Page 111 of Mad About Yule

“Not very high up the mountain today,” he says.

“I thought we were going deeper into the canyon.”

I’ve been too busy admiring his arms to realize that instead of winding through the forest, we’re skirting along the hills just on the edge of town. There are fewer houses out here, but they’re pretty, custom homes like he typically works on.

McBride Woodworking is turning out to be a pretty successful endeavor. He contracts with a custom home builder and takes on private clients when he can schedule them. His carpentry will be all over this town one day, and I absolutely love that.

He turns his truck up a side street and parks. “Ready for a walk?”

“This is a neighborhood. We can’t hike here.” It isn’t a very filled-in neighborhood yet, but I still don’t like the idea of traipsing through someone’s yard.

“Boss. Trust me.”

Unfair that a name that implies I’m in charge manages to get me to do whatever he asks.

We get out of the truck, and he takes my hand, leading me to the end of the short driveway. Some of the land has been cleared, but pine trees mass together here and there to create privacy for the future house. He walks us to the center of the cleared area and nods over my shoulder.

I turn, and a little sigh escapes me. The hill slopes gently downward, and in the distance, the Olallie River is a ribbon of silver snaking through the green trees. I still feel a little guilty for trespassing, but the view is worth it. I burn it into my mind so I can paint it someday.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathe.

“You like it?”

“Whoever owns this lot is lucky to get those views.”

“Yeah, we are.”

I nod, still staring at the river, before I hear exactly what he’s said. I look at him, and my breath stills as he smiles and drops to one knee.

My heart pounds like it’s trying to beat out of my chest. He’s holding a teeny tiny box, and he’s looking at me with such trust in his eyes, I know he’s really holding his heart in his hands. Griffin’s perfect, precious heart he’s so protective of—and he’s offering it to me.

“Hope.” His voice catches on that one word, he fills it with so much love and joy and promise. “I love you. I didn’t know I could feel this much for someone, but I know I never want it to stop. I want us to go on loving each other and challenging each other for the rest of our lives. Will you marry me?”

I nod, crying just a bit now, and he leaps to his feet and wraps me in his arms. He’s my best friend, my biggest support, and, once in a while, my biggest frustration. But I love this man, from his direct honesty to his fierce protectiveness to the way I know we’ll never have a boring time together. I love his smirks and sarcastic eyebrow twitches. I especially love the way he always kisses me like he’s going for a personal best.

He pulls back enough to slip the ring on my finger. It’s a solitaire with diamonds along the band, and I might stare a little.

“You really bought this lot for us?”

“It’s not official until Monday. If you want a different one, we have time to switch.”

“No, this one’s perfect.” I want the one that drew my outdoorsman. “Do you have a house plan picked out?”

He spins me around so he’s holding me from behind while we look out toward the river. “I have some ideas, but we can choose a design together.”

“Will you do all the trim and woodwork?”

His laughter brushes my ear. “Do you think I’d let someone else do it?”

“Good point. Do I get to pick out the paint colors?”

“Do you think I’d let someone else do it?” he says again, nuzzling my neck.

I can almost see it, this house we’ll design together, and build together, and live in and love in, and probably argue just a tiny bit in together. And I can’t wait.

“We make a pretty good team,” I tell him.

He nods, holding me close. “Best team ever.”

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