Page 37 of Finding the Pieces

“Well, glad I showed up for the good part,” Evie says with a laugh. “Who’s feeling lunch? There’s an amazing place next door. You guys in for a celebration?”

The four of us spend the next two hours sharing great food and raising our glasses in cheers to the soon-to-be proposal, all while Luca babbles between me and Dom, throwing all the food we put in front of him across the table. We tip accordingly. What a mess.

I can’t wait to see Bec wearing that ring soon, knowing she’ll say yes before Aiden even has the chance to finish asking her.

Chapter eighteen

Dom

“Dom,” Ellie sings. “Merry Christmas,” she whispers in my ear, curling into my back, her body wrapping around mine, and her hand clinging to my stomach as she tugs herself flush against my back.

We used to cuddle every night and morning, but having herbig spoonme right now is a reminder that we’ve stopped doing that. Luca’s had a really good week of sleep, and I don’t hear him fussing on the monitor, so we must be getting another day of him sleeping in.

A very Merry Christmas indeed.

“Merry Christmas, beautiful,” I mumble, voice groggy. Our room is still dark with the curtains drawn. The exception being a vintage, one-foot mini-Christmas tree on our dresser with small rainbow-colored bulbs. Ellie found it at a thrift store last year.

Every single room of our house has at least a splash of festive decorations and cheer, thanks to her. Luca has his own mini tree in his nursery, too, even though we have to turn it off at night so it won’t keep him awake. We don’t need anything else working against us.

“Another good night,” she says before placing a slow, lingering kiss on my bare shoulder. I sleep shirtless, and sure, the Dad bod thing is real. I’ve definitelysoftened around the middle and lost muscle tone since Luca was born a year ago. Working out becoming my last priority is to be expected at this point in my life. I’m not bothered by it when I see the way Ellie still looks at me when she thinks I don’t notice.

Less time meal prepping and working out means more time with my family. More time to wind down when we finally get a precious minute to ourselves. Sometimes convenient comfort foods make more sense when meal prepping feels like too big a task to take on. None of that matters to me. As long as I feel good, can keep up with Luca, and Ellie still looks at me with fire in her eyes, then I don’t give a fuck if I’ve softened up or lost a little muscle here or there.

And Ellie? Her body is something else. I’ve always loved every inch of her, but watching her go through pregnancy and birth? I’m in awe of all she’s given to create this family of ours. I know she’s still getting used to the changes…the stretch marks, the scar from the c-section, and other things I don’t notice but she tells mefeeldifferent…like breastfeeding and all that comes with it. For the record…not asinglecomplaint on my part. Every mark on her body is a reminder of how fucking strong my wife is, and yeah, it gets me hard. Because she is as stunning—if not more so—as the day I met her.

I always wanted to be a father. To have this family I have now. The physical evidence of her sacrifice to give that to me has never done anything but make me want her more. But she can’t see that, so I have to tell her, and I have to show her…when she’s ready.

I thread my fingers through hers before pulling her palm to my mouth to place a quick kiss there, reveling in the feel of her warm body against mine. Shit…shouldn’t revel too much, I guess. The feeling of her tits against my back is hard to ignore. There won’t be any hiding my growing erection if I don’t get my shit together.

“Want me to start the coffee?” she asks, sleep still lingering in her voice.

“Not yet,” I say, tightening my grip on her hand before turning to face her and pulling her into my chest, dropping a kiss on top of her head. I breathe in the familiar scent of her shampoo—the one she’s used for years—and my entire body relaxes on impulse.

Ellie in my arms, content and well rested, on Christmas morning with our son sleeping peacefully, about to have a fucking blast while we spoil him with holiday magic. This is my dream come true.

My heart knows it’s found home and beats alongside its match.

In moments this perfect, it’s difficult to remember what stops us from playing on the same team sometimes. What makes us defensive, or speak more tersely than we should, forgetting ourselves and each other when we’re exhausted. When things are this goddamn good, none of those things seem to matter. I want it to feel like this all the time. Easy, joyful, and loving.

We stay like this, using the time to talk about our excitement to see Luca’s face as he takes in the site of brightly wrapped packages. We guess which book and toy he’ll love most, and dream about what Christmas mornings will be like when he’s older and he comes barreling into our room at five in the morning like Jake and I used to do to our parents when we were too impatient to wait for them to wake up to start opening gifts.

Luca gives us a solid fifteen minutes before waking up.

Way to go, little man.

Shockingly, he wakes up happy, singing, cooing, and giggling when we walk into his room together to get the day started. I make coffee while she changes Luca’s diaper, and we share a lazy morning together. Christmas music plays softly in the background, the scent of Ellie’s pine candles has me believing for a second that our tree is real. I throw a pack of cinnamon rolls in the oven and make mimosas for me and Ellie while she nurses Luca.

It’s actual heaven on Earth. I know when I look back on my life and think about my best moments, days like this will be among them.

“Here,” I say. Handing Ellie her stocking while she sits with Luca on the floor.

She hums in suspicion. “You and Luca up to no good together, conspiring against me this Christmas?” she asks.

I try to bite back a smile at her antics, and fail. “Yes, weconspiredto get you a gift. Aren’t we the worst?” I ask our son, who blows raspberries in sarcastic agreement, I’d guess.

Ellie pulls the small brown box tied with green ribbon out of her stocking and gives it a small shake.

“Ah-ah, careful,” I warn her too late. “It’s fragile.” She freezes.

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