Chapter 2
ROSA AND JAKE
KATE DAVIES
I’m elbows deep scrubbing the toilet when Jake pops his head into the bathroom.
“Bad news, hon. My parents aren’t going to make it for Christmas.”
I sit back on my heels, heart sinking. He’s been so excited to host them this year. What the hell happened?
“Something come up?” I keep my tone carefully neutral, even as the part of me that wants to protect him from disappointment in all things is ready to call up my in-laws and rip them a new one. Disappointing us is my mother’s role, thank you very much.
But he’s already shaking his head, eyes sad. “Car broke down.”
I strip off the cleaning gloves and drape them over the toilet seat, turning all the way around so I’m looking directly at him. “I’m sorry, what?”
“They were headed to the mall to pick up a couple last minute things before driving here when their car just basically stopped working. According to dad, all the dash warning lights came on at the same time, then it started lurching around on the road. Then it lost power and he had to drift to the side of the road in a neighborhood near the mall. They’re sitting there right now, waiting for AAA. ”
“Oh, no.” I stand up and wash my hands at the sink, then wrap my arms around his waist. “Are they okay?”
He nods. “Shaken, but fine. Except for the woman who keeps coming out of her house to yell at them for parking in front of a fire hydrant.”
“Like they chose that specific spot to break down?”
“Apparently, she threatened to call a tow truck on them. Like, lady, one’s already on the way. You can get one here quicker? Don’t threaten them with a good time.”
“Right?” I shake my head. “That sucks. For them, but also for you. I know how much you were looking forward to spending Christmas with them.”
He heaves a sigh, his body pressing into mine. I squeeze him tighter.
“Are you sure there’s no way they can get here? Maybe tomorrow morning?”
“I don’t think so. Even if the tow truck shows up in a reasonable amount of time, all the repair shops are closed in the area, so it probably won’t even get looked at until the day after Christmas at the earliest. And they don’t have another car.”
“Rental?” But even as I say it, I know it’s not going to happen. Not on Christmas Eve.
“I guess the good news is, we don’t have to finish setting up the guest room?” He leans back and forces a smile, trying to lighten the mood.
“You should go get them,” I say impulsively, but even as the words leave my mouth I know I mean them with every ounce of my being. “Drive out to SLO and bring them back.”
“What?” He takes a step back and stares at me, brow furrowed. “That’s an eight hour round trip. There’s no way we’d get back tonight.”
“So stay the night, and bring them back in the morning. You’ll all be here in plenty of time for presents and Christmas dinner.”
“And what, you’ll do all the prep work yourself? That’s not fair.”
I kiss him on the cheek and slide past him into the hall. “I don’t mind.”
“But I do.” He follows me down the hall to the guest room, where I open the window to air it out. “It’s a lot to ask.”
“You’re not asking, I’m offering. Besides, what still needs to be done? Finish the bathroom and the guest room, prep some dishes for tomorrow. And you know Bianca and Allegra will be here first thing in the morning to help. It’s already set up.”
“Are you sure?”
I smack his arm and he laughs. He’s spent the past year and a half trying to break me of that habit–asking that question every time he offers to do something for me, to take the burden off my shoulders just a little bit. It’s just like him to turn the tables now.
“Yes, I’m sure. I’ve got it all under control. Go get your parents.”
He starts stripping the bed, gathering the sheets so he can put them in the washing machine. “I hate the idea of not waking up with you on Christmas morning.”
“Me, too.” I press a kiss to his lips and pull the linens out of his arms. “But we’ve got the rest of our lives to wake up together, and I want your parents here tomorrow just as much as you do.
Now go call your parents and tell them the plan, then pack an overnight bag and hit the road.
I want you driving before dark if at all possible. ”
I can tell the moment he gives in, his shoulders slumping even as his mouth tilts up in a soft smile. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
“I am, and I do.” He tells me so every single day, and I’m finally starting to believe it.
Mostly because he’s amazing, too. And we’re even more amazing together.
I throw him a bright smile over my shoulder as I head downstairs to put the sheets in the washer. “Now get to it, mister! I want you in the truck in half an hour!”
Forty-five minutes later, his overnight bag is packed and by the door, and he’s twirling his keys around his index finger.
I’d think it’s a nervous gesture but there’s nothing for him to be nervous about.
It took a little longer than we’d hoped to talk his parents into it, because the worst thing they can ever think of is that they’re putting someone out, but eventually he just told them he was coming no matter what, and if they didn’t drive back with him it would be an even bigger inconvenience, so they might as well come.
“You ready?” The sheets are in the dryer, and the bathroom is done. Once he’s on the road, I’ll start prepping ingredients for tomorrow’s feast.
It’s not the Christmas Eve I’d been looking forward to, but it is what it is. And in the end, everything will work out the way it’s supposed to.
Jake reaches out and slides the fingers of his free hand between mine. “Walk with me?”
I glance at the door, then his overnight bag. “Don’t you have to get driving soon?”
“Humor me.” He flashes that grin that never fails to weaken my resistance and tugs me toward the door. “Just a couple of minutes, I promise.”
Rolling my eyes, I follow him out of the house and down the porch steps.
The overhang is festooned with fresh fir garlands and Christmas light strings, though they won’t be turned on until twilight.
We’ve really gone all out for the holidays this year, especially now that Tre Sorelle is on the wine tour schedule and we’ve got the visitors – and customers – to make the effort even more rewarding.
Plus, it looks so good. And feels like home.
But right now, it’s just the two of us, walking between Tre Sorelle and Bar Down, joined hands swinging between us as our footsteps crunch along the gravel road.
“I’m so sorry I’m going to be gone tonight,” Jake starts, but I silence him with the shake of my head.
“No, it’s the right thing to do. Your parents need to be here.” I feel this even more strongly now, since things are still awkward with Uncle Geno and Aunt Janet, and mom didn’t even respond to Allegra’s invite.
Whatever. Jack and Lucy treat me like one of their own, and I love them for it. I hit the jackpot when it comes to in-laws, no doubt about it.
“Oh, I’m not arguing that,” he says, pressing a kiss to my temple. “It’s just that…”
“What?” I glance at him sideways.
He sighs. “What’s that saying about the best laid plans?”
I frown at him. I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He’s not fine, not if the mildly Eeyore-ish tone of his voice is anything to go by, but I’m not gonna be able to wheedle it out of him right now, so I just give his hand a squeeze and walk quietly with him for another minute or two. He’ll tell me when he’s ready.
“Fuck it.” He stops, right in the middle of the road, and it takes me a few steps before I catch on and stop moving past him.
I turn, our hands still linked, and look at him questioningly.
He laughs softly and looks around, a grin spreading across his face when he sees where we’re standing. “Why not?” he asks no one in particular. “We have every other important conversation here anyway.”
I look over my shoulder and realize we’re only a few feet away from what we have come to consider Our Tree. Never mind that it’s on Jansen’s property now, this tree belongs to us in all the meaningful ways.
“Believe it or not, this wasn’t how I planned this to go,” he says, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “I had it all figured out, getting up before you tomorrow morning, setting up your stocking, the whole nine yards.”
“I’m…sorry?” I still haven’t quite caught on to what’s happening. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh.” He nods, still grinning.
I’m so confused. Slowly, I tell him, “Whatever you had planned can wait until you get back, right?”
Whatever it is.
“Yeah, I guess. But then my parents will be with me, and your sisters and Jansen and Clay will be helping with dinner, and this isn’t something that I want an audience for. Just us.”
“Just us,” I echo, smiling softly. That’s one of my favorite things about falling back in love with Jake after all these years. The opportunity to be together, just us, on any and every day.
“So,” he says, shoving his free hand in his jacket pocket, a bit of a flush creeping up his neck. “Pretend that it’s Christmas morning, and you’ve just found this in the bottom of your stocking.”
He pulls out a velvet box and drops it into my palm.
“Jake,” I breathe, my hand trembling.
“I know we’re already married,” he goes on, like he hasn’t set off fireworks in my soul with this casual gesture. “And I know something like this is more traditional on the decade anniversaries. But we never had the family wedding I know you dreamed about when we were kids.”
I start to protest – I don’t care how we ended up here, just that we did – but he stops me with a palm on my cheek.
“Don’t try to pretend you didn’t have a Pinterest board with every detail planned out,” he says.
I bite my lip. He knows me so well.
“Anyway.” He smiles again, eyes sparkling.
“I didn’t give you that wedding the first time around.
And we were a little busy sorting out the mess of our non-annulment on our tenth anniversary.
But I don’t want to wait another eight years to celebrate our love with the people who matter most to us.
Or I guess three, if we wait for the 15 year anniversary. So the twelfth it is.”
“The twelfth is…what?” I think I know what he’s getting at, but I need to hear him say it.
“Our twelfth anniversary. The perfect time for a vow renewal, don’t you think?”
I suck in a breath, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.
He drops to one knee, right in the middle of the road, and grins up at me. “Rosa Maria Isabella Martinelli Wright, will you marry me…again?”
I lean down and grab his wrist, dragging him back to standing.
Then I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss the hell out of him, one hand clinging to the box he handed me moments before.
I’ll bet there’s a ring in there, something maybe a little more traditional than the rose pendant he gave me the first time he proposed.
But that’s not as important to me as being seen, and known, and loved.
I don’t regret our marriage, but the thought of getting a do-over wedding now – with our friends and family there to celebrate with us – makes my heart grow three sizes. “Yes,” I tell him, my voice muffled, seeing as my face is pressed into the curve of his neck. “I’ll marry you all over again.”
He whoops and picks me up, twirling me around under the bare branches of the tree that has seen so many of these moments of our lives together.
In a minute or two I’ll look at the ring, and let him slide it on my finger.
No matter what he chose, I know it’ll be perfect, because he knows me inside and out.
And then I’ll be rushing him back down the hillside to his truck, where I’ll kiss him goodbye and send him on his way, to bring his family – our family – back home for the holidays.
And that will be the greatest gift of all.