Page 42 of All in for Christmas

He steps back in the doorway and motions toward the kitchen. “I’ve already gotten everything out.”

When I enter the kitchen, my jaw nearly hits the floor. The countertops are stacked with supplies and groceries, and two huge pots sit on the stove. One is larger than the other, and there’s an enormous frying pan there, too. I note it’s the skillet I used for the French toast.

Dean hands me an apron and I strap it on. “Might want to protect those nice clothes of yours from any flying tomato sauce.”

“Ha. Yeah.” I spot a mound of actual real tomatoes on the counter. The sort from the produce section. I pick two of them up. “We use fresh?”

He nods. “Always the most wholesome ingredients, you say!” There’s a sweet onion too, garlic and parsley, whole oregano and basil.

“Wow!” I think of the frozen lasagna in my condo freezer. It was easy to microwave, but probably not as yummy as what Dean and I are about to make. Thank goodness he’s going to help me.

“It’s going to be delicious,” he assures me with a grin.

I stare at the skillet. “You brown the meat,” Dean says, “and I’ll start chopping.” I see a box of mushrooms by the cutting board, some yellow squash, a zucchini. He notes my apprehensive look and chuckles.

“Paige.” He rolls his eyes. “You’ve made this loads of times before.”

“Right.” I swallow hard and switch on a burner. “I’m just grateful that this time you’re doing it with me.” I look around and find a packet of lean ground beef and another of hot Italian sausages. “Ground beef or sausages first?”

He shrugs. “You choose. It all goes in the big pot. Then once we get the sauce going, we’ll boil the noodles.”

“O-tay!” I say like Henry and blow out a breath.

“Don’t worry.” Dean winks and my pulse hums. “We’ll pull it together in no time.”

Two hours later, I’m dead on my feet and we’re only halfway done.

We gave Henry and Eleanor a snack and got them busy playing with their new toys in the living room.

I dump the water from the noodle pot in the sink and the steam wilts my hair, buffets my face.

Dean meanwhile places sheets of wax paper on the counter, then helps me take each long, flat piece of pasta and lay it out.

“This is work,” I say as he reaches over my arm with his.

Dean grins down at me. “Most good things are.”

He bends down to kiss me on the lips, and suddenly I don’t mind about the work, or my aching feet, or my sore back.

“Dean?” I say, looking up at him. “Do you think we were meant to be?”

His gaze sparkles warmly. “I don’t just think it,” he says. “I know.”

Later, as we gather in the living room holding our plates, Miriam turns to me appreciatively and says, “Paige, I think this is your best Christmas lasagna ever. So tasty!”

Jack readily agrees. “Very good.”

Mom says, “Hear, hear!” and Roger nods.

The kids sit at the coffee table near the fire. Eleanor perches on some pillows and Henry’s in his booster seat. Both are gobbling up their dinners, and red sauce dribbles down Henry’s chin.

“Thanks everyone, but I had some help.” I blush, peeking at Dean. He and I brought in chairs from the kitchen and sit near the kids.

Mom and Roger are on the love seat, and Dean’s folks are on the sofa.

Dean’s sister, Jenny, is with them. She favors Dean with her dark hair and eyes, and wears a ponytail, jeans, and a sweater.

It’s so good to see her and she’s grown so much.

Of course, in her mind, she saw me not that long ago, at Thanksgiving.

“Good for you, son,” Miriam says and raises her wineglass toward him.

He toasts her in the air. “Thanks, Mom.”

“I think it’s good for guys to be involved in the kitchen,” Jenny says. “After all, fair is fair.”

Miriam confides to Mom in a teasing manner, “Jack’s not much help in the kitchen.” She shrugs. “But he’s great with takeout.”

“Takeout counts!” Jenny quips and grins. She’s become a very attractive young woman, with a dimpled cheek and doe-like eyes. From the poised way she holds her wine, she seems more mature than twenty-one.

“How about Roger?” Miriam asks Mom.

Mom flushes with pride. “Roger’s an excellent cook, aren’t you, Roger?”

Roger’s face reddens and he nods.

I shake my head at Dean, who purses his lips, hiding a chuckle.

“Thank you for the yummy salad,” I say to Mom. “And the bread is so tasty.”

She beams at Roger. “Roger made the baguettes himself.”

Given my recent culinary escapades, I’m duly impressed. “Is that right?”

Roger nods and Dean chomps on his bread. “Wow,” Dean says. “Delicious.”

Jenny smiles. “I’m looking forward to Mom’s pecan pie.

I spent a few Christmas seasons with Dean’s family during college and recall it as being scrumptious. “Yum,” I concur. “Me too.”

Jack holds up his hand, not wanting to be left out. “I picked out the wine,” he says, and the adults laugh.

“Excellent choices,” Mom replies.

Eleanor looks up from her food. “Can we have Christmas cookies, too?”

“Of course!” I smile around the room. “We’ll bring out a plate to share with the pie.”

“I think we need a Christmas toast,” Mom says brightly.

Jack volunteers. “Here’s to family and to all of us being together!”

Dean casts a look at me and around the room. “Here’s to love everlasting,” he says dreamily with stars in his eyes.

That draws oohs and ahhs and sighs from the room, and I kiss him.

I tilt my wineglass in Roger’s direction. “Here’s to our new friend, who we’re so glad could join us.”

Eleanor holds up her milk and proclaims, “Here’s to Scout!”

Chuckles fill the room and Henry grins. He stares at the grownups around him, absorbing the holiday vibe. “Merry Kissmas!” he says and folks laugh warmly.

Roger raises his wineglass high. “And God bless us, every one!”

“Dickens,” I gasp happily.

Roger smiles, and nods.

After dessert, Dean challenges the others to a house-of-cards building contest. This is his specialty, apparently, and he enjoys showing off each year.

Jack shakes his head. “I’m out this time,” he tells Dean. “You’re the master there.”

“Master Daddy!” Eleanor croons and the adults laugh.

“Merry Kissmas!” Henry adds, not wanting to be left out.

I scoop him into my arms as everyone says aww .

Hold him close, kiss his precious head. “Merry Kissmas, Henry.” I hold him on my hip as Dean looks around.

“What? No takers?” He glances at me, but I’m not about to partake.

Riding a bike is the extent of my balancing abilities.

“I’ll pass.”

Roger waves his hand, signaling his participation, and I blink at Dean.

“A challenger!” Dean declares and people cheer.

I’m impressed Roger would join in. The man is growing on me, honestly.

Mom could have done worse, and has done.

Unfortunately. But things with Roger seem different.

They look natural together. Comfortable.

Don’t get me wrong. I hate the idea of Mom moving to Wilmington.

At the same time, I’m glad she’s found her fit.

Before long, Roger and Dean have built midlevel towers out of their playing cards at either end of the coffee table.

Each level has two cards leaning toward each other to form an upside-down V.

Then those triangles line up with flat cards stacked on top to hold them steady as the next level’s added.

Dean’s up to level four now. Roger’s astoundingly at level five.

Dean leans two cards together extra carefully, holds his breath, then lets go. They stay in position, and he begins the next set.

Roger’s eyes travel to Dean’s work, but he’s still ahead. Now on level six while Dean finishes level five. The rest of us watch intently. What a fun game. Especially since I’m not playing. The very idea makes me antsy. Too much risk involved, and no guarantees.

“Nobody breathe,” Miriam whispers.

We start to laugh but quiet ourselves when Roger glances over his shoulder, shielding our mouths with our hands.

Roger begins level seven, standing up straighter from his hunched position.

Dean races to catch up. He’s taller than Roger so he’s still bent forward.

A card slips, knocking another and falling over.

A collective gasp.

We hear the clock ticking on the bookshelf to the left of the hearth.

Dean’s fire burns nicely, filling the room with its comfortable glow.

I love the scent of the fire and the aroma from the piney candle on the mantel.

The stockings are lying under the Christmas tree, the area now devoid of packages.

Yet the lovely tree spreads holiday joy throughout the house and shines brightly out the streetside window for the enjoyment of neighbors and passersby.

Scout sleeps by the fire, all cozy, while Dean crouches with his arms outstretched. His tower remains steady, and he picks the errant card back up, lifting it with the tip of his finger, forming another triangle. Then the next.

“Son,” Jack says in his gravelly voice. “Looks like you may have some serious competition.”

The rest of us chuckle softly when Dean’s neck turns red.

I’ve got Henry on my lap on the love seat and Mom’s beside us behind Roger. Dean’s folks are on the sofa with Jenny, who holds Eleanor near Dean’s end of the coffee table. The child adores being around the older girl.

Dean lifts his palm for us to wait, and we watch as he expertly advances to level eight. Then nine. Roger’s forehead beads with perspiration. Dean’s caught up, but Roger sets his jaw, undaunted. Slow and steady in his work.

“Looks like it’s neck and neck,” Jenny giggles quietly.

Scout raises his head and looks around. Squints then blinks. Vigorously shakes his head in a doggie-like fashion, his shaggy hair drooping over his eyes.

“Paige,” Dean says under his breath, as if having a premotion, “the dog.”

Right. I pass Henry to Mom, who takes him and settles him on her lap.

But before I can stand, Scout clumsily leaps to his four paws.

Dean and Roger freeze, their hands suspended midair, their card houses stable.

“ Woof! Woof! ” Scout wants to know what’s going on.

He trots over to Dean in big, swaggering steps and sniffs his pants leg, wagging his tail from side to side.

“Not now, boy,” Dean whispers. He shoos the dog away, shoving gently with his hand and attempting to steer Scout toward the kitchen. But Scout isn’t having any of that. He’s a family dog and he wants to stay with his family.

Scout cocks his head then prances between the coffee table and sofa, cramming himself into the narrow space bracketing Dean’s folks’ and Jenny’s legs.

The dog advances on me and I lurch for his collar, but his big wagging tail zigzags back and forth, back and— whacks into Dean’s tower, nooo! —bisecting it at level four.

The remaining three levels teeter ominously, then collapse like dominoes falling.

Our hearts stop and Roger smooths back his hair.

Wag-wag. Wag-wag.

Jack tries to grab Scout’s tail, but it slips from his grasp.

Miriam catches it and grins. “Got it!”

But Scout yanks his tail away and it slices—in painfully slow motion—right through Roger’s tall tower.

“Scout,” I gasp, but the poor creature has no idea what he’s done, looking guileless with big round eyes.

Cards tumble in a heap, fanning out across the coffee table and jettisoning onto the floor in a wild array.

There’s an equally large mess on Dean’s end.

“Oh my,” Mom says.

Scout shakes out his floppy ears and gazes innocently around, and we all groan good-humoredly, the tension broken. “It’s okay, boy,” Dean tells the pup, patting his head.

Henry claps his chubby hands together. “O-tay!” he chortles, and we all laugh.

“So.” Dean sets his hands on his hips. “Who’s ready for some eggnog?”

All hands shoot up.

That night we’re so worn out from Christmas, we decide to turn in early. The kids fall asleep the moment their heads hit their pillows. Dean and I stand in the hallway, staring into Henry’s room. “I’m so glad he got his merry Kissmas,” I tell Dean.

“Yeah,” he says tenderly. “Me too.” Dean takes my hand, and we advance a few steps, peering into Eleanor’s room. She’s snuggled down in her bed and Scout sleeps at her feet.

I look at Dean, my heart swelling with love. “I’m so glad to be here. With you and our family.”

He wraps his arms around me in the hall.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Angst roils through me.

What if something happens? What if my new life gets uprooted?

I can’t be in two places at once, Mary Christmas said, so if I return to my former reality, this world will evaporate.

My marriage with Dean, our darling kids, Mom’s new relationship with Roger. Poof, poof, poof!

I stare up at Dean, my heart on the verge of breaking. “I couldn’t bear for all this to be taken away from me.” My chin trembles and my voice shakes. “Now that I’ve known this existence, I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

Dean steadies my chin in his hand. “Paige,” he says warmly. “You’re not going anywhere, okay?”

“But what if I do?”

He looks so deeply in my eyes it’s like he’s falling into my soul.

“Then I’ll find you.” Heat burns in my eyes, but he holds me close.

“I’ll always find you, all right?” He brings his lips to mine in a tender kiss.

“Hey,” he asks gently. “What’s this about?

It’s Christmas.” He gives me a tender look. “We’re supposed to be jolly.”

“I’ve never been happier”—a sob escapes me, and I sniff—“than I am with you.”

“Well then.” He lays his forehead against mine and says smartly, “You’ll just have to keep me, won’t you?”

I share a happy grin. “Yes.”

He kisses me again and warmth spreads down to my toes. “I’m counting on that.” He bends and sweeps me into his arms, so suddenly I’m not prepared for it. “Dean!” I giggle quietly, darting a glance at the kids’ rooms. “What are you doing?”

“It’s Christmas.” His voice grows rough as he carries me across the threshold to our bedroom. “I’d thought we’d play Santa and Mrs. Claus.”

“What?”

Oh! Oooh.

My face heats, along with several other parts of me.

Deliciously.

Ho, ho, ho.

He shuts the door.