Page 7 of Connected By Christmas
“Me neither,” I grin. “We just started another tradition.”
“Definitely,” she giggles as I share my last bit of the candy piece with her in a kiss.
Wrapping us both in a warm blanket, she snuggles against me as I put on her favorite Christmas movie,Miracle on 34th Street. I shouldn’t be surprised that she loves the film about a little girl who lost the magic of Christmas only to find it again.
We enjoy the movie in silence as the fire crackles softly beside us. My hand rests on her bare belly as she lies up against me. Every so often, I feel a kick, and I’m always so amazed to think that my wife has a tiny human being in there that wecreated. By the time the movie ends, Emma is sound asleep in my arms.
Turning off the TV, I gently untangle myself from her before I pick her up and carry her to bed. She snuggles deep into the covers with a sigh as I climb in behind her and hold her against me. I listen to her breaths even out before I close my eyes and join her in my dreams.
“You ready for another surprise?” I whisper in her ear the next afternoon as I come up behind her. I cover her eyes with my hands and lead her to the kitchen. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and after my run this morning, I ran into town to get what we needed for today.
“How many things did you plan in that head of yours,” she laughs.
“It’s our last official Christmas together, just the two of us, so I wanted to make it special. I’ve been planning for a while,” I grin against her neck. I remove my hands, and she blinks as her eyes adjust to the light.
“We’re making Christmas cookies?” She breaks out into a smile and walks over to all the ingredients laid out on the counter.
“Not just any Christmas cookies.” I hand her the recipe card I found buried deep in the Christmas decorations.
“That’s my mom’s handwriting.” She takes the card from my hand and studies it. “It’s her gingerbread cookie recipe,” she whispers. “I thought I had lost it. We used to make these every Christmas for Santa,” she says, tracing the words with her finger.
“I found it when we were going through the decorations. I had planned on looking up a recipe, but when I saw this, I remembered how they were your favorite.”
I pick up her mom’s Christmas apron from the counter and hold it up. Grinning, she bends her head slightly as I put the red strap over her before tying the strings in the back.
She smooths down the snowman on the front. “How fitting,” she laughs. “I actually look like a round snowman with this belly.”
“You areveryadorable in it.” I place my hand on the round snowman from her belly and bend down for a quick kiss. “Okay, Frosty, show me what to do. Gingerbread cookies happen to be one of my favorites, too.”
“You are in for a treat then because these are the best gingerbread cookies you’ll ever taste.” Her blue eyes sparkle with excitement as she grabs the bowl and measuring cups. “We need music. Can you put on some holiday tunes?” She asks, looking over her shoulder at me.
“Of course.” I walk over to my phone and connect it to the speaker. I select a Christmas playlist, andWhite Christmasstarts playing softly throughout the house. Rolling up the sleeves to my grey hoodie, I get to work mixing as she adds the ingredients one by one.
An hour later, the house smells like cinnamon and ginger. She pulls the trays from the oven and places them on the cooling rack.
“God, that smells amazing.”
“Wait until you try one.” She takes the spatula and puts one on a plate. Blowing on it, she breaks a piece off for me.
“I could never wait either for decorating when my mom would make cookies,” I chuckle.
“We can decorate later once they’ve cooled completely. You have to experience them warm from the oven first,” she giggles, placing the cookie in my mouth.
Sweetness mixed with spice hits my tastebuds, and I moan my approval. “These are amazing.” I reach for another bite and savor the taste again.
“I told you,” she grins and breaks off another piece. I reach out and brush off some flour on her cheek with my thumb. I love seeing her so happy, especially around the holidays. I know they can be tough on her without her parents here, so I try my best to keep a smile on her face. I watch her eyes light up when her favorite Christmas song comes on.
“Dance with me,” I say softly, taking the plate from her hand and setting it on the counter. She unties her apron and pulls it over her head. Smiling, she steps into my arms as Frank Sinatra’s smooth voice fills the air. Our bodies sway toI’ll Be Home for Christmasas she lays her head on my chest.
“My mom starts playing Christmas music as soon as Halloween is over,” I laugh softly into her hair.
“So did mine,” she whispers against my shirt.
“Every time this song came on, I thought of you. I didn’t know where you were or if you were even real, but your beautiful green eyes would always appear in my mind. I would picture you sitting by the Christmas tree, listening to this same song and thinking of me.”
“…being togetherif only in my dreams,” she softly sings the words swirling around us.
“Exactly,” I whisper.
