Page 38 of Jingle Bell Flock
He laughed again, shaking his head, then his expression sobered. “I don't know what I did to deserve a second chance with you.”
“You exist,” I said simply. “That’s enough.”
He kissed me again, soft and sweet and tasting like promises.
“So,” he said when we broke apart. “Forever?”
“If you'll have me.”
“Jeremy Price.” His smile was brighter than coals in the grate. “I’ll have you for as long as you’ll let me.”
“Better make it forever then.”
“Deal.”
ten
. . .
epilogue
JEREMY
Seven Months Later
I’d wornthis tie exactly three times in my life before today. Once at prom. Once for my mom’s funeral. And then again for my dad’s.
Now I was wearing it for my wedding.
“Hold still,” Jemma said, her fingers working the Windsor knot with the kind of efficiency that came from years of tying Eli’s ties. “You’re fidgeting.”
“I’m not fidgeting.”
“You’ve been fidgety since you woke up.” She pulled the knot snug, then smoothed down my lapels. “There. Perfect.”
I caught my reflection in the mirror in her bedroom—navy blue suit, crisp white shirt, and the tie Jemma insisted I wear even though I’d only ever worn it on sad occasions.
I looked … genuinely, stupidly happy.
“You look so handsome,” she said softly, her eyes glinting with that telltale shine that said she was going to cry again. “Mom and Dad would be so proud.”
My throat tightened. I glanced down at my wrist, at the watch I’d strapped on half an hour earlier. My dad’s watch. The one he’d worn every day of his life until the day he died. The second hand ticked steadily forward toward my future, one I never thought I’d get to have.
“He would’ve loved this,” I said quietly. “Both of them would have.”
Jemma’s hand landed on my shoulder, and she squeezed it gently. “They’re here with us. You know that, right?”
I’d never believed in God. Still didn’t. Jemma tried for years because Todd shoved God down her throat, but even she was shaky on the whole heaven-and-hell thing now.
But here—in this house—our parents felt close.
Not floating-around-in-the-clouds close. Just … present.
Their presence was everywhere. In the walls they’d painted a dozen times. The floor Dad had patched more times than I remembered. The beams that creaked the same way they always had.
It wasn’t spiritual. It was history.
It was them.
