Page 214 of Wild Then Wed
Hank trots down the hallway wearing a Santa hat. I snort, crossing my arms as he slows to a stop in front of me. “That’s a good look on you, buddy.”
He narrows his eyes real slow. Like he knows how stupid he looks but he’s doing it anyway—for her. Because she is undoubtedly his favorite person and he’d do anything for her, include wearing a Santa hat that he would’ve knocked clean off by now ifIwould’ve been the one to put it on his head.
Wren turns toward me, still stirring the bowl. “Isn’t it cute? I found it at the store the other day. Just wait until you see the whole thing.”
I try to suppress a laugh because I can tell she’s dead serious. “The whole thing?”
She nods, wide-eyed. “It came with a full Santa outfit. Like a jacket, belt, little booties. The works.”
I burst out laughing now, full and low. Wren joins in, that breathy kind of laugh she does when she knows she’s being ridiculous and loves it anyway.
Hank just sits down and stares at both of us like we’re the problem.
I walk up behind her while she’s still mixing and wrap my arms around her middle, letting my chin rest on her shoulder. Her shirt’s warm from the heat of the stove.
I press a kiss to her neck. “You know if you wanted decorations, you could’ve just told me. I would’ve given you my card. I feel bad that you paid for everything, or felt like you had to do it by yourself.”
She shrugs, still stirring. “It was actually kind of fun to go hunt everything down. I didn’t mind.”
I slide my hands along her hips. “Still. You didn’t have to do it alone.”
“I know. I just didn’t want to bring it up because…” Her voice drops slightly. “I know this time of year is hard for you, that’s all.”
My throat tightens, and I just nod, pressing in closer, letting my nose settle in that spot between her neck and shoulder where she always smells like home. We stand like that for a minute, her hands moving slowly in the bowl, mine wrapped around her like I’ve got nowhere else to be that could be more important. And I don’t.
“I think next year,” I murmur, “we should decorate together.”
She pauses, turns her head slightly. “Next year?”
“Mhm.” I kiss the curve of her neck again. She tastes like vanilla and sugar. “I plan on spending the rest of my Christmases with you, Mrs. Hart.”
Her breath catches just enough for me to feel it.
“And Easter’s,” I say, kissing behind her ear.
“Sawyer—”
“And Fourth of July’s,” I mumble into her skin, grinning now.
She laughs, finally, swats at me with one floured hand. “Okay, okay, I get it.”
I mean every word. Every single damn one. I never thought I’d want this again. A future. Anext year. But I do. I want it with her.
And if that means Hank has to suffer in a Santa suit and I have to suffer through twinkle lights choking every doorway, then so be it. I’m all in.
She glances at me over her shoulder, one hand still on the mixing bowl. “Do you have an ugly Christmas sweater?”
I’m still pressed against her back, my arms around her middle, nose buried in the crook of her neck.
She mentioned the ugly Christmas sweater tradition in passing. It started after Lane died. Her mom brought home a sweater so hideous it made everyone laugh for the first time in weeks. From then on, it just stuck—something light in a day that hadn’t felt light since.
We decided we’d spend Christmas morning at my family’s house for breakfast, then we’ll head to her house that afternoon. Tell our families that we’re official now, that it’s not for convenience or the water rights or whatever the hell we all thought this was.
It’s real now, and I want everyone to know. I want to walk into her mom’s house holding her hand and not have to pretend we’re still figuring things out.
“I’ll find one,” I say into her shoulder. “I’ve got a couple days.”
Wren twists to look at me, one brow arched, expression dry. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, Sawyer.”
