Page 88 of A Pen Pal for Christmas

I squeezed his hand. “Well, I’m here. You’ve helped me through enough. It’s only fair I return the favor.”

Hudson’s hazel eyes locked onto mine. “You already do.”

Putting my mug on the table next to the chair, I glanced at the box of ornaments, and then back at him. “So, are you goingto put those on the tree, or are we just going to keep them in the box all day?”

He sighed dramatically but stood, pulling me up with him. “You sure know how to boss me around, Mrs. Green.”

“It’s part of my charm.” I grinned, looping my arm through his as we headed for the living room to get started. Because yes, I would help.

The Christmas tree stood in the corner, its lights twinkling softly against the big bay window. Everywhere I looked, there was something that reminded me of how far this house had come, how farwehad come.

Hudson set the box of ornaments by the tree, and I let my gaze wander over the walls. Photos of us and our friends—our family, really—were framed alongside random pieces of art we’d picked up over the last year. The picture of Hudson and Tommy holding up the first bookshelf they built for my library made me smile. It wasn’t perfect—the left side leaned just slightly—but once they anchored it to the wall, it was fine.

And it wasn’t just the libary that had turned out exactly how we’d wanted, with great memories attached to the renovation project. The floors, once scuffed and stained, gleamed now after countless hours of sanding and sealing.

I could still remember Hudson, Jack, Tommy, and Jamie insisting they could do it themselves, even after I’d begged Hudson to let a professional take over. He’d just grinned at me, a streak of dust across his face, and said, “What? We don’t look like a bunch of professionals to you?”

But honestly? They’d done a fantastic job.

Then there was the kitchen. My absolute favorite room to hate during the renovation. I’d spent hours peeling off layer after layer of outdated wallpaper while Hudson painstakingly replaced the cabinets. It had been a nightmare—sticky, tedious, and full of far too many near-meltdowns—but now, seeing theclean white walls and the sleek countertops, I couldn’t help but feel a ridiculous sense of pride.

I wrapped my arms around myself, taking it all in. The house didn’t just look like a home—itfeltlike one. It wasn’t just the big things, like the furniture or the tree or the gleaming hardwood. It was the little details that made it ours. The fluffy throw blanket Hudson bought for the couch and cuddled under all the time, even though he claimed it was mine. The tiny nicks and scratches on the kitchen table from late-night card games with our friends. The way the light hit the library windows just right in the afternoon, making the room feel like magic.

Every corner of this house had a piece of us in it—of our struggles, our laughter, our love. It wasn’t perfect, but neither were we. And somehow, that made it even better.

“Let’s get this party started.” Hudson walked back into the room, another box of decorations in one hand and a mug of cocoa in the other. He handed me the mug and kissed my temple. “You with me?”

“I’m with you.” I nodded, taking a sip and smiling up at him. “Just thinking about how much we’ve done here. It’s hard to believe this is the same house.”

He glanced around, his expression softening. “We’ve come a long way, huh?”

“A very long way,” I agreed. “But it was worth it. Every bit of it.”

His eyes met mine, warm and steady. “Yeah, it was.”

The sound of laughter drifted in from the driveway, followed by the crunch of boots on fresh snow. I looked over just as the front door opened, letting in two very familiar faces.

Tommy stepped inside first, shaking snow from his short hair like a wet dog. “I’m freezing. Where’s the cocoa?”

Grace followed, carrying a plate covered in foil and giving him a pointed look. “Um, how about you say ‘hi’ first, like a normal human being?”

“Hi,” Tommy said to us, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on the hook by the door. “Where’s the cocoa?”

Grace muttered something under her breath, rolling her eyes as she handed the plate to me. “Snickerdoodles,” she said, her tone much brighter now. “Still warm from the oven.”

“You’re a saint,” I said, lifting the foil and inhaling the cinnamon-sugar goodness. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

“Cookies deserves cocoa,” Hudson drawled begrudgingly, heading into the kitchen to get some.

I shook my head, laughing as I set the cookies down on the coffee table. “But that doesn’t mean you can sit on your butt and drink it while we do all the decorating.”

Grace laughed, sinking onto the couch. “Good luck enforcing that, Fi.”

Tommy flopped onto the couch beside her, reaching for a cookie, apparently deciding to ignore us. But then his gaze caught on one of our wedding photos on the wall, and he pointed at it. “I’ll give you this—you guys threw a seriously good wedding.”

Hudson walked in and handed Tommy his precious cocoa, and my smile softened as I glanced up at him. “It was perfect, wasn’t it?”

“Perfect,” he echoed, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Even with this guy almost catching his sleeve on fire during the toast.”

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