Page 18 of Christmas in Kiwi Country

“Promises, promises,” I say on a squeal as he lunges for me. We laugh all the way to the shower, and then he’s pushing me into the hot spray and kissing me like I’m the air he needs to breathe.

9

CULLEN

“Emerson, honey, do you think you went a little overboard?” I ask as I survey the piles of baby-themed decorations in various shades of pink and blue.

“Your daughter is only going to be popping babies out once, so I have to maximize the fun.”

As I cringe, she laughs as she tosses me another package of paper lanterns. “I’m sure this surprises you, but I could have lived the rest of my life without that visual.”

She chuckles. “Where’s the fun in that? Your brother is going a little stir-crazy and halfway to marrying me off.” She points a finger at me. “You need to get a handle on him.”

“I know some eligible bachelors; I’ll have to send him some recommendations,” I tease and then duck as she throws a fluffy pinksomethingat me.

“Donotgive him any more ideas. The man is driving me nuts.”

“Well, if there are any two women who can handle the Andrews brothers, it’s our daughters.”

“And here I thought I was makin’ progress acquainting you with the south,” Gwen chirps as she sashays into the room with more decorations.

Kissing her on the cheek, I smile. “How south are we talking?” I murmur as I let my eyes trail down her body suggestively.

She grins and playfully bumps her hip into mine.

“Ugh, y’all are too cute,” Emerson says. “I need a drink.”

Picking up her cup, she takes a long swig as I squint at her and say, “I guess that’s not water.”

“You’d be correct.” She winks and Gwen laughs.

“You fit in just fine around here.”

The women exchange a look that has trouble written all over it before turning back to the task at hand. Slowly, the room comes together, and despite my earlier reservations, Emerson has managed to take the pastel explosion and turn it into something elegant but still casual.

“Hi! I’m here! Sorry I’m late,” Cheyenne says as she comes bustling in the door with presents in her arms.

“It’s fine, girl. I’ve seen your husband,” Emerson says with a mischievous smile and a dismissive hand wave.

“I’m standing right here,” I say, half serious, half joking, because this is a dynamic I’m still unfamiliar with, and despite the fact that my daughter is about to have babies, Isla and Emerson are still my girls.

“I know.” Emerson beams. “That’s why I said it. Your eye twitch is much less noticeable since you moved here. Country living looks good on you, Uncle Cullen.”

I sigh but she’s not wrong. I also can’t complain about being surrounded by these incredible women. This hidden gem in small-town Tennessee is everything I never knew I wanted and absolutely everything I’ve been missing.

“Have you gotten your father on board with that special project?” I ask.

“No, but we are not talking shop. First, you’re not allowed and second, it’s Isla’s day.” Emerson smooths her hand over a baby blanket she’s draped over the top of a rocking chair. “Mom would have loved this.”

“She would have. But you know,”—swallowing, I give her a soft smile—“she’s here with you girls today and always.”

“You think so?” Emerson’s eyes are full of hope. In that moment, she’s the young girl who lost her mom and not the cutthroat businesswoman we raised her to be.

The magnitude of that thought hits me square in the chest. Gene and I spent so much of the last twenty years throwing our daughters into the business, building an empire, but how much of themselves was lost along the way?

Isla’s been radiant since leaving Chicago, and the guilt I’ve been working to put to rest rears its ugly head. Luckily today’s not about me, it’s about my daughter thriving in spite of me.

Clearing my throat, I nod at my niece. “I know she is. That woman loved you girls unconditionally, and that kind of love is eternal.”

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