Epilogue #2
I cock my head to the side. “But Christmas isn’t for three days. I don’t want to open it yet.”
“Yes, you do.” He gives me a knowing nod.
He’s being awfully cagey about this. “Why didn’t you just bring it here, then?” I ask.
“It’s too big. I can’t fit it in the truck.”
Okay, now he’s got my full attention. I wasn’t expecting an engagement ring this soon, of course, but what the heck did he get me that’s so big he can’t fit it in his truck ?
I’ve already learned that Aiden is the worst at keeping presents a secret.
My birthday was the day after I came back from Vermont.
He couldn’t keep the secret even one day.
He got me a new coffee maker and showed me how to use it.
Of course, he makes the coffee every day now, but it was pretty cute at the time.
And there is always pumpkin-spice creamer, though I have switched to peppermint mocha for the Christmas season and am loving it.
“Okay,” I sigh. “Let’s go.”
“Send me a picture as soon as you can,” Charlotte says, curious too.
Minutes later, Aiden and Argos and I are strapped into the truck and on our way home. Argos’s seat belt connects to his harness. He has a red-and-green plaid harness for Christmas because the dog is stylish. I may have purchased it for him at a store in the city.
“Is it an elephant?” I ask, fiddling with the heat so the truck will warm up.
“No.”
I flip on the seat warmers. They are my favorite thing about using a truck more often than riding the subway. Seriously. Seat warmers should be a thing everywhere. “A giraffe?”
“No.”
I scrunch up my nose. “A moose?”
“No. And what’s with all the animal guesses? Do you want a moose?”
I settle back into the seat and shrug. “They’re the only things I can think of that are really big.” I snap my fingers. “Ooh, it is a car?”
“No.”
“A truck?”
“No.”
“A giant donut.”
“We already have one of those.”
I snort-laugh. “A water buffalo?”
Aiden gives me a skeptical look. “What would you say if I said yes to that one?”
I shrug. “I would say I’m going to need a book about how to care for water buffalos.”
“It’s not alive, I promise,” he assures me.
I tap my finger to my chin. Big and dead? What could it be? “A stuffed water buffalo?”
“No.” Aiden laughs and shakes his head.
I am still thinking about the possibilities as we drive down Main Street, which, by the way, looks like the set of a Christmas movie.
There are twinkling white lights in every tree and pretty red, green, and gold ornaments dangling from the branches.
Mistletoe hangs above each business’s door, and each streetlight is adorned with a big red bow.
There’s a Salvation Army bell ringer outside the general store, and Mrs. Wilkins has her famous life-size knitted snowman sitting out in front of the hardware store with a bucket of candy for children.
Christmas carols are playing on the speakers along the town square, and as we pass town hall it begins to snow.
I snuggle into the heated seat and rub my mittens together, in love with the homey warmth currently settling in my middle. I missed this feeling for seven whole years. I don’t intend to miss another second of it.
When we pull into Aiden’s driveway, another little thrill of joy shoots through me.
We decorated the house for Christmas the weekend after Thanksgiving.
There are garlands with red bows all along the white picket fence and twinkling white lights along the rooftop.
We even put candle lights in the front windows.
It’s cozy and warm and I love it here. It’s so much more fun to decorate a whole house than a tiny apartment.
“Come on,” Aiden says as he turns off the engine. He has a glint in his eye, and I’m squirming with excitement to see what my present is.
He holds open the little white gate for me like he always does, and Argos and I follow him up to the porch.
The front door opens to our Christmas tree.
We got a full-size one that nearly hits the ceiling.
It’s in front of the large window and filled with white lights and red and silver ornaments, including more than one apple-themed ornament, which, by the way, we also sell in the gift shop at the inn.
The tree makes the whole house smell like pine.
Once the door closes behind us, and we shake and stamp off the little bit of snow we’ve accumulated, Aiden says, “Okay, close your eyes.”
I immediately close them.
He takes my hand to lead me. We walk to the right which means toward the bedroom. If the present is in the bedroom, why didn’t he just go get it? Did he not wrap it?
He helps me along and makes sure I don’t bump into the walls as we go. Finally, we stop, and he puts his hands on my shoulders and pivots me around. I have no idea which way I’m facing.
“Okay, you can open them,” he announces.
My eyes fly open, and then my mouth drops straight down because I am looking into a closet that is the size of a bedroom.
Because it is a bedroom! Aiden has turned the guest room into an enormous closet.
For me! All of my clothes are in here. There are shelves, and doors, and hampers, and rows and rows of shoes, and a little sitting area.
It looks like something out of a reality TV show with really rich ladies.
There is a whole section for my purses and another one for my sunglasses. And the shelves light up!
I am beyond shocked. “How did you do all this without me noticing?” I ask. He’s had the door to this room closed for a while, but I didn’t think much of it.
“It hasn’t been easy. I had to do some of it while you were out. But the rest, we finished really fast this week.”
“We?”
“Me and my buddies.”
“You had your friends come over and help with this?”
“Yeah, I’ve been planning it for weeks. I had it sketched out and prepped. We just needed to do the installation.”
My eyes are wet with tears as I turn to him and hug him fiercely.
“This is the best present I’ve ever gotten.
” And I mean it. I think it’s the best present anyone has ever gotten, and that includes those people on the TV commercials who get cars with big red bows on them.
It’s certainly better than a stuffed water buffalo. But there’s always next year.
“So, you like it?” Aiden asks. I can tell that he’s nervous.
I squeeze his arm, partly to reassure him and partly because, honestly, I can’t get enough of touching his arms. “I love it. Like, really love. I couldn’t love it more.”
He looks relieved. He scratches the back of his neck. “I know you don’t have enough clothes for it now, but I figure there’s room to buy more.”
“No woman has ever loved a sentence more.” I kiss him. Then I wrinkle my nose. “Well, now what I got you is going to seem pretty lame.”
“What is it?”
“That hand plane you mentioned last month.”
“I already love it,” he says loyally, pulling my fingers up to his lips and kissing them.
“Oh, and a hat,” I say, giving him a very sly look.
“Like the one from the photo shoot?” he asks, returning my sly look.
“ Exactly like the one from the photo shoot,” I reply.
“Say the word, and we can go back to the greenhouse any time you want.”
He pulls me into his arms and kisses me.
“Promise?” I ask.
“Promise.”