Page 18 of A Holiday Lift
I smile, tilting my head back to look at him. “Most definitely.”
“Good, and we still have tomorrow.”
He leans down, giving me a sweet kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Our mothers are clucking like hens about what to cook, what to wear, and something else I don’t catch.
“They’re fast friends,” Dean notes while holding me tight.
“Thank God. They’re all we have.”
He laughs and then groans. “As much as I don’t want to, I need to check my email and figure out what’s going on with my client. If I have to leave, there will be very little time to prepare.”
His mother bristles. “Now? It’s Christmas Eve and we have a big dinner planned. Not to mention, you wanted to take us downtown.”
“I wish I didn’t have to, Mom, but . . . I can’t neglect this.”
She sighs with a hint of frustration. “Are you sure you want to marry my son, Holly? A workaholic who can’t put the computer down—not even for the holidays.”
I laugh and look at him. “There’s no one else I’d rather be with.”
She humphs and mutters under her breath as she walks into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“I understand. If this were my big client, I would need to do the same thing.”
While it’s Christmas and I wish he weren’t stuck working, I get it. I hoped this year we’d be doing things together, but I have tomorrow with him, and with my mother here, it’s not so bad.
He kisses my temple. “Thank you. I promise, I’ll make it all up to you tomorrow.”
I grin. “Well, we could always be very quiet tonight.”
Dean winks. “I look forward to testing that.”
He heads back into the bedroom, and I go help in the kitchen—and by help, I mean I stand around aimlessly while they fuss over it all. We’re having ham, mashed potato pie (which is basically twice baked potatoes but much more complicated), green beans, and my mother’s famous Pierniki, which is a polish gingerbread.
Mom calls me over. “Here, you knead the dough, but not too much.”
I’ve done this every year since I was three. My great-grandma taught my grandma and then she taught my mother and she taught me.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” Mrs. Pritchard asks. “Thisis what the holidays are about, it’s family and love.”
My mother nods. “I was so worried that Holly would end up alone after that last guy she was with.”
“Could we not?” I ask. “I got engaged today, and I’d like to only think of Dean.”
“Of course, sweetheart. Dean is a good man. You’re lucky he caught you.”
I smile, thinking back on that elevator debacle. “I was lucky.”
Mrs. Pritchard waves her hand. “It was fate.”
“I think it was a Christmas miracle,” I say as I remember looking up at the mistletoe that was hanging above us.
This year, I made sure I hung it in our bedroom, which he was more than happy to take advantage of.
