Page 40 of All in for Christmas

Who knew assembling a bike could be so hard? Dean and I fixate on the directions spread out in front of us on the floor. I squat, anchoring the seat on Eleanor’s bike with my hands. Dean attempts to secure it.

He grabs a wrench and a bolt. “I think this one goes—no, wait.” He squints and picks up another bolt, holding it up to examine it in the light.

We’re in front of the fireplace, and Dean’s built a fire.

The coffee table’s been moved to the far side of the room, and we have boxes open.

Since I hadn’t spied any large packages around the house, I should have guessed Dean had stowed these larger gifts in the garden shed.

“Try that one over there.” I hitch my chin to a spot by his knee.

“Aha!” He holds it up and tries it. His grin melts my heart. “It fits.”

Thank goodness.

He gets the seat fastened tightly and tests it. “Okay.” He dusts off his palms. “Almost done. What’s next?”

I take the directions and flip them over.

“Streamers for the handlebars, then the basket.” I lift a shiny object off the floor.

“And this bright bell.” It dings when I move it, and Dean and I freeze.

Set our jaws. Listen for footsteps. Stealthily peek at the hall.

He sends me a look and I’m ready. If it’s one of the kids, he’ll somehow cover up things in here as I dash them back to bed.

Scout lazily lopes into the room, blinks, and surveys his surroundings. Dean and I don’t move a muscle. The dog slouches low and turns, heading back down the hall.

Dean blows out a breath. “Whew.”

I sigh. “When are we going to have that eggnog?” I ask, because he mentioned it earlier, saying he’d bought some at the store.

“As soon as we finish the bike.”

Henry’s Hot Ride stands by the tree with a gigantic blue bow on its roof.

That one was a lot easier to put together than the bike.

All we had to do was snap on the wheel brackets and doors.

I fish the streamers out of an oblong box and pass one set to Dean.

They have cone inserts on one end that fits right into the handlebars.

Dean and I each take a side. Then I work on attaching the basket.

I let him tackle the bell. I don’t dare take a chance on touching it again.

We stand back to admire our handiwork. Eleanor’s cute red bike shines in the firelight, steadied on two training wheels.

Dean beams happily. “I think she’ll love it.”

I cross my arms and ask, “Stockings next?”

“Yeah, why not?” he says. “Let’s get everything wrapped up and then relax with our drinks.”

We pick up the mess in the living room and return the coffee table to its spot.

Dean said he and I were going to exchange our gifts tonight, and I’m ready.

I giftwrapped his telescope while he was out shoveling snow this afternoon and hid it in my closet.

I’ll stuff his Christmas stocking with the candies I bought him and the starry night mug.

Also, an orange, because that’s apparently what we do around here.

We quietly carry some packages in from the bedroom, and I show Dean the hand puppets I bought the kids at the holiday market. A Santa puppet for Eleanor and an elf one for Henry.

“Those are cute.” He puts the Santa one on his hand and says, “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!”

I stand up on my toes to kiss him. “Oh, you.” My heart is so full I don’t know how it can get any fuller. Playing Santa with Dean is so much fun.

He grins. “I can’t wait to see Henry’s face when we tell him it really is ‘Kissmas.’”

I chuckle. “I know what you mean. He’s at such a precious stage.” My heart warms thinking of him and his sister. “Eleanor is too.”

“All their stages are precious,” Dean says.

“Maybe up until now,” I warn him. “We don’t know how they’ll behave as teenagers.”

“True.” He shoves candies and toys into the kids’ stockings while I fill Scout’s with doggie treats and a superbly durable new ball.

I top Eleanor’s and Henry’s stockings with their puppets and Dean hangs them back on the mantel. There are two empty stockings left, his and mine. “So,” he says casually. “Should I go make our eggnogs?”

“Eggnog sounds good.”

“Bourbon or rum?” he asks lightly.

Yum, both sound scrumptious. It’s hard to decide.

“Ooh, bourbon, please.”

Dean plucks one of the empty stockings off the mantel and tucks it in his rear jeans pocket.

“Wait,” I say. “Where are you going with that one?”

He thoughtfully rubs his chin. “Oh, somewhere.”

“Mm-hmm.” I cross my arms and ask him, “We still exchanging our grown-up gifts tonight?”

“Unless you want to change things?”

“No, no.” The fact is I can barely wait another second to give him my big surprise. “Tonight will be great.”

He nods and his eyes sparkle cheerily. “That works.”

While Dean’s making our drinks, I hurry into the bedroom with his empty stocking and fill it on the bed with the items I’d hidden in my closet.

I grab his big present from the floor of the closet next and cart both things into the living room, setting them on the love seat.

He’s still not back from the kitchen. “Need help in there?” I call softly.

“Nope. I’ve got it!” He walks through the door holding two full glasses of eggnog and hands me one.

He’s dusted the top of the frothy liquid with nutmeg.

I take a small sip. “Yum. Delicious. Thanks.” He nods and sets his drink on the coffee table, spying the box on the love seat. “Whoa. What’s this?”

I proudly hold my eggnog. “Just a little something.”

He raises his hand. “I’ve got a little something for you.”

He goes back to the kitchen and returns with my full Christmas stocking. He places it beside the other one and his package on the love seat. “Shall we sit and have a toast?”

I nod and he makes himself comfortable beside me. “Here’s to a very merry Christmas,” he says, lifting his glass.

I clink my glass to his. “Merry Christmas.”

He takes a drink then says, “This is what? Our eighth Christmas together now?”

“Counting the time we dated in college, I suppose so.” I sip from my drink too, enjoying it. Enjoying Dean’s company. Enjoying this life, like Mary Christmas suggested I do. If only I could have my memories from the rest of it, things would be ideal. But I’ll take what I can get, near perfect.

He leans back and wraps his arm around me, snuggling me close on the sofa. “There’s nobody I’d rather spend Christmas with than you.”

My heart dances. “Thanks, Dean. I feel the same.”

“So that lasagna takes you what? Five? Six hours to put together? Between making the sauce and cheese mixture and creating all the layers.”

My panic spikes. “Hours? What?” The assembly line imagery starts coming together in my mind and I grimace.

“I included baking time,” he says. “Often with those super deep pans you say cooking takes a while.”

“Ha! Good thing I follow a recipe!”

“What recipe?” He angles forward to scan my eyes. “I thought this was your original? You said you never write anything down.”

Wonderful. Maybe I should have—last time.

I start running numbers backward. If we’re sitting down at five, the lasagna will need to set out and cool for a while first, so it needs to be done by at least four-thirty. I twirl a lock of my hair around one finger. “How long does it cook?”

Dean rubs my shoulder. “With that big a batch, one and a half, at max two hours?”

“Aha.” So in the oven by three. Which means getting all that sauce and the noodles together first. “Guess I’d better get cooking by one?”

He nods. “That’s the usual, but Paige. Hon. Seriously. If this year it’s too much—”

“No, no!” I press my lips together. “Erm. Sorry. What were you going to say?”

That heart-melting grin. “I was going to offer to help you. You’ve never taken me up on it before, but—”

“This time I say yes!” I blurt out. My face burns hot. “And thank you.”

He chuckles and holds me tighter. “No problem. More hands make lighter work.” He reaches over and passes me my stocking. “Want to see what Santa brought you?”

I study his handsome face, feeling like I’ve already received the greatest Christmas gift of all being here with Dean and our family.

Still. It’s exciting to think he’s picked out something special just for me.

“Sure.” I peek down at the stocking in my lap, prying the top of it open.

A prettily wrapped box sits inside. The bottom of the stocking is filled with an orange and candy.

Sticking an orange in each Christmas stocking is apparently a holiday tradition from Dean’s side of the family and we’ve carried it through over the years.

I take the gift box out and hold it in my hands.

“This is so nice. Thank you.” I admire his expert giftwrapping job before poking my finger under the ribbon and sliding it off.

I remove the wrapping paper and find a small jewelry box inside.

My pulse pounds because, whatever it is, we probably can’t afford it. I look up and into his eyes. “Dean.”

He shrugs happily. “Open it.”

I remove the jewelry box lid and the most gorgeous ruby heart necklace rests inside on a satin pillow. I lift it by its delicate gold chain to appreciate it in the firelight. The colorful sheen from the Christmas tree causes it to almost glow. I gasp, enchanted. “It’s beautiful.”

He gently strokes my cheek and gives me a kiss. “I wanted you to know you’ll always have my heart.”

“Is this a ruby?”

He nods and tears form in my eyes. It’s my birthstone. “I love it so much.” My breath catches. “But how could we—?”

“Afford it?” he guesses accurately. He stares at me with love in his eyes. “I saved up.”

“Hmm. Good plan.” I pass him the necklace and lift my hair at my nape, turning my back to him so he can help put it on. He closes the clasp and the pretty chain drapes from my neck, hitting the front of my gray sweater.

I lay my hand on top of the pretty heart pendant. “I’ll treasure this forever and ever.”

“So?” he asks sassily. “What’d you get me?” He casts a glance at the package on the love seat and his loaded stocking, and I laugh.

“Stocking first,” I say, standing and handing it to him.

He scoots forward on the sofa cushion and centers it on his lap while I sit back down beside him, resting the larger box on the floor. He digs into his stocking and extracts an orange. “What a surprise!”

“Keep going,” I urge, and he finds a fistful of candy next.

“Nice. Chocolates.” He reaches in further and pulls out the mug.

It’s wrapped in tissue paper. He peels back the tissue, revealing the starry night sky painted above the darkened mountains.

“ Stellar ,” he quips, and I wryly twist my lips.

“Seriously?” His eyes meet mine. “I love it. Thank you.” He kisses me full on the lips.

“Here’s something else.” I pass him the large package and, when he takes it, his hands sink.

“Wow. Heavy!”

“Uh-huh.”

He smirks. “You look like the cat who swallowed the canary.”

“That’s a horrible expression!” I giggle.

“Maybe so,” he comments, “but, at the moment, accurate.”

He pulls back the giftwrap and stares at the box. Second Chances had the original packaging, and I was grateful for that. Dean slowly looks up in wonder. “Paige?”

I can’t contain my excitement. “It’s a telescope,” I squeal with glee. “Secondhand, I’m afraid, but it looks in good condition.”

His eyes grow misty. “But how?”

I shrug. “I saved up.”

He sets the box on the floor and takes me in his arms. “This is the best Christmas gift ever. Thank you so much, Paige. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted one of these.”

“So,” I prompt gently. “Take it out of the box.”

He does and sets it up on its tripod, standing it beside the coffee table. He uncaps the lens and takes a peek through the eyepiece. “This is amazing,” he says, smiling broadly. “What an awesome surprise.”

My heart brims with joy. “I’m so glad you like it.”

“I love it.” He holds out his arms and I stand, embracing him. “And I love you.”

I stare up into his incredible dark eyes. “I love you, too.”

He nods to my Christmas stocking on the coffee table. “You didn’t finish opening your stocking.”

“What?” I gasp. “There’s more?”

“There might be an item or two beneath the candy.”

“Oh!” We both sit on the sofa and pick up our eggnogs.

Take and drink, clink our glasses and say cheers.

I’m probably happier than I’ve been in my life.

Everything seems merry and bright and I’m so lighthearted.

Like all is right with my world. I need to trust what Mom said about holding on to the good things.

Mary Christmas basically assured me that my wish would be granted, so I don’t need to fret over bad things that may come.

I need to be more like Mom and Dean and focus on the positive. The joy I have here, and now.

“I think it’s probably good we’re opening these by ourselves and not around the kids,” he says teasingly. There’s a hint of naughty in his tone.

“Oh really?” I reach into my stocking, clearing out more candy and setting it on the coffee table. When I stick my hand back into the stocking my fingers find something silky. Material. “Dean?” I gaze at him curiously and he chuckles.

I pull the slinky item out. It’s a thong!

“You were missing Saturday,” he remarks matter-of-factly.

I roar with delight.

He points to the stocking. “I replaced Tuesday, too.”

I dig Tuesday out next and see more wadded-up bundles in the toe of the stocking.

“What the heck,” he says when I look up. “I went for the whole week.”

Oh. My. Gosh. I adore him.

I laugh and find Wednesday, twirling it around on my finger. “Shall we see how it fits?”

“I’ll try not to break it,” he growls huskily. “No promises.”