Page 79 of Witching You Mistletoe and Mayhem

“I know that.”

He frowned when the napkin swan’s back wing flapped. “She’s got spirit, though.” The ice clinked in his glass. “And she’s good for you.”

“She is,” I said. “She’s… everything.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw as if he wanted to say something more, but he just tossed back his drink. “It’s almost time to eat. Then it’s the family photo.”

Dinner passed in a blur of crystal glasses and silver carving knives. Muted conversation accompanied the dessert and my grandfather’s annual speech. I could have repeated it in my sleep. Another year. Another proud tradition.

Valerie’s hand slipped into mine beneath the table, and I tuned it all out.

Then came the inevitable: the Delaney family photo.

We lined up in front of the tree, a wall of coordinated blazers and holiday finery, while a professional photographer fussed with the tripod.

“Closer,” he said, motioning with his hand.

Valerie bumped my shoulder. “You know, for people who specialize in miracles, your family’s allergic to joy.”

“Careful,” I murmured, moving her in front of me. “They’ll hear you and mount you on the wall like a pair of antlers. That’s what happened to Uncle Tony.”

A laugh burst from her, and she slapped a hand over her lips when my aunt’s head turned with a glare ominous enough to silence carolers.

“You’re in trouble now,” I said as Valerie adjusted her pose.

“They love me—I think.” She rested her head against my shoulder. “Or they will… after they’re browbeaten by my charm.”

“Worked on me,” I said, slipping my arm around her waist and drawing her closer.

“All right, everyone,” the photographer said, peering into the lens. “On the count of three. One…”

My fingersbrushed her hand—just long enough to slide a ring onto her finger.

Her breath caught.

I bent to whisper, “You’re not the only one who did a little extra credit yesterday.”

The camera flashed. The photographer frowned. “We’ll need to take another—the lady looked up.”

All eyes turned toward Valerie, but she was still staring at me, wide-eyed, her lips parted.

“You’re ruining the family photo,” I said, a grin pulling at my mouth. “Smile for the camera, wife.”

She did—still stunned—before turning back to me, tears glimmering in her eyes.

“Mistletoe,” she whispered.

I tilted my head, teasing. “What was that? Didn’t quite catch it.”

Her hands slid up my chest, tugging at my collar. “Mistletoe. Mistletoe. Mistletoe.”

Then she kissed me—in front of my family, uncaring as the flash went off again. The only Delaney family photo I’d ever put on my mantel.

“Take me home, Grant.”

“Finally. I thought you’d never ask.”

Outside, snow fell in slow, steady flakes, catching the glow of the wrought-iron lanterns as we stepped into the night. Valerie held up her hand, admiring her ring as she twirled in the snow.