Page 8 of New Year's Day

“They’re younger than him,” I start but Willow is already shaking her head.

“And he’s younger than me,” she oh so kindly reminds us.

“Willow, just—be a good sister and spend some time with Row,” I tell her, tamping down the faint irritation that’s rising. “He just wants to be included.”

“Fine,” Willow says with an exasperated breath.

I pull her into me before she can stomp off, giving her a hug. “Don’t forget to come give me a kiss at midnight.”

Our daughter gazes up at me, her lips curved in the faintest smile. “You know all of my kisses are for you, Daddy. And Mama.”

I pat the side of her head before she turns and runs away from us. “Rowan! Come over here.”

Row scurries over to where the girls are standing, Iris seemingly confused by the new addition to their usual twosome.

Keeping my gaze on Willow, I murmur, “She’s growing up so fast, Wren. One day all of her kisses won’t be for me anymore.”

“You’ll always have mine,” my wife whispers to me.

I slip my arm around her shoulders, tucking her close to my side. “We still owe each other at least a million.”

Wren laughs. “The amount grows every time we talk about it.”

I grin. I can’t help it. I’m greedy.”

“It’s a Lancaster trait,” she says.

I dip my head, kissing her lips. Always tempted by my wife’s sexy mouth.

“You’re a good father.” She pats my chest.

“Even when I harass and force my children to be nice to each other?”

“Oh, especially then.”

“You’re a good mom.” I kiss her again. “A great one.”

Wren slips out from underneath my arm, only to link her arm through mine. “Come on. Let’s go drink some champagne and get drunk.”

“In front of the children?” I raise my brows, already leading her toward the bar.

“Definitely. We don’t know how long we’re going to be snowed in with this bunch. We’re probably going to need all the liquor we can get,” Wren says, her eyes twinkling.

Damn, I didn’t even think of that, but that’s my wife for you.

Always so wise.

FOUR

SYLVIE

I’m in a massive,overstuffed chair with my husband, and I’m sitting on his lap. Spencer has his arms wrapped around me, and they’re just the comfort that I need. He knows how I feel about this house and what happened in it. He was there when my mother died here.

Whit refuses to let that incident define this house or our family.

“It was an accident,” he stressed to me the last time we talked about it. “Too many generations of Lancasters have passed through these halls. I’m not about to let what happened taint this home forever. I can’t. I have a family to raise.”

He and Summer have a beautiful family and they’re currently raising them in this house. The house where they were married. A house that is full of laughter and joy. Where young children seem to spill out of every room, including my very own.

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