Page 48 of Christmas With The Kings
He let me win. I knew it, but I never called him out on it. Because when I looked up and saw this former soldier, who could build a fire with wet logs and clear a room in under ten seconds—squinting at gumdrops as if all of a sudden he couldn’t see—I knew. I’d seen the man pipe icing on a name day cake for me with surgeon-level precision. But his lines that day were messy and so very telling.
Those memories faded, and without warning, the bone-crushing reality of my first Christmas without him followed. I blinked down at the bowl of batter and took a steadying breath. There was no point in lingering in the space between what had been and what might have been.
So I folded the memory, tucked it behind my ribs, and tried to focus on the now. The warmth of the cottage. The scent of maple syrup and bacon. Ivan, who stood next to me, was clueless about my inner turmoil. He grinned as if this was all he ever needed.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” I asked, trying to redirect my thoughts.
He gave me a sideways glance, his mouth lifting into a lazy, teasing smile. “Plan? What plan? I figured we’d hang out. I’ve got a few calls to make. Might stop by the club.”
A small frown tugged at the edge of my mouth. “Really? You didn’t plananything?”
“What? My company isn’t thrilling enough for you?”
“It is,” I murmured, forcing cheer into my voice. “I just thought…” My words trailed off, and the silence between us stretched. “It’s fine. We can stay in. If that’s what you want.”
The wobble in my voice betrayed me. I looked down at the stove. “Flip, please,” I whispered, focusing on the pancakes. If I looked at him now, the tears would start, and I didn’t want to ruin this—not after how magical the last two days had been.
But of course, I should have known better. He could read the shift in my posture, the sudden drop of my shoulders, the way my fingers trembled. I barely had time to register the movement before he was pressing into me, his presence a shield against everything trying to rise up inside me.
His hand tilted my chin. “Hey.” His voice was soft but firm. Concern wove through the single word, laced with knowing.
The stove clicked off. He pushed the pan back and wrapped me in his arms, all warmth and strength. I buried my face in his chest, breathing him in, trying to steady myself.
“I’m being moody,” I whispered. “It’s stupid. I don’t know why I’m crying. And now I’ve gone and ruined our day. So typical of me, right?”
He pulled back, both hands cupping my face now. His thumbs swept under my eyes, careful not to rush the tears away. The gesture only broke me more because it was as if he was honoring them.
“Aww, come here, little love,” he said, taking me into his arms. After several minutes, he spoke again. “Look at me.”
His gaze was grounding, beautifully fierce in the way only love can be. “You haven’t ruined a damn thing. You hear me? This day started perfectly. Because you’re here. That’s all it takes. And you should know when I’m teasing you.”
The lump in my throat swelled. “Do you really have something planned?” My voice was thin, really nothing more than a whisper.
He smiled, brushing a final tear from my cheek with his knuckle. “Of course I do. You think I’m going to let my brothers show me up? It’s a competition, baby. You’re the judge. And I plan on winning.”
A laugh bubbled up through the tears. Unexpected, but welcome. I felt silly for having doubted him. “Hm, that doesn’t seem very fair.”
He kissed my forehead, then the tip of my nose. “Fair or not, it’s already been put on the agenda. Now, how about we eat so we can get the day started? I’m starving.” He pulled me in for another hug; his lips brushed the top of my head.
“Yes, Sir.” Leaning into him, I let the warmth of his words and his arms ease the momentary sadness.
We finished breakfast in record time, the air charged with that unmistakable buzz of something waiting right around the corner. I gathered a few dishes, ready to head toward the sink, but he caught my wrist and tugged me back toward him.
“Leave it,” he said, his voice low but amused. “We’re not wasting the morning doing dishes.”
I laughed, ready to argue, but he was already pulling me away from the table, his grip confident, his smile laced with intent.
He led me into the living room, where the Christmas tree glowed in the corner. As we approached, I spotted three gifts nestled beneath the branches that weren’t there this morning. Each one was tagged with my name. My heart skipped.
“You got me presents?”
He tilted his head and gave me a mock-scandalized look. “Uh yeah, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? It wouldn’t be Christmas without them. And we’ll need to open them before we start the day. What do you say?”
“Yes! I say yes.” I jumped up and danced around the tree, darting from one side to the other as I took in the gifts.
He shook his head, clearly entertained. “Just pick one.”
I spun toward the tree, bouncing on my toes. “But which one? I could pick wrong and then ruin it. Can’t you just tell me?”
