Page 45 of The Christmas Playbook
Best Christmas ever.
Epilogue: Mira
One year later
Christmas in Shadow Valley is nothing like back home. Not only am I welcomed with open arms by Rhys’s parents, but their house is calm and cozy. The scent of pine fills the air as Rhys’s mom pulls me into a warm embrace. His dad shuts the door behind us and pats Rhys on the back, which quickly turns into a hug.
It’s been a while since we’ve seen them.
Rhys is smack-dab in the middle of football season, which means there isn’t a lot of time for leisure travel. We’re lucky that we’re even able to spend Christmas with them. We flew in this morning, and we fly out this evening. The quick trip is worth it, though. The smile on Rhys’s face is genuine, and with his mother doting over us, we may never leave.
I follow after her and answer all her questions about the online classes I’ve been taking while Rhys and his dad discuss the rest of his season.
“Where are you two going after this?” his mom asks.
I tune everything out as soon as I step into the living room. Rhys surely answers her question, but I don’t hear a thing.
“Wow,” I whisper.
Rhys wasn’t kidding when he said that Christmas with his parents was the best thing ever.
I half expect Santa Claus to come down the chimney at any given second.
Rhys’s arms come around me and I fall back onto his chest.
“I told you. Pretty cool, huh?” he says.
I scan the garland on top of the mantel with a ridiculous number of ceramic Santa Claus figures lined up perfectly. I smile at the thought of the Christmas gift that we’d purchased in the airport for his mom.
Nothing like last minute.
Rhys said she’d love to have a Santa who was dressed as a pilot, and I argued.
But now that I’m standing here, staring at her collectables, I take it back.
A warm fire crackles in the fireplace, coating my cheeks. I move closer to the Christmas tree. I softly run my fingers over the cute years-old handmade ornaments from the guy at my side.
“Oh my gosh,” I giggle. “Please tell me this is you.”
Rhys’s cheeks turn pink, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Come on, Mom. Really?”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” she says. “It’s cute.”
“It’s not cute,” he grumbles.
I smack his hand when he reaches for the rabies-looking hand-drawn reindeer with a picture of him as a child for the face. It’s hilarious. And okay, fine. It’s cute.
He was a cute kid.
I hope our kids end up being as cute as him.
Butterflies fill me at the thought. I want to do the same thing Rhys’s mom did. I want our tree to be filled with their cute Christmas ornaments from over the years.
I’m not pregnant. We haven’t even talked about something like that. If I wasn’t on birth control, I probably would be, considering Rhys can’t keep his hands off me.
Would it be a bad thing?
Kids. With him. Christmas morning with rosy-cheeked kids tearing into gifts.
