Page 20 of A Dye Hard Holiday
Gabriel,
Your pie is upstairs in our room along with the very special whipped topping I made to go with it. I will feed the pie to you naked on your lap AFTERwe put our angels to sleep.
Love,
Your Sunshine
Having that mini fridge in our bedroom suite had sounded silly when Josh first mentioned it, but it was another example of his evil genius. I took the steps two at a time, both eager to tuck our kids into bed, and get to the good times that I knew would follow.
Josh had already wrangled Dylan into his pajamas, so I got our princess ready for bed. She looked up at me with so much love and joy that it took my breath away. It was my turn to read, so I picked up the thick illustrated book beside their bed and settled with Destiny in one glider while Josh held Dylan in the one beside me. I held the book out so Dylan could see the colorful pages while I told them all about Winnie’s latest adventures.
They were fast asleep long before I finished the chapter, but I kept reading so that my voice followed them into their dreams. I didn’t need the holiday to remind me to be thankful for Josh and our kids, but I couldn’t deny that somedays were extra special. Love and pride welled so full inside my chest that it nearly hurt to breathe.
My blessings extended to the privacy of our suite where my husband pressed his naked body to mine and fed me the most delicious boozy apple pie topped with homemade whipped cream that had vanilla liqueur and a splash of cinnamon whisky in it.
“I have a surprise trip for the entire family tomorrow,” I told Josh after both my stomach and dick were content.
“We’re not singing Christmas carols, are we?”
“That’s a damn good idea, but not what I had planned.” I didn’t wait for Josh to guess again. “We’re all going to the tree farm to chop down our family Christmas tree. We get to ride in a sleigh and everything.”
“Oh man. We’re totally going to end up with a Clark Griswold kind of Christmas.”
“GET BACK IN BED,” Gabe demanded sleepily. “There cannot possibly be a good enough deal worth getting out of bed at four o’clock in the morning.”
I rolled out of bed before he could get his hands on me because he would make me late for shopping with our moms, Mere, and Chaz. “You’ll be thanking me come Christmas morning,” I said smugly as I made a dash toward our bathroom. “Go back to sleep. You’re going to need the energy for the lumberjacking you’ll be doing this afternoon.” I still couldn’t believe that Gabriel Roman-Wyatt wanted to pack us all into a sleigh and ride out in the frigid cold to cut down a frigging tree.Where had this even come from?
I smiled when I came back into our bedroom after a quick shower and found him sound asleep once again. I ran my hands through his silky hair and kissed his cheek before I left our room to meet our mothers in the kitchen.
“Come on, Josh, we’re going to miss all the good stuff,” my mom whined.
“Here’s your coffee, sweetie,” Martina said, handing my favorite travel mug to me. Martina wasn’t as enthused as my mom about our early morning excursion into the crazed crowds.
“Did you see the Toys ‘R’ Us ad?” my mom asked. “There are so many things we want to buy for our angels.”
“Mom,” I calmly said as I led them to the garage where Duchess was parked. “Gabe and I don’t want the holidays to be about presents and material things. We’re all about the experiences.” Once the words left my mouth, I realized that was why Gabe wanted to do the tree thing. I had to admit, it sounded old-fashioned and sweet.
“I understand and approve of the sentiment,” my mom agreed.
“I’m so glad you understand.” Gabe and I worried that they’d take it the wrong way.
“Of course, I understand, but don’t expect me to listen,” she said sassily.
“Mommm,” I whined.
“Listen, as you so eloquently stated yesterday, you and Gabe are responsible for raising the little monsters. Our job as grandparents is to spoil them rotten.”
I looked to Martina for help, but none was forthcoming. “I call dibs on that toddler train set,” she called out as she climbed in the back seat of my SUV.
“Dang it,” my mom said. “Okay, but I get to buy that Victorian dollhouse.”
“Wait! They’re too little for train sets and dollhouses yet,” I told them. I appreciated their holiday enthusiasm, but what was the point of buying a house full of stuff the kids can’t play with for years?
“Darling, these are age appropriate,” my mother said patiently. “We’re not idiots.”
“I never said that, Mom.”
“Not in so many words,” she countered. “Have a little faith in us, honey. Martina and I did a wonderful job with our own kids.” She wasn’t wrong.