Page 133 of The Crush of Christmas Past
Because I am. So very ready.
When I turn back to Theo, I don’t see a mere man.
I see my entire future.
The rest of my life flashes before my eyes.
Christmas at home—whatever walls may contain us. The laughter of his—our—family echoing through every room. Mundane mornings working side-by-side with our feet brushing beneath the table. Afternoons where our creative worlds blend into one. Evenings that start with takeout and end in soul-baring talks. Never-ending nights of toe-curling pleasure.
Love and legacy.
But more than that?Peace.
Ordinary, simple peace.
“Here.” I place the wooden ornament holding my heart into his outstretched hand. “Maybe we can hang it next to the others.”
This year—and forever after.
The piece is a tiny replica of the Sugarpine Springs bridge, complete with our initials. The very same ones I’d carved seven years ago, and he’d brought back to life last Christmas.
“Flip it around,” I instruct. “There’s something on the back.”
He turns it over, gingerly displaying it on his palm.
Marry me.
The expression that crosses Theo’s face when he sees the etching is disarming. His awe crashes into me like a freight train wrapped in fairy lights.
“Holyfuck, Isla.”
“Well, that’s a reaction.”
He continues staring at it. The seconds drag, and my nerves hum under the quiet.
When he finally speaks, what he says catches me completely off guard. “Was the top part of the question mark too hard to carve?”
“Rude.” I swat his arm. “I’m perfectly capable, thank you very much. Have you forgotten you’re in the presence of a big deal small town designer?”
In a surprising turn of events, a project I did for the children’s wing of the Sugarpine Springs Library went viral.
Once Upon a Springswas designed to highlight local folklore and fairy tales, but the display reached far beyond our little town. I’ve since been inundated with requests from variousother places to help bring the same kind of celebratory attention to their forgotten legends and lore.
“Anyway, the punctuation is correct,” I assure him. “It’s not a question.”
“So bossy, Sunshine.”
“Thought I’d give your need for control a night off,” I tease. “Plus, I knew you weren’t ever going to propose.”
He opens his mouth to protest, but I hold up my hand.
“Not because you don’t want to marry me. But—just like with ourI love you—I know you want me fully in charge of thehowand thewhen. You would’ve waited forforeverif that’s what I needed.”
For a man so dominant in the bedroom, he’s remarkably tender with my heart. Never pushing nor rushing my healing, he simply holds space for my feelings.
Between therapy and Theo, I’ve become someone who doesn’t just face the future. I embrace it.
“I would’ve waited,” he says. “But I wanted it. Every day.”
