Page 103 of Mistletoe & Magic
We eat, and it’s quiet but not awkward because it never is. Being with Remy and just being still is something that I appreciate. Birds chatter above us. Somewhere across the grove a branch snaps and then settles. The whole place feels like asecret, even though it is just our little clearing off the main path. I lean on one elbow and watch him chew, watch the relaxed lines of his face, watch the way he looks at the trees like they are old friends who always know what to say.
“What is this all for?” I ask finally. “The blanket. The basket. The perfect sandwich. My favorite salad.”
He stifles a smile. “Can I not surprise you with a picnic?”
“You can, and you did.” I nudge the other container with my toe. “What is that one?”
He picks it up and sets it between us. “White cake. Buttercream frosting. Your favorite.”
“This is a very serious picnic.”
“I am a very serious man.”
He cracks the lid, and the scent of sugar fills the air. The frosting is pale and swirled like a cloud. In the center sits something that is not cake. Light flashes before my brain catches up.
A ring.
It’s tucked into the hollow he has made in the frosting. It catches the gray day and still gleams.
My heart stumbles. My breath trips over it. “Oh.”
His mouth lifts. He keeps his eyes on mine. “Now we come as a package deal. Not only do you get a husband, but you get to be an instant mom. How would you feel about that?”
Tears prick so fast I cannot help it. The answer is already in my chest before he finishes the question. “Yes,” I say. “Always yes. In every lifetime, Remington, it is you and me.”
Something in his face breaks open. Relief. Joy. A thousand miles of worry eased in one breath. He reaches into the frosting, pinches the ring free, wipes it on a napkin that he absolutely planned for, and takes my left hand. His fingers are steady. The ring slides over my knuckle as if it was waiting to be there all its life.
“Perfect,” he says, kissing my knuckles.
“It is,” I say, but I am not talking about the ring.
He leans in and kisses me. It is soft and sure and tastes like lemon and sugar. The clearing goes quiet for one long moment. The trees hold their breath with me.
A rustle breaks the spell. We both turn.
Finn and Tate are there, each with a hand around Junie’s middle like she is a cartoon character trying to sprint. She wiggles free and cups her hands around her mouth.
“Did she say yes?” she calls, lungs like a trumpet.
“I did, Junie,” I laugh, and hold my arms wide.
“Will you be my mom now?” she asks, small and serious.
My breath catches, and my heart squeezes.
“Yes,” I say, voice thick, “if you’ll have me.”
She barrels across the blanket, knees first into my lap, nearly knocking me flat. I wrap her up and tuck her under my chin. She smells like crayons and the cinnamon toast she had for breakfast.
“I get to be your mom,”I whisper into her hair.
We talked to her months ago, telling her she probably wouldn’t being seeing Sloane again.
She didn’t cry. Just sort of...tilted her head and asked if she could have ice cream after dinner.
Junie was never attached to Sloane. How could she be? Sloane floated in and out, cold one minute and distracted the next. She never hurt Junie, but she never made space for her, either. And kids know. Even when they don’t have the words for it. But I am here. Not trying to be her mother, just trying to be someone she could trust.
And now, she’s in my arms, asking me for something she’s never really had before.
