Page 74 of Shoot Your Shot

“Hey, Ted,” she whispers. “Nice to see you too. Did you try to kill Rocket today?” There’s sarcasm in her voice.

I’m sure Ted is her usual asshole self and runs away.

I wait patiently in the living room, and when Paige comes into sight, her entire face lights up when she looks around.

“You brought the tree down?” she says, covering her mouth. “And I didn’t even have to ask ten times.”

As she walks to me, I throw my arm around her, tucking her into my side. “Hey. It’s a husband thing, okay? We just need reminders.”

She cranes her neck toward the tree and boxes of decorations. “But this time, you didn’t.” She looks up at me, poking her bottom lip out. “Do you love me lots?”

I chuckle when she says those words. Before things went to shit and she left, she always randomly asked me that eventhough she knew the answer. We could be driving somewhere or watching TV, and suddenly, she’d just blurt it out. I think it started out as a joke, but then it became our thing even though she knows damn well I love her.

“I suppose you’re all right,” I answer teasingly. “But, babe, how can you even ask me that after I brought your tree down and your insane number of boxes of Christmas shit? Oh, and before you ask me … yes, I put the one up in our bedroom too.”

Her eyebrows pull together, and she leaps upward, aggressively pushing her lips against mine. “Awww, you love me so much. You’re going to make me cry.”

Being married and having all the good years we did taught me one thing: it really is the little things that make her the happiest. And if I can keep taking care of those little things, everything else is going to be okay.

“I put your Christmas pajamas on the bed,” I murmur against her lips. “Go on, Buttercup.” I grin, knowing she’s so excited right now. “Go get your holly, jolly on.”

When she pulls back and bats her lashes at me, I know what’s coming next, even though I try my best not to lead on that I do.

“What about your pajamas?” She cups her hands together and pokes her lips out. “Please? Matchy-matchy?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, pinching the bridge of my nose. She might look cute in her Christmas pajamas. Me? I look like a fucking weirdo. But here I go, about to go put them on even though they are way too tight on my dick and ball sack.

“Fine,” I grumble. “But you’d better suck my cock laterandswallow if I’m about to cash in my manhood card for the night.”

She practically bounces up and down, giving me one more squeeze before stepping back. Her eyes dart around from box to box, like she has no idea where to start first. Finally, she rushes toward one of the smaller boxes and gradually opens it up.

“It’s the ornaments we’ve given each other over the years,” she whispers before holding up one of them. It has a hockey player figurine and a blonde-haired girl on it. She holds up another that has a gingerbread bride and groom, one I gave her our first Christmas as newlyweds.

“Every year, I’d hang these up, but I never really looked at them.” She stares down, wearing a sad smile. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

I know, more than anything, she wishes she could look in that box and pull out one that shows two figurines with a baby between them. She doesn’t have to say the words for me to know what she’s thinking because I’m thinking it too.

Taking a few steps toward her, I take the box from her and kiss her forehead. “I promise you, Paige, one day, you will open this box and pull out that one you’re longing for.” I murmur the words against her hair. “I’ll die trying to give you everything you wish for, baby.”

Her arms slide around my waist, and she smiles.

“I know you will,” she whispers. “But I have everything I need, Kolt. The rest … would just be a bonus.”

“It’s okay if that’s not true, Buttercup.” My voice is raspy. “Because as happy as I am and as full of a life I know the two of us will have—watching your belly grow and then seeing you become a mother?” I stop for a second to gather myself. “I want that too—so fucking bad.”

Her lips turn down for a second, and she slowly bobs her head up and down in understanding. “I know,” she murmurs. “It’s okay for us to want it and to long for it; that doesn’t take away from the love we have for each other just because we want more. But I think it’s also okay for us to be happy anyway—together. Even if having kids of our own isn’t in the plan.” She swallows. “Remember what we said? One day at a time?”

I nod. “One day at a time.”

Whatever life brings or doesn’t, I will die a happy man now that I have my wife back. Like she said though, it’s okay for us to want and long for starting a family. That doesn’t change the love we have for each other.

With only Christmas lights on, I snuggle into Kolt’s side as the movieElfplays on the large TV in front of us. This is a yearly tradition we would do after we put the tree up. It’s a tradition I hope we can one day share with our children. And maybe even their children. But like we said, one day at a time.

If anyone saw Kolt, they’d never think a broody, gigantic, tattooed man would be at home, snuggled with his wife under a Christmas blanket, watchingElf.

Yet here we are. And no matter how many times we’ve seen it, we both laugh at the same funny parts because how can you not laugh at Will Ferrell?

His phone begins to vibrate, and I giggle inwardly when he pauses the movie to look at who it is, even though he knows what happens next.

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