Page 115 of This Broken Heart

He thrusts it into her hands. “I can’t get it.”

She takes the stocking and fishes around, pulling a shining ring studded with a fine line of diamonds and sapphires. Trace’s birthstone.

“Mine!” Maven thrusts her stocking into Erin’s hand before she can recover from the odd discovery in Trace’s. She turns Maven’s upside down and another ring tumbles onto her open palm. Diamonds and aquamarines. Maven’s birthstone.

Maven snags the ring from Erin’s hand and gets down on one knee. She wobbles there, holding the ring up in both hands.

She’s going off script. Trace takes his ring back and follows suit. Both kids look up at me with impatience. “I think there’s something in yours, too, Erin.”

With shaking hands, she reaches into her stocking and finds the diamond ring waiting for her. I get down on one knee.

“Marry us!” Maven shouts, impatient with the pageantry.

Trace frowns, clicking his tongue. “Mavey! You were supposed to say will you be my mommy?”

Maven looks unphased. She turns back to Erin. “My mommy.”

Erin is watching the entire exchange with wide eyes. She’s white as a sheet and looks like she might faint. I’m realizing, a bit late, that involving the kids might have been a big gamble.

What if she wants to say no?

Shakey nerves crawl up my spine the longer she leaves us hanging. Her gaze travels from Trace to Maven, back up to me. Our gazes connect and the pain in my chest eases.

I know what she’s going to say before she even says it.

But I still want to hear the word, anyway. “Erin?”

She shakes herself. “Yes. Yes, I will. Yes!”

Relief and joy and something bigger than love floods my chest and I’m on my feet, sweeping her into a hug. The kids dance at our feet, hollering about their new mom.

That’s when Erin notices we had an audience.

My mom insisted Erin would want the moment on video. I think she just wanted to watch. She’s got her phone in one hand and tears rolling down her cheeks. And the three guys, lurking in the background, look a little weepy themselves.

I kiss Erin and taste salt and realize I’m crying, too.

There’s been a lot of tears over the last few years.

Sad tears.

And angry ones.

But these tears, they are the best possible kind.

77.

Erin

I pick my way across the living room, stepping around sleeping bags and sprawling bodies. I stop in the kitchen doorway, glancing back. Maven lays with her feet tucked up against Lisa’s stomach. I grin, shaking my head. The home place, as we now call it, has plenty of guest bedrooms, but they choose to sleep in front of the fireplace.

Lisa’s a marvel. I don’t know very many grandmas that would have a slumber party with their grandkids on the living room floor. My back hurts just looking at them.

Selecting one of Josh’s heavy canvas coats from the hook by the back door, I pull it on and slip into the cold night.

Frigid December air surrounds me, needling my skin, seeking out the gaps between my coat and my neck. I shove my hands deep in the pockets and trudge through the snow.

Warm light seeps out from the barn, sparkling across the fresh snow.

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