Page 68 of Pining for Christmas

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Three years later

It takes some careful balancing, but I get the tiny green elf hat to stay put after a few tries. My son sucks on his fingers, drooling around his own fist, then smacks two colored wooden blocks together, oblivious.

“That’s it, gorgeous boy. Hold still while I take a photo for Daddy.”

Fishing for my phone in my cardigan next to us, I keep my eyes fixed on the tooth-rotting cuteness before me.

We’re sitting together on the rug in front of the fire, playing with blocks and wrapping gifts together on Christmas Eve. Well,I’mwrapping gifts. There’s a clear division of labor here. But mostly, I’m dressing my adorable little monster up as one of Santa’s elves and sending photos to Reid as he closes up the office for the holidays.

My husband is a hard worker. Always has been, always will be—but these days, he has new priorities. Family first, work second.

“Okay, say cheese!” My phone screen is smeared with some unknown stickiness, but I wipe that with my sleeve and click onto the camera app. The fire dances in the background, safely held at bay behind the grate, and the string lights wink on the mantelpiece. This home is festive A.F.

There’s an answering gurgle—but the front door opens out in the hall, and I whoop and fling my phone onto the sofa. Why mess around with pictures when Reid can catch the live show?

“In here,” I call, my voice drifting over the soft carols playing in the background. “Hurry!”

Reid’s footsteps thud against the floor, and he strides into the living room, pale eyes searching.

That icy gaze melts when he finds the two of us by the fire, surrounded by wooden blocks and heaps of gifts. Reid’s mouth curves up, and he strolls to join us, sitting on the rug with a sigh.

“Cool hat, huh?” Sure, it’s slipped to a rakish angle, but the cuteness cannot be denied. Our son babbles nonsense words and throws a block on the rug.

“I’m not sure ‘cool’ is the word. You’re going to ruin our child’s street cred, Noelle.”

But Reid is smiling, gently tipping the hat up so it’s level again.

“Good day?” I ask, leaning over to smell my husband’s neck. He always smells so delicious to me, like his pheromones arecalling my name. Even now, my body crackles back to life, and I start mentally counting the hours until bedtime duties are done and we can be alone.

“It is now.” Reid catches my chin, kissing me hard on the mouth. After three years, his enthusiasm for me has not waned. Neither has his hunger. Wewanteach other constantly, and even though it makes us late for many appointments, I hope that feeling never fades.

Gazing at my handsome, prickly husband, I’m confident it won’t.

He’s my Christmas wish, and that shit lasts forever.

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