Page 109 of Mad About Yule

“Don’t go easy on him.” Hope slips up to me and slides an arm around my waist. “He likes a challenge.”

I pull her close against my side, loving the feel of her against me. I can’t love it quite as much as I might otherwise, with both of our families here, but it’s still perfection.

Caleb moves into the kitchen as if he heard his cue. “Don’t ever change, Hope.”

“Shouldn’t you get back to the hospital?” I say.

“I’m going. Came in here to say my goodbyes, actually.”

Another wave of congratulations pours onto him from every side. Rowan gave birth to their son yesterday—little Colton James. Mom texted all day, giving progress reports on her labor that I would really have rather not known. All I cared about was the final score, I didn’t need the play-by-play.

Hope’s parents invited my mom and Caleb over to share in their Christmas celebrations, since ours have been upended by the baby’s birth. I should probably be alarmed at how well our families mesh together, but I’m nothing but grateful.

“Tell her I’ll stop by this evening,” Mom says. She and Helena are in a corner together, probably swapping stories. I should probably be alarmed aboutthat, too, but I’m enjoying myself too much to worry about it.

“I will. Thank you all again.” Caleb ducks out, goodbyes following after him.

Lila waves a sequined arm in the air. “Are we going to watch the movie, or should I make another batch of caramel corn?”

All three parents turn to Hope and me.

“Give us a minute,” I say.

Our moms glory in this like two little supernovas, but they usher Paul and Lila into the living room, giving Hope and me some privacy. I should have done all this a little less conspicuously, but between both Christmas traditions, there hasn’t been time.

“Ready to exchange gifts?” I say. Honestly, Hope at my side smiling up at me is already a gift.

We grab our small, wrapped gifts from beneath her parents’ plush tree and duck back into the kitchen. She passes me the first of hers, a square papered in red and white snowflakes.

“I hope this isn’t weird.” She bites her lower lip. That little move makes my stomach tighten, but I focus on her nervousness.

“It’s not going to be weird.” I heft the small package, but then a terrible idea snags my thoughts. “It’s not a nutcracker, is it?”

She laughs, but runs a hand over my arm, comforting me. “I’m not that cruel.”

I slip the paper off the box, the excited tremor in my belly reminding me of childhood Christmases. Inside, I tug a red ribbon, and pull out a handmade ornament. It’s a disc of wood painted with a perfect little hammer and saw on one side.

The ornament spins gently from between my fingers, and I see the back side is engraved.McBride Woodworking.

“It’s sort of a pre-opening celebration,” she says softly.

A well of emotion washes over me, lifting me up. I sweep her into my arms, the ornament held safely in one hand. In the spring, after Caleb returns from parental leave, I plan to open a custom carpentry business, with his and Mom’s blessings.

Turns out that—and Hope right here in my arms—really were why she’d offered me up as a volunteer for the Christmas festival. Can’t say I’m disappointed in the way things turned out.

I release Hope and look at the ornament again. “This is perfect. I love everything you paint.”

Her smile flows like melted chocolate through my chest, warm and comforting. I love the thoughtful gift, but it’s nothing compared to how much I love her.

“Now yours.” I pass her the smaller of my gifts, not much bigger than the one she’d given me.

She frees the little faux-gold statuette, her soft “Oh, Griffin” letting me know she recognizes it. The Number One Debater Award hasn’t lost its artificial shine. “Where did you find this?”

“In a box of high school mementos. I figured you should have it.”

She positively glows. “Because you admit I really won our arguments back in high school?”

“Because it turns out I don’t mind losing, as long as I lose to you.”

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