34. Ellie
Chapter thirty-four
Ellie
It’s our regularly scheduled Christmas Eve tradition—watching a Christmas movie with the whole Dawson clan and my family. My parents flew in last night from Gainesville for Christmas and, hopefully, Sweetpea’s arrival.
We’ve just got settled after spending an hour at Ridgeview Park together watching Mr. Dawson and Mr. Smith’s pairs ice dance. To be fair, it was a lot more falling than dancing. But we all had a good laugh, which was, I’m sure, precisely the point.
When they were finished, Mr. Smith said, “Alvin, I don’t reckon there’s anyone else I would’ve rather done that with.”
To which Mr. Dawson responded, “No offense, Marshall, but I can think of a partner I’d have been more excited about.” Then he winked at Rachel.
They are so stinkin’ sweet.
Now, Hunter’s arm is draped around my shoulders, his fingers playing lightly on my arm, and it’s the only thing I can focus on.
Except for his leg pressed against the entire length of mine and the glances he keeps sending my direction.
Is he checking me out, or is he just checking in?
After our visit with Dr. Greene the other day, I’ve been so much more aware of Hunter.
Not that I needed any help in that department.
“You’re making me hot,” I say out loud, not meaning to make the entire room aware of what Hunter is doing to me.
Everyone turns in my direction. I had no idea how quiet it was when I spoke.
My parents and most of the Dawson clan are settling in to watch Elf.
Wyatt and Beckett are at the rehab facility with Asher, connected with us via FaceTime, ready to participate in one of our favorite traditions.
Each Christmas Eve, there’s a big movie night, complete with matching pajamas, yes, the satellite crowd has them too.
A member of the family gets to choose a movie and the menu for a Christmas Eve movie night.
This year it was Rosie’s turn, but she gave her turn to Asher—for obvious reasons—so we’re watching his favorite and eating spaghetti and popcorn.
It was my mom’s turn to choose the pajamas, so of course they’re understated.
Forest green bottoms, and an off-white top that says Merry Christmas in an elegant script.
I had a turn five years ago, and my pajama of choice included a lot of bright ornaments.
Dylan, of course, did not participate and only barely let me attend at all.
And those were the good days of our marriage.
We’re waiting for Beckett to get back to Asher and Wyatt with their warmed-up spaghetti, then we’ll start the movie.
“Give her some space, son. She’s an incubator,” Rachel says, with a motherly pat to my shoulder as she passes behind the couch.
I’m glad that’s the way she took my comment, because I’m not sure if it’s that or his proximity after our conversation with the doctor. Probably a combination of the two.
Hunter moves his arm from around me and slides a few inches away. And I’m suddenly furious about it. A small growl slips from my throat, and mortification washes over me as everyone looks at me once again.
“Eyes on the TV,” Hunter orders everyone, then places a slow kiss on my cheek. “How can I help you, Ells?”
A simple question with an answer so complicated, even I don’t understand it.
Christmas morning dawns bright and beautiful, but I’m having trouble being happy about it. I waddle to the nursery and pick up the My First Christmas onesie I had sitting out on her dresser. I sit on the glider and stare at it. I’m ready to hold my baby.
I hear Hunter pass the room and backtrack quickly. He pauses in the doorway, taking in my sad state.
“What’s going on, Ells?”
I look at him through teary eyes. “This isn’t the Christmas I’d hoped for.”
Hunter reaches me in three strides. He takes in the onesie I’m holding, and holds out a hand to me, bringing me to my feet. He sits and pulls me into his lap. He moves the glider, rocking me. Rocking us. I snuggle closer into his flannel and the crisp breeze and campfire it brings to mind.
“Think of it this way. We get to have two first Christmases with her. One while she’s still on the inside, and one next year when she will be big enough to open a present. We’ll get her a new onesie.”
“That was a really good try, Hunter.” I pat his chest patronizingly. Then I kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
He gives me an amused smile. “You’re welcome, Ells.”
“Can we stay here all day?”
“I’ll have to get my phone to cancel on your parents,” Hunter says, and I’m not sure if he’s joking.
I laugh either way. “How long until they’ll be here?” They’re coming to have Christmas brunch. They’d volunteered to bring the food since we would likely have the baby. Thankfully, they hadn’t taken back the offer, because I couldn’t be more grateful to not be on my feet in the kitchen right now.
“Something like an hour,” he answers, running his hand up and down my arm.
“Mmm. So we’ve got a little time.” I lay my head on his shoulder and close my eyes.
The next thing I know, Hunter’s hand is caressing my face. “Time to wake up, Ells.”
“Hmm?” It takes a moment, but I remember where I am and burrow deeper into Hunter’s arms.
Hunter chuckles. “We need to get up.”
“No, thank you. I live here now.”
Hunter kisses my forehead, then shifts and stands. He slowly lowers me to my feet.
“I don’t know what time it is, but I’m sure we need to be getting ready.”
I sleepily salute him like I’m a cadet and he’s my superior. “Aye aye, Captain.”
He huffs a laugh, then puts a hand on my back, leading us out of the nursery. “Come on, you pirate.”
In the middle of our small kitchen table is a basket of blueberry muffins, bacon and spinach quiche, and a bowl of deep red watermelon hunks. How they managed to get such perfect watermelon this time of year, I have no idea.
I’m reaching for a second muffin when my mom speaks. “I have a gift I can’t wait for you to open. It was hard for me to not drive straight here when I got it, but we got it in Gainsville, so I refrained.”
I smile at my mom, she’s not easily excitable, so this must be good. I take my muffin with me to the recliner, and Mom places an elegantly wrapped box on my lap.
“This one’s for the baby, but my precious girl is taking her time.” She laughs. “Not that she could have opened it, anyway.”
Maybe Hunter’s right. Her first Christmas will be much more fun this way.
I grin up at my mom. “I’m sure she would have appreciated this beautiful wrapping, though.”
She gives a big, surprised laugh. “I’m sure she would have. Next year. Although I seem to remember you enjoying pulling tissue out of bags at that age.”
“I can’t wait to see what she’s like,” I say, untying the fabric bow.
“She’ll be wonderful.” Mom strokes my cheek and takes a seat on the sofa.
I carefully unwrap the package and open the box. Inside are the most beautiful play mat and animals I have ever seen.
“I had it made,” Mom says. “I knew you’d like one that was more fun, but the ones in stores like that were hideous. So I designed this and had it made.”
Dad stood and pulled a cardboard box from the other side of the sofa. “You set these wooden pieces up above the mat and you can hang the animals from them.”
My clean-lines-subtle-style mother has given me the perfect whimsical gift for Sweetpea. I’m beyond touched, so naturally, I cry.
“Thank you. She will absolutely love this.”
I can’t wait.