Chapter 24 Christmas Eve
Roman
We arrive at Bartlett Farms Christmas Eve evening.
The berry farm used to serve as a safe house of sorts for the late Aiden Fox to stash his sons when things got too hot in the city.
It hasn’t been operational for some time, but the elderly couple who ran it continued living in the main house until their passing.
Now, Finn and Effie live in the barn’s converted loft apartment and the big house is used for family holidays.
“Flurries!” Ren shouts as we turn into the gravel driveway, pointing out the windshield. And sure enough, my headlights capture the small flutter of light snow falling.
“We’re gonna have a white Christmas,” she squeals excitedly, despite none of the snow sticking and the radar predicting nothing more than a little ice. A fact I only know because she checked it about every five minutes on the drive here.
“Looks like it,” I say, even though I doubt it. Her delight is too sweet to sour.
I crawl down the driveway, partly for my car’s sake and partly so I can watch Ren’s reaction. “I feel like I’m in a snow globe,” she says with awe.
The white farmhouse is lit up with colorful lights strung along the porch’s roof. Between the flurries and the honey-like glow from the gas porch lamps, it really does look like a snow globe scene.
Damn, maybe I am a Christmas person after all.
Or maybe I’m just a Ren person.
I try to carry all our bags inside, but she insists on helping. My threats to spank her if she doesn’t let me have the opposite effect. So, I concede and let her carry the gifts—most of which are for Niamh.
She looked at me suspiciously after seeing them when I picked her up. She didn’t believe me.
“Hey, it’s not my fault that no siblings mean no nieces or nephews to spoil,” I argued, hoping she didn’t see her name on one. We said no presents, but there was no way I wasn’t going to get her something. Especially after my curiosity got the best of me and I shook one of the boxes under her tree.
It was empty.
God, my heart nearly broke picturing this woman, who probably loves Christmas more than anyone I know, wrapping empty presents in anticipation of spending the holiday alone. The thought makes me eager to get inside so I can empty my arms and fill them with her.
I’m so far gone that urges like that don’t scare me anymore. Because whether it’s five more days or five more years, I’ll take them all. I’m done acting like there was ever any other option for me.
We have to add both extra leaves to the dining table to fit us all. There are eight people just counting the Foxes and their wives—well, Stella and Lochlan aren’t married yet. Then add in a baby, Alfie, Ren, and me and we somehow squeeze twelve people at a ten-person table.
Cash is the last to sit after carving the honey baked ham. He joins just in time for Niamh to attempt a nosedive out of her highchair. Harlow quickly reaches for the tray in his hands as he catches her with one arm.
“Oh shit—shit—I mean shoot, I knew I was forgetting something,” Alfie blunders. “The whole buckling-her-in thing.” He waves his hands around, very poorly miming what he should have done after putting her in the chair.
“You’re good,” Cash says, and Harlow, Lochlan, and Stella all look at him like he has two heads. He continues in the same friendly tone while bouncing Niamh on his knee. “But forget again and I’ll wrap that seat belt around your neck until your eyes bulge out of your head.”
“Ah, there’s Daddy Cash.” Lochlan chuckles and sits back with a grin. Everyone laughs except for Harlow, whose cheeks turn bright red, and Cash, who nearly spits out his whiskey.
He clears his throat and tells his brother coolly, “Don’t call me that again.”
“Jesus Christ,” Roan scoffs in disgust, and Reggie’s eyes widen.
A wave of understanding washes over the table, and Ren who was looking to me for clarity, finally gets it. “Oooh . . .”
“Well, this is certainly a holiday for the books.” Stella teases Cash, “The one where we all learned you have a daddy kink.”
The table erupts in laughter again, and Harlow buries her face in her hands.
“Don’t worry, Harlow,” Reggie says. “Roan and I once walked in on Finn and Effie in the studio with paint in places it had no business being.”
Finn fires back, “That’s rich coming from someone who’s had a gun in the same place.”
“You told him?!” Roan cuts off his brother to gape at Reggie, absolutely scandalized.
“I told her!” she defends herself, pointing to Effie, who gives a little finger wave from across the table.
“This is great, us next!” Lochlan cheers.
Stella cuts him a death glare. “You shut your mouth.”
Ren looks around the table, possibly more awed than she was with the flurries. Her astonished gaze lands on me and she whispers, “This is the best Christmas ever.” She grabs my hand under the table. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”
I give her hand a squeeze. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
Luckily, that’s as contentious as it gets until dessert. Effie brings out the tiramisu and gasps loudly after taking off the tinfoil, waking up Niamh, who was asleep in her father’s arms.
“Who did that?” Effie demands of the table, appalled, and points accusatorily at a large scoop missing from the corner of the dish.
Everyone immediately turns toward Lochlan. Everyone but Roan. I watch him sneak a questioning look at his wife. It wasn’t me, she mouths, shaking her head adamantly.
Lochlan denies it, nobody believes him, and with an untrusting glare, Effie serves everyone.
Finn groans at his first bite. “God, this is so good I could marry you a third time,” he says, slinging his arm over Effie’s shoulder once she sits back down.
Ren leans into me and hisses under her breath, “A third time?”
“It’s a long story.” I chuckle. Before I can explain any further, Niamh starts wailing because Cash won’t give her any of his dessert.
“It has caffeine and alcohol in it, baby girl,” he says apologetically. “I know that means nothing to you, so you’re just gonna have to trust me on this.” He tries to reason with her to no avail.
I watch as Cash does his best to distract her while Harlow sneaks him a few bites and wonder if they can go from kidnapping to airplaning spoonfuls of Italian dessert, is it really unbelievable that Ren and I can make it work?
Cash always told himself the family comes first. But then Harlow became part of that family and everything changed. For the better. I’ve always told myself the job comes first, but what if it didn’t?
Ren pulls silly faces, making Niamh giggle and me smile because I’m pretty sure that “what if” is already here.
Ren
When peekaboo and goofy faces are no longer enough to distract Niamh, Roman offers, “Here, lemme take her.” Cash passes her off, and she immediately looks three months younger dwarfed in Roman’s arms.
“Come on, Mama, have you seen the train?” he asks Niamh while her little hands paw at his beard. He doesn’t make any attempt to stop her, even when pets become tugs.
I finish my last few bites then follow the two of them into the living room, which doesn’t look like it’s changed much since the previous owners.
Crocheted doilies are draped over the arms of the plaid couch.
Cross-stich pillows and knickknacks, like novelty salt-and-pepper shakers and porcelain angels, dot the room.
It’s dark but cozy, Christmas lights on the tree and the porch outside giving the space a rainbow glow. 1
Roman crouches by the tree and sets Niamh down to show her the train tracks around its base. “Give it a sec and . . . choo-choo, here it comes,” he says in a hushed but excited tone as the toy train appears from behind the tree.
Niamh squawks and slaps the floor excitedly as it chugs past, the tiramisu long forgotten. I sit on the couch behind them to just watch their interaction. Roman gently redirects her whenever she tries to rip up the tracks or hands her an unbreakable ornament when she reaches for a fragile one.
He’s so good with her, it makes my heart overflow. I can hardly stand it when he fixes the bow clipped to the itty-bitty ponytail on top of her head. Next-level cute aggression, I swear.
I join them on the floor, kneeling behind him just so I can wrap my arms around his shoulders and squeeze him in a tight hug. He kisses my forearm laying across his collarbone, and I could just melt.
“Finn found this in the attic last Christmas, but it didn’t work.
God knows how long it was up there,” Roman tells me, nodding to the train.
“After Effie found these cars at a flea market, he was determined to get it running again.” He points out two train cars in front of the caboose that don’t quite match the others.
“That’s so sweet,” I say, settling next to him.
“We didn’t really celebrate Christmas in the traditional sense at the ranch as a community, but every holiday season, we would put up a miniature winter village that spanned something like thirty feet.
As a kid, it felt like it took up a hundred tables, but it was probably only three or four.
Anyway . . .” I half-sigh, half-laugh, having gotten sidetracked.
“It had a train like this that went through the ‘mountains’ behind the village and came out of a tunnel at the other end.”
“That sounds fun. Is that where you got your love of Christmas?”
“No, that was my mother.” I smile. “We never celebrated the religious aspect, but every year we’d cut down our own tree and decorate it with as many ornaments as we could fit.
Most of them, we made ourselves. Ya know, that’s probably what made decorating it so fun, finally getting to see these little projects we worked on throughout the year where they belong. ”