Page 42 of Run the Play (Nashville Rampage #2)

Chapter Twenty-Three

R owan

It’s Christmas Eve, and even after everything that’s happened, I’m in the spirit. How could I not be? Landry and I have the entire house decked out, from the trees to the lights to the garland. I even have Christmas hand towels hanging off the handle of the stove.

My fiancé has once again spoiled me. I’ve never had a home—not one that I was allowed to decorate for the holidays. Chaz allowed a tree, but said that was stupid since you had to do all the work just to take it down.

Not Landry. My man not only helped me put up the massive tree in the foyer, but we also have one in the theater room and in the main living room. He’s spent hours after practice the first few weeks of December helping me turn our home into a Christmas winter wonderland.

He really does love to spoil me.

Today, I’m baking sugar cookies. Knox’s family invited us for Christmas dinner, and when I asked what to bring, they said nothing, but I refuse to go empty-handed.

So sugar cookies it is. Besides, I know Landry will eat them even if no one else does.

There’s also the added benefit that our house smells incredible.

The door from the garage opens, and my future husband stalks toward me, wrapping his arms around me from behind. He kisses my neck, causing a shiver to race down my spine. “It smells so damn good in here,” he says, reaching out to try and snag a cookie.

I smack his hand. “Those just came out of the oven. They have to cool.”

“Then I guess, I’ll just eat you,” he says, biting at my neck and making me squirm.

“Nope. Not until these cookies are done, mister.”

“Babe, I know I eat a lot, but this is a shit ton of cookies,” he tells me.

“This is the last batch,” I tell him, as I continue using the Christmas-shaped cookie cutters to cut the dough before placing it on the baking sheet. “They’re for when we go to the Becketts’ tomorrow for dinner.”

“But I get some tonight, right?” he asks sweetly.

“As soon as they’re cool. I still have to decorate them.”

“Then what?”

“Then, I’m done for the rest of the day. All the presents are wrapped for when the gang comes over the day after.”

“When are we giving gifts?” he asks, resting his chin on my shoulder.

“I assumed we’d get up tomorrow morning and do it before leaving for Knox’s parents' place.”

“How about we do it now?”

I stop what I’m doing and turn to glance at him over my shoulder. “Now? It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Let’s make it our tradition,” he suggests. “We’ll put the kids to bed, and then we'll give each other gifts.” At my raised brows, he laughs. “Not that kind of gift, dirty girl, but we can definitely add that to the Christmas Eve tradition.” He winks.

“But then we won’t have anything to open on Christmas morning.”

“Hmm, okay, compromise. We give each other one gift on Christmas Eve, just the two of us, and then we add in your dirty-girl suggestion before going to bed.”

After placing the final cookie on the cookie sheet, I wipe my hands and turn in his arms to peck a kiss to his lips. “Deal. Now, I need to finish baking.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Do you want to decorate?”

“Sure, but fair warning. I can’t be in here, decorating these cookies as good as they smell and not sample them.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Reynolds, but I accept your terms.” I kiss him one more time before pushing at his chest. He backs away and allows me to grab the final baking sheet and place it into the oven.

“We need some tunes,” he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He connects it to the Bluetooth speaker system in the house, and I’m pleasantly surprised when he chooses Christmas music. “Happy wife, happy life.” He grins.

“Not your wife yet.”

“Bite your tongue, young lady. Those are bad words. Bad, bad words, Roe.” He tries to give me a stern look as he shakes his index finger at me.

I blow him a kiss. “Love you, number one.”

His eyes soften, and the mock scowl disappears. “I love you too, baby.”

We get to work decorating all the cookies, and two hours later, we’re exhausted and high on sugar because my future husband was oh so right. It was impossible not to sample the goods.

“Is it present time?” he asks as we walk hand in hand to the living room.

“Let’s do it,” I tell him.

“I go first,” he says. He heads over to the tree in the living room, where all our gifts for each other are. He grabs a long, slender box and practically skips back to the couch to take a seat next to me. “Merry Christmas, beautiful,” he says, placing the box on my lap.

Lifting the box, I shake it, trying to guess what’s inside. “I’ve got nothing,” I tell Landry, and he laughs. “It’s so light.”

“You’re going to have to open it and find out, baby.” He grins.

“Wait.” Putting the box next to me on the couch, I stand and go to the tree, grabbing the gift I want him to open. Rushing back to the couch, I dive for a cushion, making him bounce with a laugh as I hand it to him. “This is yours,” I say, leaning over and kissing his cheek.

“You first,” he tells me. “I’ve been waiting for this for ages.”

“Ages, huh?”

“Just open it.” He shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

“Before I do, I want to say thank you. You’ve held me up and loved me through so much this year. Thank you for this life we’re building together. You’re my hero, Landry Reynolds.”

He leans in close, his lips hovering over mine. “Not your hero, baby. Just yours,” he mumbles against my lips. When he pulls back, he nods at the gift in my hand. “Open.”

I wiggle in my seat as I slowly tear back the paper. “Did you wrap this? It’s so pretty.”

“I did,” he tells me. “It only took me three times.” He holds up his hands, which are giant compared to mine. “These hands do better catching footballs than wrapping presents.”

“You did perfectly,” I say, as the last shred of wrapping paper falls to the floor.

It’s a white gift box, the kind you’d get for a shirt, but it’s so light it doesn’t feel like a shirt is inside.

Peeling back the tape on the sides, I pull the lid off the box and dig through the tissue paper to find an envelope.

I hold it up. “What is this?” I ask, my brows furrowed.

“Open it, Roe.”

Opening the envelope, I pull out a single sheet of paper and start to read.

“Congratulations, all necessary paperwork has been completed, and the Rowan Reynolds Foundation is now recognized as a non-profit organization. We look forward to helping you with all your future needs of the foundation.” The letter is signed, but I keep repeating the words over and over in my head. “Landry?” I ask, my voice shaking.

“I know this is an unconventional gift, but it’s something that’s near and dear to both of our hearts. I hope it’s something that we can build and grow together.”

“Rowan Reynolds Foundation,” I read aloud.

“Rowan Reynolds is the love of my life, my wife, of course this foundation is named after her.” He winks.

“I’m not your wife yet.”

“You are in here.” He places his hand over his chest. “This foundation is in support of those in the foster care system who are aging out. They still need support to get on their feet, whether through college or trade school, and to find a job if neither of those options is feasible. So many are tossed back out into the world once they age out, and we’re going to help them. ”

He’s right. I busted my ass and got a scholarship to a college in Michigan.

I waited tables and lived in a rundown apartment because it didn’t cover housing.

Then I met Chaz, and he dazzled me, made me feel important, until he didn’t, but then I was too far into his web.

If I had had some kind of support or assistance, I might have chosen a different path.

A better one. Although that path eventually led me here to my Landry, and the family we’re building by choice. I wouldn’t change that for anything.

“My gift can’t top this,” I say, chuckling as I wipe the tears from my cheeks.

“Baby, it’s not a competition. I’m sure whatever it is, I’m going to love it.”

“Not as much as I love you. This is incredible, Landry. You’ve given me so much—your heart the best of them. But this”—I hold up the paper—“is a close second.”

“I love you too. Now, it’s my turn.” He tears into the package and freezes once he sees what’s inside. He stares down at the gift in his hands for several long heartbeats before lifting his gaze to mine. There are tears in his eyes. “How?”

“I took the picture you gave to me before you proposed to a local artist. I had them draw it. I wanted your parents to be a part of our home. I also got one for Corie and Knox. I hope that’s okay, but it seemed fitting that I do the same for them.”

“It’s perfect.” He sets the picture aside. Leaning in close, he slides his hand behind my neck and kisses me. It starts slow, but I don’t want slow. I deepen the kiss, moving closer, because no matter how close I am to this man, it’s never enough.

“Come here,” he mumbles against my lips. Landry moves positions and lifts me to straddle his lap. “Better,” he says, leaning up and kissing me like this very well could be the last time. His tongue traces my lips, and I open for him, eager for more. Eager for everything he can give me.

My hands move to find their way underneath his shirt, pressing against his rigid abs.

He shudders at the contact, and I relish the fact that he has that response to me.

I did that to this man that millions of ladies swoon over, but they can’t have him because he’s all mine.

Only my touch affects him this way. It's a heady feeling.