Chapter 39
One particular memory, from four days earlier, rises to the top.
It’s late morning, and we’re putting the final touches on the Christmas tree.
The branches are draped in twinkle lights but are also somewhat sparse, as I haven’t been able to find the packed box of ornaments.
It’s been only a week since I moved in, and we’re still living amongst boxes.
With the holiday season upon us, there’s little time between the practice and the farm for unpacking.
I never ended up moving back to Toronto.
Only a quick trip to the city in the middle of January to pack up my apartment.
Then I drove back to Harmony Hills, with everything I owned in the rented U-Haul.
I stayed with Amelia, in her sweet, two-bedroom cottage with gingerbread trim and a wraparound porch that quickly became my happy place.
A few months later Amelia and Beckett decided to move in together, and I took over the lease on Amelia’s cottage.
It was bittersweet when I gave notice two months ago to Rosalie Everhart, the cottage’s landlord, but I was ready and eager to take the next step with Liam.
“I made up the bed for Helly, and just need to finish Adelaide’s,” Liam says, coming into the kitchen. “What time do you think they’re pulling in?”
“Not sure exactly, probably early afternoon?” Helena and Adelaide—who is Helly’s mini me, both in terms of looks and personality—are staying with us for a couple of days before Christmas.
“Poor child, turning out exactly like her mother,” Helly said, when we chatted on Adelaide’s third birthday a couple of weeks ago.
“Poor you!” I replied, laughing, for I can only imagine what it’s like to parent a child who knows exactly what your buttons are and how to push them.
“Okay, that’s good,” Liam says now, standing in the middle of the kitchen with his hands on his hips. He’s lost in thought, glancing around and muttering to himself.
“What’s up?” I ask, pouring coffees for us in the mugs we made at a Valentine’s Day pottery class we took with Beckett and Amelia.
They are mugs that only their creators could love, with mismatched handles, uneven rims, and lopsided hearts we painted on them.
But I don’t care—it’s my favourite mug, and I use it every morning.
“Nothing’s up. Just trying to remember where I put the screwdriver. I wanted to make sure the screws on Dell’s toddler bed are super tight.”
I reach behind him, tugging the tool out of his back pocket. “You mean this screwdriver?”
He sets a hand to his forehead and laughs. “Obviously, I need this,” he says, taking the mug from me and then kissing me. “Thanks, Libs.”
We sit at the kitchen table, the tree sparkling in the corner.
“If only I could find that box of ornaments,” I say, sighing.
Sipping my coffee, with the peppermint-mocha creamer that Liam and I both like—his sweet tooth rivals mine, it turns out.
“Maybe I left it at Amelia’s? I’ll double-check after I’m done at the clinic. Do you need a hand with the bread?”
When Liam doesn’t answer, I duck so I’m directly in front of him. “Hey, Mr. Young. You okay?”
He shakes his head, smiles wide—damn, those dimples still get me. “Sorry, distracted. You know how chaotic chili night is for Pops and me,” he replies.
“Put me to work, then.” I take a last sip of my coffee before setting the mug into the sink. “I’ll come over after my last patient.”
I set my hands on either side of his face and kiss him before saying, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Liam Young, but you’re the best thing since sliced bread.”
He smirks. “That’s funny, because I was just thinking the same thing—except you’re the whole loaf, Libs.”
I groan, and he pulls me into a hug. “Come on, that was cute,” he says, grinning. I kiss each of his dimples.
“Fine, it was cute,” I murmur, with a lopsided smile.
Holding me tighter, he asks, “Are you sure you have to go?”
I glance at my phone, then press even closer to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I can probably spare a few more minutes. What did you have in mind?”
His hands rest on my waist, and his touch is both grounding and electric. “Was thinking about starting a new holiday tradition. Just for us.”
I tilt my head. “What kind of tradition?”
He leans back slightly, but keeps his eyes on mine. “We could write down our favourite memory of the year together on note cards, and then tuck them into the tree. We can open them Christmas morning.”
“I love it,” I say, and I do. “Okay, Mr. Sentimental. Let’s do it. Starting this year?”
“Starting this year.” He leans in, brushing a soft kiss across my lips. “Merry early Christmas, Libs.”
“Merry Christmas, Liam,” I murmur, resting my forehead against his, the tree glowing behind us.
The clock ticks up on the stage, and the energy in the room, along with the volume, cranks up a notch.
The young kids—including Adelaide, Jonah, and Jasmine—are making ornaments on the stage, supervised by Harmony Hills’ kindergarten teacher, who was a new hire this fall and is already well loved by the students.
The chili dinner is finished (the golden kidney bean trophy going to the Livery-Quinn family again, with Chase declaring a goal for a “three-peat” next season), and we’ve moved on to the other main event: gingerbread house decorating.
“Everyone dialed in? We’ve got this, you guys,” I say to Liam, Beckett, and Amelia as soon as the bell rings.
In front of us is our gingerbread house, and we’re creating a replica of the rescue barn at Clover Hill Farm.
Beckett is sculpting a decent goat out of marzipan, while Amelia and I carefully apply sections of sour cherry ribbon to the roof to look like shingles.
Liam’s focused on the icing patterns, currently creating the barn-door effect.
But he seems off—his hands shaking as he applies, and then reapplies, a strip of the icing.
“You okay?” I ask him, raising a brow at the latest wiggly line.
Amelia glances up from placing the candy shingles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she and Beckett exchange a smile.
I know I’m missing something, because I recognize their tells when they’re hiding something—Amelia with the hair-tucking, and Beckett sporting a demure smile that isn’t her usual wide, toothy grin.
When they came over to the cottage the week before I moved out, Amelia tucking and untucking her hair, Beckett smiling softly, neither of them getting to the point for the visit, I knew it was about the pregnancy.
I had been anticipating it, invoking hard-fought patience to allow it to play out naturally.
Amelia finally spilled the beans, and I burst into happy, genuine tears at the news, even though it wasn’t a surprise.
“What? What’s going on?” I ask now, looking from Amelia, to Beckett, and finally back to Liam.
“Could you hand me a couple of those gumdrops?” Liam asks, and his voice cracks. His eyes don’t leave the gingerbread house, his hands squeezing out the icing in yet another not-straight line.
My eyes are on Liam, as I reach into the dish of gumdrops.
Then, my fingers touch the sugar-coated, jelly candy, and as I start to take one out, they connect with something solid. Something that is not a gumdrop.
“What the…?” Hand still in the candy dish, I look to see something silver under the white and green gumdrops. “What is that?”
My heart is in my throat, and my eyes snap to Liam’s.
He’s grinning, the icing bag discarded on the table. Amelia’s crying, though smiling, and Beckett—also smiling—has her hands so tightly clasped together her knuckles are whitening.
Next I see my parents, standing up from the table where they’re competing with Miss Betty and Liam’s granddad, who have been dating for about five months now.
Helena, who arrived in town only a few hours earlier, Claire, Kirby, and Chase are also standing, at the decorating table next to ours.
As expected, Helena and Claire hit it off within minutes of meeting each other, and are already vowing to do a weekend trip somewhere with a spa (“and no children”) for the three of us in the new year.
My two best friends—past and present—have their arms wrapped around one another, trying to contain their obvious excitement at what’s happening.
Liam, now beside me, turns my chair to face him.
My fingers are out of the gumdrop bowl, numb with anticipation.
The room has gone silent, the sense that everyone is holding their collective breath.
I hear the clock ticking, have the absurd thought that we will obviously not be winning the gingerbread house decorating this year.
It feels like I’m in a dream, everything moving slowly.
Liam reaches into the candy dish, pulling something out. In his fingers is a sparkling ring. He drops to one knee.
“Libby, this has been the best year of my life,” he starts.
“Yes! Liam, oh my goodness. Yes! My answer is yes!” I bend over and grab his face the way I did this morning and kiss him. The excitement and adrenaline thrums through me, and my entire body shakes.
Everyone starts clapping, and Liam, laughing, says, “You didn’t even let me ask the question!”
“Liam Young, you are the most amazing man I have ever met. You’re kind, sweet, strong, brilliant, patient, not to mention gorgeous…
” Again, laughter rings out through the room.
“I can’t imagine my life without you in it.
You’re the marshmallow foam to my hot chocolate, and I am forever and ever yours. ”
“Mind if I have a turn now?” Liam asks softly, with an adorable smirk. I press my lips together and nod my head. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry … I don’t want to miss a single moment of this.
“Libby Munro, as I was saying…” He grins, more laughter around the room. “You are the love of my life. The cheese to my macaroni. The meatloaf to my mashed potatoes. The ornament to my Christmas tree. The icing to my gingerbread house.”
I’m laughing through my tears, waiting to be asked the question that will change my life.
“Will you marry me, Libby?”
“Yes, yes, yes! You had me at ‘hand me a couple of those gumdrops,’?” I say, as Liam slides on the ring—a white gold, diamond-pavé band with a solitaire nestled into a beveled setting. “Yes, Liam. I can’t wait to marry you.”
He pulls me into a hug, right off my feet, and swings me around while our family and friends clap and cheer.
“I think I just had my favourite memory of the year,” I whisper in his ear. “But pretend to be surprised when you open the card on Christmas morning, okay?”
“Deal,” he whispers back, and then we kiss, and spin, and kiss some more until I’m dizzy and laughing. “I love you, Libby Munro.”
“I love you, too, Liam Young,” I say, breathless with the joyful surprise of it all.