Page 27 of Mountain Daddy
The sixth stocking.
It’s smaller than the rest. Soft cream, trimmed with a thin band of gold. No name stitched on the front, just a tiny embroidered star.
I frown, because I know for a fact we only bought five.
“Uh… Cee?” I ask slowly. “Where did this come from?”
She looks up from her book, eyes bright, cheeks a little flushed from the firelight. “Hmm?”
I point to the mantle. “Unless Bear’s been shopping online while we sleep, I’m pretty sure we didn’t pick that one out.”
Celia smiles, but there’s something nervous in it. Something almost shy. She sets her cocoa aside and stands, smoothing her hand down the front of her flannel as she walks over.
Elsie beams. “It’s perfect, right?”
“It is,” I say carefully. “But who’s it for?”
Elsie looks at me like I’ve missed the most obvious thing in the world. “The baby, Daddy.”
My brain stalls.
“The… baby,” I repeat.
The room shifts. The fire pops. Somewhere behind me Bear snorts in his sleep. Gigi flicks an ear.
I look at Celia, searching her face, heart pounding.
She’s watching me with tears in her eyes.
“It’s for the baby,” she says softly. “Our baby.”
For a second I can’t move. Can’t breathe. The words hang in the air between us, bright and fragile as glass.
“Celia,” I manage. “You’re… are you…?”
She nods, a shaky laugh escaping. “Yeah.”
“When… How long have you…?”
“Found out two days ago,” she says. “I wanted to tell you right away, but then I saw the stocking at the craft fair and Elsie loved it and… it felt right to tell you like this. At home. On Christmas Eve.” Her voice cracks. “I hope that’s okay.”
Okay.
Okay?
It’s like someone opened a door inside my chest and let a flood in.
I close the distance between us in three steps and pull her into my arms. She melts against me, breath hitching, hands fisting in the back of my shirt.
“You’re really pregnant?” I ask into her hair, just to be sure I’m not dreaming.
“Yes.” She laughs again, wet and disbelieving. “Really. I saw the doctor in town. Due late summer. We’re going to have a baby.”
Something hot and tight stings behind my eyes. I press my forehead to hers.
“Thank you,” I whisper, even though I don’t know who I’m thanking—her, the universe, the strange Santa who nudged her back to me last year. All of the above.
Her lower lip trembles. “You’re not… upset?”
