?"

"And burned dinner and store-bought snack cakes." She smiles softly. "Now look at us."

Charlotte returns with hot chocolate for everyone, while James finally emerges from his room, laptop tucked under his arm. At fourteen, he's already showing my height and Tessa's business sense—a dangerous combination that has the board members nervous about their future positions.

"Tell us about high school again," Charlotte requests, settling between us with Luna's kittens immediately claiming her lap. Though she's heard it a thousand times, our youngest never tires of our love story.

"Well," I start, meeting Tessa's eyes. "Once upon a time, there was a cheerleader who saw past every wall I built…"

"And a bad boy who wasn't so bad after all," she finishes.

"Gross," James mutters from his spot on the floor, but he's smiling as he types away on his laptop, no doubt working on his latest business proposal. At his age, I was trying to look tough sneaking a cigarette and using my numbers mind for shady shit. He's already developing programs to streamline our shelter operations.

The twins curl up with their parents, and suddenly our living room is full of the next generation, eager to hear our story again.

"Don't forget the part about the bakery," Ivy adds. "And how your mom saved my cookies from burning that first day."

"Or how Uncle Zane pretended to hate the idea." Asher laughs.

"I was an idiot," I repeat, pulling Tessa closer.

"Was?" she teases.

But we're both smiling, both remembering that snowy December when everything changed. When walls crumbled and hearts opened and love proved stronger than any defense we'd built.

Now, fifteen years later, surrounded by our family—both blood and chosen—I realize something.

Some love stories don't end with happily ever after. They just keep getting better. Keep growing.

Keep proving that the best dreams aren't the ones we have as teenagers. They're the ones we build together, day by day, year by year, memory by memory.

Until suddenly you look around and realize this is better than any fantasy. This is real.

And as our family shares stories and laughter, as snow falls softly outside, as cats purr and children grow and love fills every corner of our home, I know with absolute certainty that this is exactly where we were always meant to be.

“Hey, Dad,” Charlotte says with a giggle, the room falling silent as if someone else put her up to whatever she’s about to say.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Do you think that this is finally the year Santa doesn’t leave coal in your stocking?”

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