17. All I Want for Christmas is You
17
All I Want for Christmas is You
Billy
T he annual Carmichael Christmas party was by far the busiest twenty-four hours on the farm. As Piers joked for the umpteenth time about ‘all hands on deck’, Billy’s family and the other farm workers swirling in and out of the house, utterly ignored him.
Billy struggled to resist the cave-man urge to konk the celebrity over the head with a blunt stick, then dress him up as an elf, and sit him in the back of Edsel as a prop. He wasn’t a violent man by nature, but a few weeks of forced proximity to the narcissist had potentially changed him at a fundamental level.
At least filming for Crank Shaft was officially done, and within the next few days, Piers, Trudy, and Jaxon would vacate the farm altogether – a loss that would only be lamented by Sharee De Luca.
Sharee’s patience and positivity enabled her to cope with his ill-timed and ill-mannered quips. She’d taken him under her wing and even joined him by the pool most evenings. The Carmichaels, on the other hand, were exhausted by long days in the sun, hard labour, and the exertions of not assaulting the Crank Shaft host for his generally loutish attitude. Big dinners, cold showers, and early bedtimes helped them through.
The day flew in a festive haze of tinsel and trees. The finishing decorative touches had been put on the big barn, and with the kitchen working overtime, Holly was well prepared to send everyone into a food coma.
His mother had always believed that food brought people together, and tonight, it would bring the town of Moonshine to the Carmichaels’ tree farm for their Christmas Eve party. Everything was ready. Tables and chairs had been set, excessive lights strung over the alfresco area, and the musicians had arrived early, setting up beside the huge tree that towered over them all, brushing the very rafters of the barn. Edsel waited beside the big barn, ready for family photos with ‘Father Nicholas’ who was playing Santa, the huge bags of presents beside Bre’s Ford ready for gifting to every guest.
Hours ago, Billy had vacated his bedroom, carrying out the chores on Bre’s evening list, as requested, while she allowed his mother to fuss over her. For years, Holly had attempted to play dress-ups, but this year, Bre must’ve been too tired to refuse. Chuckling, Billy had closed the door on his mother and Breanna, who’d been in a stand-off about makeup.
“Just a little” was apparently “way too much” and his mother was well-prepared for the fight. Grateful to excuse himself, Billy had spent the afternoon completing the To Do list.
The first item read.
Check in with Sharee
As Bre probably anticipated, this had proved unnecessary. The stylist was glowing, calm, and prepared for the final shebang she’d planned with his mother.
“Tonight, our socials will sparkle!” they kept saying, an inside joke they refused to elaborate on. Their house, tree, and barn decorations weren’t “sparkling” in any extraordinary manner, but he left them to their smug little giggles.
Next, Breanna’s list told him:
Assist Trudy and Jaxon with the preparations for the final Crank Shaft film session.
After weeks of too-close proximity to Piers, Trudy and Jaxon had gone rogue. At least, this was according to his bartender, Meredith, who had spent an inordinate amount of time of late appraising him of the local tavern gossip. Jaxon and Trudy, Meredith had confided in a whisper that could have been heard in Antarctica, were “done”. According to his drama-loving employee, the last straw had been that “too-hot-to-trot Revv-head hogging the spotlight from the farm owners and event coordinators” – aka Billy’s parents.
Over dinners Billy and Bre had attended for ever-shortening amounts of time, Piers had managed to cement a plan that showcased his winning, public-facing personality. Somehow the TV star had convinced Nick and Holly to allow him to assist with distributing gifts to party guests, demanding Jaxon film while Trudy caught every fake compliment that dripped from his mouth.
“PR stunt if ever I’ve seen one!” Meredith had hissed into the phone, outraged on behalf of Nick and Holly, who she’d never even met. The opinion was followed by the slap of a glass on the bar.
“All’s well there?”
“Oh, boy, totally! And as soon as the last patron leaves The Pope tonight, I’m going to drive out there, scope out this amazing farm everyone keeps banging on about.” Her voice turned sulky in a way he doubted Breanna’s ever would. “Plus, I kind of miss the twins. But I didn’t call to talk about your brothers and the fact that your biggest security guards have been sorely missed here at The Pope. I called to warn about Piers ...”
Billy prayed that seeing a magnanimous Santa Claus wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses indoors wouldn’t ruin Christmas for Moonshine’s children. But while Piers planned to show-boat and steal the spotlight from Billy’s parents, Trudy and Jaxon had other plans. Staging a coup, Piers’ team would focus their energy on Edsel, the true star of the show, and Breanna, in all her pregnant glory. This plan, Billy approved.
The third item on Breanna’s list had been the easiest.
Be my date for the party.
He loved that she hadn’t made it a question. He had no choice in the matter anyway. Whatever she wanted, he’d find a way to give it to her. Acting as her date at parties had been a large part of their Friends With Benefits Plans over the years.
As he waited at the bottom of the stairs, he idly wondered which of the strong-willed women upstairs had won the battle of the makeup. When the door at the top of the landing squeaked open and Holly rushed out, tears in her eyes, he worried for the answer.
“Mum?”
Gripping his forearm, she pulled him close, kissing his cheek. Cool wetness lingered as she pulled back, beaming at him, before her eyes flicked up. He followed her gaze, wondering what could shake his mother so thoroughly that her grip on his tattooed forearm trembled.
The world slowed as two hazel eyes found his, and step by step, tentative and unsure and so unlike her usual self, Breanna emerged.
Only, this wasn’t Breanna. This vision before him didn’t stomp down the stairs in her familiar Doc Martens. She wasn’t smothered in the loose fabric of baggy overalls and t-shirts, or a dirty Shit Show Supervisor baseball cap, and her flaming hair wasn’t twisted up and off her face in a messy bun. She wasn’t glistening from farm work or greasy from fixing cars. This woman was …
“Exquisite.”
“Isn’t she just?” Holly beamed. Somewhere behind him, Sharee’s camera clicked. At least, he thought that was what the sound was. It could well have been the sound of the fabric of reality tearing apart as this vision – his fantasy – stepped into reality.
In simple flat shoes, she trod down, down, closer, the swish of fabric parting with each step to reveal shapely lean legs. With thin straps over strong shoulders, the material was a deep forest green trimmed in Carmichael tartan. It hugged her belly and breasts, a deep V showing more of her neck, chest, and cleavage than her clothing ever had before. She was resplendent.
Waves of lightly curled red hair tumbled down her shoulders, framing her face in ways he didn’t realise it could.
His right arm, or the ghost of it, at least, reached out, needing to touch her, while the rest of him stood rooted to the spot as she descended from his room. His. Mine.
She hesitated as something like self-consciousness flitted across her face – a face, Billy noticed, enhanced with a light dusting of something sparkly, darker lashes, and red lipstick. So, his mother had won after all.
“We all good?” We . His throat closed completely, overwhelmed by the splendid vision before him. Nodding, he reminded himself to breathe, inhaling and exhaling shakily as his mother, still beside him, grinned and practically held him upright.
“Oh, dear, please no more rhetorical questions,” Holly groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“We are …” Bre seemed to lose her words as she took him in. His spine straightened under her assessing gaze, her growing smile and that sparkle in her eye indicating her approval.
In a fine linen shirt, his Carmichael plaid, traditional sporran, and hose, including the little Sgian-dubh knife tucked into the top, he was every bit the tall, broad, dark-haired Highlander his ancestors had been.
He tried to swallow the lump in his throat – the one she put there simply by existing. Failed. Tried again.
“We are …” Billy repeated the affirmation in a low grumble that sounded too harsh. A thrill ran through him as his best friend’s eyes lit up.
“We are.” Bre was nodding, confirming, though what, precisely, she confirmed, he still wasn’t sure. Was it a ‘We are … a we’? ‘We are … a fling to forever’? We are …
Finally, Bre reached the bottom step.
“You two are perfect.” Holly beamed, pride glowing from every pore as her eyes flicked between them. Taking Billy’s hand, then Breanna’s, his mother fit them together as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Merry Christmas Eve, you two. May the best present you receive be those straight from the heart.” His mother said the words, but they barely registered as she drifted into the blurry background.
“I’m guessing you like?” Bre looked down, nose crinkling. “Still can’t touch my toes, though. Or see them, for that matter.”
“Nobody will be looking at your feet, honey.” The words were a growl, and a threat to anyone who even thought about coming near her tonight. She was his. Now and forever.
“Come here,” he demanded, pulling her into his chest. Instinct drew her arms around him, tucked her face into his neck. His chin rested on the top of her head, and together, they breathed. In. Out. In.
“Bruce …”
“You can’t call me that anymore.”
He froze.
“I’m not that little girl who demanded equality with you and our brothers. I’m not that tomboy who could do it all and keep up, be just as tough, just as fearless, just as dumb.” She smiled up at him. “I’m all woman now, Billy. I have the breasts and the baby bump to prove it.”
His hand slid to her rounded stomach, his thumb caressing; nodding, wordlessly encouraging her to continue, entranced by the red of her mouth, the loose waves of her hair.
God, what I wouldn’t give to touch her, all over, all at once. Instead, he’d have to go slow. Too slow. With only one hand.
Squeezing his hand, she led him out of the house, towards the big barn, the fairy lights and stars overhead lighting the way.
“You can’t call me Bruce anymore,” she repeated.
“Who …” The lump caught the word, and he coughed lightly, freeing the rest of his query while trying to remember how to work his feet, stumbling more than usual. “Who are you, then?”
She paused, throwing him a bashful look. And was that … regret? He wasn’t as adept at reading faces as she was, but since December first, when she climbed in his window – what seemed like a lifetime ago now – he’d taught himself to be more observant, to see the nuanced way her face spoke volumes when she couldn’t find the words.
“I’m yours, Billy,” Bre told him gently, guiding him through the trees. Heart swollen to bursting, all he could do was swallow, breathe, and follow her blindly.
Others joined them. He registered the familiar shadows of family, their friendly faces blurred beyond his direct line of vision – vision that started and ended with Breanna Henderson.
“I’ve always been yours. Your family knew it. You knew it! You said we were something more. I knew that too, but I was too stupid to name it.” She lowered her voice, pressing closer as the children joined the throng that moved towards the big barn for the party. “As anything beyond Friends With Festive Benefits, anyway,” she finished, smirking up at him. “I was too dumb to realise that I had my head in the sand this whole time. Too chicken-shit to name it.”
“Name what, Bre?” What was his fantasy saying?
Bre’s smile widened. “I’m getting there. Be patient.” She flicked her hair, irritated by the length tickling her shoulders. He watched the motion, transfixed.
“After slowing down this Christmas, actually talking to everyone, not just bossing them around, it seems they all knew before I did.”
“Knew what?” It sounded rhetorical, and a shudder passed through his body as he asked it. But he needed to be sure that what he was hearing was, in fact, what Breanna was trying to tell him.
“Billy, I know I’ve treated you unfairly. I’ve been …” she sighed. “If I’m perfectly honest, I’ve been too scared to pop the bubble. Saying the words makes everything real, instead of this made-up world we’ve created, when we hoard time together. That’s not normal, Billy.” The crowd seemed to swell around them as they continued into the barn. “Friends with Benefits is just a fling masquerading as two mates whose friendship will inevitably implode when one person catches feelings and demands more. We never did that, Billy, don’t you see?”
He didn’t see, and she read it in his face. Pausing in the wide doorway, she smoothed her thumbs over his eyebrows, he let her loosen the deep V that had formed on his brow.
“We never imploded, Billy. Because we both caught feelings. We both knew the fantasy was something more … something more permanent , but we were both too scared to upset the status quo. Both of us knew it was something else, and we both wanted more, but we were chicken shit and didn’t chase what we really wanted. Don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true!” She laughed. “We were comfortable with whatever time we had or that we took, to explore each other and this thing between us. But it was temporary, even though it’s been years.” She laughed again, lightly, the sound hitting him straight in the chest.
She placed his palm on her stomach. Swift little kicks moved beneath his fingertips as they moved into the barn, family and friends swirling around. Vaguely, he was aware of his family drawing closer around them. Familiar shapes and faces blurred as his world again narrowed – to the racing of his heart, and the baby’s movement beneath his fingertips.
“Wanna know what’s more permanent, Billy?” She beamed up at him. “This baby. He gets so excited to hear your voice. Little shit kicks like a world champ soccer player whenever you’re near. He is so excited to meet you.”
“He?” The word somehow tore itself from his body.
“Of course,” Bre beamed up. “I’m just guessing the gender, but it seems to me like all Carmichaels are boys.”
His .
The world tilted on its axis. The baby was his. “Mine?”
From the encircling crowd, a brother stepped forward. “I do believe that was a rhetorical question,” Connor warned, leaning an elbow up to his brother’s shoulder.
“Two, actually,” Liam added, breaking ranks and taking up a mirror pose on Billy’s other side. “He? Mine?” He mocked their youngest brother, ruffling his hair playfully to break Billy’s wide-eyed trance.
Bre shrugged, nonchalant. “Chances are good. Like, really good.” She smoothed a wayward lock of hair from her face, and he beamed down at her, heart bursting. “Reece says that several shitty dates prearranged by my batty mother involving zero sex will statistically end in zero babies. But multiple hot evenings with you, Billy? Not being as careful as we should have, after all this time? Being too comfortable with each other and just trusting we were being careful enough … That’d do the trick.” She read something in his face, and added quietly, “There wasn’t anyone else but you, Billy. There hasn’t been for a long, long time. I might have insinuated there was, to other people, because I’m private like that, I suppose. My sex life,” she stroked his arm, “my love life, is nobody’s business but mine. I’m sorry if you’ve ever had the wrong impression.”
Her love life? Was she saying … A dog yapped, clawing its way up and under his kilt. Jerking back, he found Mr Pickles trying to gnaw the fringed edge of his sporran.
“I know about him , too.” Bre chuckled. “A very cute distraction from my usual planned activities.” She raised one eyebrow, smile widening. “Playing on my growing maternal instincts by giving me a fur baby to look after, William Carmichael you rascal!”
She swatted his arm playfully – the right one, or what remained of it. She’d never been afraid to touch him, and such a simple act, her teasing, her casual touch, the admission – finally – of the baby’s paternity – it all made him feel more whole than ever before. His missing hand reached for her. His mind felt it, felt her beneath the gentle caress of her cheek.
She leaned her head to one side, her eyes closing, as if she felt it, too. Contentment spread across her features.
“My fling, my fantasy. You, me, our baby … Billy, we’re forever.”
Something inside him clicked – a missing piece finding its way home. His heart swelled, throat closing around the flood of words he wanted to say, eloquent responses and possessive demands, praises for this woman who said what she meant, and she’d said she was his, forevermore.
“Tis all ready fer ye, lass!” Richard’s voice stage-whispered from somewhere behind Billy, whose jaw struggled off the floor.
“Ready?” Billy managed, his usually gravelly voice more a mouse squeak.
“I called in all my Christmas Pickle favours,” Bre grinned, taking his hand once more and leading him towards the open centre of the wide barn. Jaxon and Trudy followed them, their own personal paparazzi. Billy’s gaze swung round, but Piers was nowhere to be seen.
“Revv is outside,” Bre beamed, reading his mind yet again and unable to contain her excitement. “That was Pickle Favour Number One – to get him out of my sight. I thought being on Crank Shaft would be this magical television experience where I could share Edsel with the world, when really, my whole world is already right here, and Edsel is such a big part of our lives already.” She laughed. “So, Piers is gone. Making out with Sharee DeLuca of all people! I think she feels sorry for him or something. It’s kinda sweet, and completely fucking gross. We’ll have to disown her after this.”
There she went again, speaking without abandon, dropping the smallest words that made his knees buckle, just so he could grovel at her feet. We. Our. He wanted to taste them on her tongue and add his own: Mine .
Reaching the centre of the room, his family, his nearest and dearest, surrounded them.
“Lianne!” Graham broke from the crowd to rush for his wife. Tiredness crept from her pores as she clung to her husband, smiling pure sunlight.
“I made it!” she told them all, eyeing Bre and her hand clasped with Billy’s. “What’s going on?”
“We’ll explain later,” Graham said, kissing her temple. “In the meantime, you get to look after Mr Pickles.”
“Mr who? Oh! Puppy!” Her tiredness lifted marginally as the dog was unceremoniously shoved into her arms. “Aren’t you a cutie!” The pup instantly started chewing on the ends of her long hair while her four boys rushed to welcome their mother.
“My second Pickle favour involves Trudy and Jaxon.”
At her voice, Billy turned then looked down, down, to her face, now at his waist. On one knee before him she glanced up, the smile on her red lips steady and wide.
“Bre, honey …”
Jaxon and Trudy moved closer, camera on and mic dangling above.
“William Carmichael,” Bre said. “I have a confession to make. A few confessions, actually. But the biggest one is that I think I love you. No,” she corrected, “I know I do. I know it so truly that I asked the Crank Shaft crew to immortalise this moment, but not for TV … just for us. I know it’s kind of intense, because this is kind of public …” A chuckle rippled through the family. “But I won’t hide how I really, truly, deeply feel anymore. Not from you, at least. I can’t promise you marriage, because I still don’t even know if I want that, honestly. My mother has completely ruined the notion of it. But babies? A life together? As best friends and as lovers and more …”
She paused to allow the wolf-whistling of the entire Carmichael clan to die down, colour high on her cheeks, blurring each constellation into one beautiful pink.
“Whatever I have, William Carmichael, I offer it to you. Our past plans, and our future ones … the common denominator is that we’re together. You, me, our baby …”
Nearby, Holly let out a tiny, excited squeal, snuggling into Nick’s side. Connor, Liam and Seth stood side by side, trading See, I told you so ‘s and Pay up s. Richard and his wife shared a hankie, dabbing at watering eyes. Graham, Lianne, and their four boys leant against each other, like a grove of individual trees growing stronger as one.
Billy wanted that, he realised. He wanted that with Bre. That comfort and security, that sense of strength in family.
“Bre–”
“Let me finish,” Bre demanded. “I might be on one knee, rather painfully I might add …” Rushing forward, Billy helped her up, Bre teetering side-to-side as she once again found her feet, looking up into his eyes. Tucking that glorious hair behind her ear, he did as she asked, waiting for her words to spill and spill until they came no more. “I love you, Billy. You hear me?”
He wanted to repeat the words. To scream them from the heavens. To drag her against him and brand the phrase onto her lips with his. But he didn’t have to. In that way of hers, she always knew what he was thinking.
Dragging his hand to her stomach, she cupped her palm over his, pressing them both into her belly. “ We love you, William Carmichael.”
We. Us.
Without further ado, Billy moved his hand to the back of her neck, guiding her lips to his. Cheers exploded in the barn and with a squeal of a microphone, Nick announced, “Welcome all!” The barn doors rolled open and the township of Moonshine flowed in and around them.
“The other Pickle favours?” he murmured, leaning close, trying to preserve this moment that was just for them – and hoping she hadn’t sold her soul to their brothers in exchange for whatever else she had planned for him this evening.
She merely pointed up.
Following her finger, Billy tilted his head, and a long, rumbling laugh erupted from the very depths of his soul. All around them, the party goers raised amused faces to the roof, giggling.
Countless bundles of mistletoe, all sporting googly eyes, glared down at them from the pitched barn ceiling. In green, red, gold, and tartan ribbons, they dangled menacingly above, making Christmas kisses inescapable.
“Aw, yuck!” one of Graham’s kids declared as his parents quickly embraced, numerous other couples following suit.
Already closing the distance between them, Billy put every unsaid word into his deep, luxuriating kiss.
You were never a fling.
I love you.
I’ve always loved you.
You’re mine.
The baby’s mine.
We’re going to be a family.
“You know,” Breanna murmured against his lips, pressing up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck as he gently moved her to and fro, “mistletoe started this.”
It was exactly what she’d said on the first of December, when she’d climbed in his window, for the sake of tradition.
“Actually,” Billy countered, clearing his throat with difficulty, “Adam James did.”
“I have never been more grateful for childish dares in my life,” Bre told him, curling into the space underneath his chin and tugging at his beard. “You’ll need a new tattoo now,” she told him seriously. “To remember this story, and tell it to our grandkids when we’re all old and crotchety.”
“Not all of us Carmichaels end up shoggley,” Richard intervened, appearing suddenly beside them, digging in his sporran.
“What have ye got now, Grandfather?” Billy asked, slipping in a little of the accent he knew Bre loved hearing so much, watching his words send a shiver over her bare skin with satisfaction.
“Just a wee chookin’ bon.”
“A … chicken bone?” Bre clarified as Richard deposited a gnawed V-shaped wishbone into her upturned palm. “Gee … thanks …”
“Fer luck, lassie. That’s three now, te cement it. The rabbit’s foot, the clover, an this wee wishbone!” Richard nodded. “Three’s a lucky number, see? But four? Four’s better!” He cackled, pointing to Graham, Connor, Liam, then finally, to Billy. “Go on then. Grab one side each an’ make a wish.”
He watched her small, strong fingers grip the tiny section of grey-white bone, his much larger fingers following suit.
“I wish every Christmas could be like this one,” Bre said. “Except for the anxiety and Piers, maybe. But everything else has been amazing. Top-notch organisation, I say.”
“Shut up, Bre.” Billy laughed, dragging her closer and swallowing her jokes.
“But … yon wee chookin’ bon?”
“Later, Richard,” Breanna told him, taking Billy’s hand. “We’ve got some stargazing to do.”
“Oh, aye?”
Stars glittered in the inky sky as they snuggled in together, between the trees, eyes roaming the constellations. Curled into his chest, they felt right .
“I don’t know if I can forgive her,” Bre said quietly.
“Your mother?”
He felt Breanna nod.
“Her, but Dad, too. They’re not stellar role models for parenting. And what if that shit’s genetic? Nature and nurture and all that. I worry …”
“You are nothing like them.”
“But what if, one day, I am? What if having kids is the thing that bonds the nature and nurture elements of my personality, and I turn into my mother after this baby is born?” Bre’s sigh shook through him. “I want to have a good relationship with my parents, like you do. I want to have that relationship with my – our – child.” She smiled, and it lit up the night. “We’re just so different. I don’t see a way forward with Mum and me.”
“Start with honesty,” Billy suggested, meaning it. “Communication is key.”
She snorted. “Can I communicate in grunts, like you do most of the time?”
“That is acceptable only when I’m on top of you,” he whispered, pulling her close. “When I’m inside you, buried deep and warm … Then, honey, you can grunt all you want. I won’t mind.”
“You’re naughty.”
“I am nice.”
“You, sir, are both. My favourite Christmas List personified.”
Dazzling in the deepening evening sky, the stars shone down, each twinkle making his fingers itch to touch her and trace those constellations across her skin. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his shirt, extracting a slip of paper.
“Speaking of lists … Breanna Henderson’s Life Plan. New Years Eve, Age 13. Steps to living a Happy Life,” he read, smiling down at Breanna. “One – adopt a dog.” He nodded towards the bounding Australian Shephard.
“Mr Pickles! Who, by the way, William Carmichael, is so sweet but I think he’ll have to stay here on the farm.”
“Reece will foster him.”
“Oh, thank Santa in a red fucking sleigh! That is a load off my mind, honestly. I love the little shoe destroyer, but a new baby and a new puppy will be too much, and I thought you two were trying to LIMIT my panic! But Reece having Mr Pickles, that’s good. I think he’s lonely …”
“ Two, ” Billy continued. “ Travel the world .”
His hand traversed her curves slowly, before he laced his fingers with hers, the paper crinkling between them. “Whenever you’re ready, lass.” He added the accent for fun, “I’d like to take ye to Scotland. We can start there. Next year, in five years, in fifty … Whenever you want. Though, I might like to go while my grandparents are still alive. I’ve not been to their home since I was a wee boy.”
“Yes, Billy! I’d love that!” Tears sprung to her eyes, but she blinked them back fiercely, squeezing his hand tightly before releasing it to wipe at her eyes.
“ Four . Always come home for Christmas ,” he continued. “Every year, Breanna, we will be here. You. Me. The stars. Our family and Mr Pickles … Every element adds up to perfection and it would not be Christmas without you.”
Still blinking, she choked out, “You forgot the third item on the list.”
Shaking his head, he indicated, No, I haven’t, holding the note before her face.
“I amended it.”
He watched her hazel eyes squint, then widen, as she read the words out loud. “ Three - Never. Have. Kids …”
“Unless they are with me,” he finished, heart racing as his hand curved over her belly. “You and me, Bruce. A horde of kids. Three dogs.”
“Horde? Three dogs?” she scoffed. “No one likes Gaston vibes, Billy!”
“Stop back chatting and listen.” He kissed her gently before continuing, loving the way her hands found their way into his hair and smoothed his beard, such a gentle caress for a strong woman. “Breanna, honey, I have said it before, but I am going to repeat this over and over until I die … All I want for Christmas is you. This year. Every year. That’s my plan, and my promise to you.”
The baby kicked his palm, responding to his touch and his voice. His heart jumped into his throat, swollen so big he battled for a long time to swallow it down.
“I know you never planned any of this, and this Christmas Contingency will not be the last of the amendments we will make in our lives. Time-share a dog with me . Travel the world with me . Have children–”
“With you?”
“Exclusively,” he rumbled, leaning his forehead against hers, breathing her in.
“All I want for Christmas is you, too,” she whispered. “Make sure you tell me that when things get a bit hectic, okay? When I’m tired from mothering, or my mother is being a pain in the arse, or we’ve been too busy with our own stuff for too long, or I just need reminding that we’re in this together … tell me, okay?”
“All I want for Christmas–”
“Is–”
The final word wasn’t needed to seal the promise. Not when his lips were otherwise engaged. With slow, deep kisses and gentle caresses, Billy promised himself to Bre, and to the baby merrily thumping beneath her skin – forever.