Page 98 of Mistletoe & Magic
“You can never have enough books,” he says, mock scandalized.
Junie leans in and peers at the pile like a dragon admiring a hoard. “This is amazing, Ivy. You scored. My dad loves you.”
Remy grins and bends to kiss me, unhurried and sure, one hand at my jaw. The room tilts a little. “I do,” he says against my mouth, just for me.
I kiss him again. “Good. Because I love you.”
He pretends to be shocked, one hand to his heart, then breaks into that rare laugh that starts in his chest and ends in his eyes.
“My turn,” I say, and pull a tidy stack of gifts from under the tree that I have been saving for him. Work shirts with the softest inside. Thermal socks that will not quit. A wool beanie in a green that makes his eyes go even darker. A thermos engraved with Bennett Tree Farm. He smiles like it is all too much and exactly right at the same time. The last gift is flat and light. He opens it slowly, careful with the paper even though that makes no sense.
When he sees the photo, he stops moving. It is the three of us, caught at some perfect angle by a kind photographer. Junie on his shoulders, my hand on his arm, both of us laughing at something out of frame. The frame saysOur Familyin little stamped letters. He swallows once, hard, then looks up at me, and I see the exact second something steadies inside him.
“Ivy,” he says, and my name sounds like a promise. “I love it.”
Junie has been waiting for this part. She shoves two flat envelopes at us with deadly seriousness. “I made these at school. Don’t bend them.”
Inside are ornaments made from baked clay and paint and glitter. Three stick figures and a dog lined up under a triangle tree. Our Family across the top in glitter that will be everywhere forever.
“They are perfect,” I say.
Junie nods likeyes, obviously. Lola, who has returned to drape herself along the top of the couch like a living stole, flicks her tail at us all in approval.
Remy clears his throat and reaches behind him for something else I did not see. A long, thin box. I give him a look. He grins.
“This is not fair,” I say. “I did not know we were doing extra surprises.”
“This is not a surprise. This is insurance.” He sets the box on my lap. “Open it.”
Inside is a letter in his handwriting. The paper shakes a little in my fingers as I unfold it. The first line steals my breath. It is simple and sure. I read the whole thing twice and then set it in my lap and look at him, because I cannot speak for a second. It is not a legal paper. It is not a list. It is a letter about choosing each other every day. About holding the door for love like Pete said. About building a life with both hands and not getting scared and slamming the door when it feels big. About how he wants to spend the rest of his stupid life with me—his words—and how if I say no, he will ask again tomorrow and the next day until I get tired of hearing the question and say yes just to shut him up.
“Remy,” I say, and the word breaks. I kiss him until Junie coughs and covers her eyes like she is tired of our nonsense.
“Is it time to open the rest of the presents?” she asks.
“Yes, boss,” Remy says, and I slide back to my cushion, breathless and certain in a way that scares me and settles me all at once.
We take our time with the little things. Our small family Christmas is complete, and the day is just getting started. I set the pans on the stove to rest, drizzle the cinnamon rolls with more icing than they need, and take a long look at the kitchen, at the tree, at my people. If the day stopped right here, I would still call it perfect.
The door bursts open, which is how the best parts of our life always seem to arrive, and the house fills with cold air and voices. Willa and Tate first, then Finn and Rowan with Lilith right behind, and Donna and Pete last. The living room goes from serene to alive in three seconds. Coats fly to hooks.Scarves land in a heap. Someone’s hat lands on Lola and she looks personally offended and then climbs onto the couch to recover her dignity.
“Merry Christmas,” Willa sings, and sweeps me into a hug that smells like frost and peppermint.
“You made so much good food,” Tate says, peering around me in the direction of the kitchen.
“What can I say; it’s Christmas.” I grin.
Pete follows with his hat in his hands and a look like he cannot believe his luck. He squeezes my shoulder and tells me it already smells like the best Christmas he has ever had.
I did not plan to cry before brunch. I wipe my eyes and blame the onions.
We pass plates and forks and mugs and napkins, and it is chaos in the sweet way. Remy looks happy and content, more relaxed than I’ve seen him in weeks. Tate returns to the counter for seconds and steals the corner cinnamon roll that has extra icing like we cannot all see him.
Junie opens the rest of her gifts in the middle of the floor like a sun with planets around her. She holds up each thing for us to admire. New mittens from Willa that match mine. A wooden puzzle of a forest from Lilith and Rowan. A handmade scarf from Donna that has tiny hearts knit into the pattern. Pete presents a little tool belt that fits her and has safe kid tools, and she hugs his knees.
We eat until the house smells like new memories. The sausage casserole disappears first because men named Finn exist. The cinnamon rolls earn praise that makes me blush. They vanish in a way that suggest a crime was committed. Someone starts a game in the corner that involves charades and a paper crown, and Rowan will not stand down from anything. Finn tries to get out of the paper crown and fails. The crown sits on his head at a dignified tilt, and he looks very handsomeand surprised about it. Willa takes photos from the ladder in the library doorway and then makes me stand with Remy under the frame that says Our Family and kisses the top of my head while she clicks the shutter because she is documenting history.
I sneak back to the kitchen to refill the coffee kettle and find Remy already there, stacking plates in tidy towers and rinsing forks like the world depends on it. He hums something under his breath, and his hair curls the tiniest bit at his neck from the heat in here. I stand and watch him. It is possible I have never loved anyone more than I love this man rinsing forks on Christmas morning.
