Page 55 of Home to Christmas Island
Alba, what—
Get out! She hollers, laughing. Get out of my truck!
I can’t believe you’re ditching me on Christmas Eve! I know she’s not really ditching me—I’ll see her in a few hours when she and Rose come over to watch I’ll Be Home for Christmas.
Hey, remember when you tried to ditch me last year, on New Year’s Day, the day after my wedding? Alba says. She was royally pissed about me leaving, and it took a few weeks to convince her that I wouldn’t leave again. Things were tense between us for a little while, but we can finally joke about it now. She leans over to pinch my cheek. But I knew you weren’t really leaving, Flora. I had faith.
How did you know that? I say, incredulously. I didn’t even know.
Because, Alba says matter-of-factly. That’s the wish I made over hot chocolate last year. That you would move home for good. She smacks me on the arm. Now get out!
I stumble out of her car and into our house. Our house.
I moved back into the lake house in August, eight months after I returned to Christmas Island. Things with Alistair had been going really, really well, so I didn’t want to rush into anything. But it was getting a little ridiculous, I was spending every day and night here after all. We were sitting out on the patio when I finally plucked up the courage to bring it up: Hey Al, when are you going to ask me to move in with you? He’s been a good example for me of how to be direct and ask for what I want.
Alistair didn’t laugh when I asked, only looked at me, his face serious. Florence, are you finally ready to move home? Home had choked me up, but I was ready. And he’d been ready too—waiting, patient as always, for me to be the one to ask.
The day I officially moved back here, I had cried. Alba had cried, Alistair had cried, and I swear I even saw Uncle Albie tearing up a little.
Two months after that, as the fall bled into winter and the last of the autumn leaves fell off the trees, I got a little spooked. It was like seeing the passage of time made me want to bolt. But this time, I talked to Alistair about it. He thought maybe a trip would help. So, two weeks later we were laying on a beach in Portugal—and for once, it didn’t feel like running.
I wasn’t alone, after all. There are still so many people in my corner.
When we got back from that trip, I knew something had shifted. I finally felt settled. I moved the last of my things from storage back into the lake house where they belonged. Where I belonged.
Alba had been right: I could have everything I wanted, and more.
All of the Christmas lights on the tree are on when I walk through the door of the lake house. It reminds me of that day we went walking on the path behind the B&B cottages. I can’t help but smile at the memory.
Alistair is wearing a dark grey, silver-lined suit I’ve never seen before that’s almost sparkling. He looks so good I feel struck dumb—and I wish I could say that was happening less frequently these days, but it wasn’t. Sometimes I looked at him and was filled with such a profound, overwhelming joy that it hurt to breathe. Hurt to blink.
I didn’t want to miss a second of it.
What, you didn’t get my letter? I’ll have to talk to Santa’s elves about their issues with mail delivery. He asks, eyes twinkling. We were supposed to match tonight, Flora.
I don’t have anything silver! I cry out, honestly kind of devastated that I’m wearing jeans right now. I make a mental note to order a shimmery, silver dress immediately.
Hmm, he says, pulling something out of his pocket and getting down on one knee. I guess we’ll have to do something about that.
The diamond ring glitters in the glow of the Christmas lights. It’s on a silver band, one that perfectly matches his suit.
Before he even asks, a single word tumbles out of my mouth. The answer comes instantly, easily—Yes!
