Page 23 of Mountain Gift

The two lovebirds and their little baby. A complete family.

Briefly, I feel my heart ache inside me. But whatever I'm feeling is forgotten the moment I hear the front door open. Boone is back home.

Shoot. How late is it?

I glance at the window, realizing it's already dark outside. Whipping my head around, I look at the old clock on the mantle. It's almost dinner time. And I haven't started cooking yet.

Leaping onto my feet, I sprint across the house and into the kitchen.

"Sorry, Boone," I call to him in the front hallway, where I can hear him still rattling his keys. "Dinner's not quite ready yet."

Opening the fridge, I wince at the empty spaces on the shelves. I was so distracted by what happened with Boone this morning that I forgot to do grocery shopping.

I pause my train of thought as Boone enters the kitchen behind me, a large paper bag clutched in his arms and a grin on his chiseled face.

"Don't worry about it, baby," he says. "Dinner's on me."

Boone reaches into the bag and pulls out a feast. Colorful veggies, savory meat, and a selection of sauces fill the countertop. He even bought miniature cupcakes. But the final surprise catches my eye - a glittering bottle of champagne.

"Well, this is fancy," I tease, picking up the bottle to read the label. "What are we drinking to?"

Boone's grin grows wider, flirtatious.

"To you. Who else?" he purrs. "Now sit back and relax. I'll take care of everything."

Standing in the kitchen, I watch as Boone moves about with an ease and familiarity that is both endearing and impressive. He's cooking, his tall figure hunched over the stove as he stirs something in a pot. The aroma of garlic and tomatoes fills the air, making my mouth water.

I lean against the countertop. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

He glances over his shoulder, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "My grandma. She said a man who can cook is a man who will never go hungry."

I laugh, shaking my head. "Well, she was right. This smells incredible."

He turns around, holding out a spoonful of the sauce. "Want a taste?"

I step forward, wrapping my lips around the spoon. The flavors explode in my mouth, a perfect blend of tangy and sweet. "Wow, this is amazing. What are you making?"

His smile widens, pleased with the compliment. "It's a family recipe. Spaghetti Bolognese. Grandma used to make it for special occasions."

The thought of sharing a family tradition with Boone makes me feel warm inside. It's such an intimate gesture, and I appreciate it more than I can express.

With dinner almost ready, I decide to make myself useful. "Let me set the table."

As I lay out the plates and silverware, Boone finishes up with the cooking. The sight of him in the kitchen, the domesticity of it all, sends a warm feeling through me. It's nice, this simple act of making dinner together.

Once everything's ready, we sit down to eat, the delicious meal spread out before us. As we talk and laugh, enjoying each other's company, I can't help but reflect on how pleasant this all is.

Having Boone around, sharing these moments together, it's more than I could have ever asked for. There's a sense of comfort, of home, that I didn't realize I was missing until now.

And in this moment, I know I wouldn't trade it for anything else.

After dinner, Boone and I retreat to the coziness of the living room. The Christmas tree is a towering spectacle in the corner, its lights twinkling like stars against the evening sky.

I turn them on, and the room transforms into a magical Christmas wonderland.

We sink into the soft cushions of the couch, our bodies fitting together as though made to be side by side. The room is filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional crackle from the fire dancing in the fireplace. My mind wanders, and a twinge of sadness tugs at my heartstrings.

This is the first Christmas without Lucy.

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