Page 21 of Wrapped Up with the Mountain Man
"Don't forget the mistletoe," she calls out, her breath forming clouds in the cold air. Even bundled up in her winter coat, pregnant belly just starting to show with baby number two, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"Already hung it this morning," I reply, catching her eye with a look that makes her cheeks flush pink. "Right where you requested."
Her answering smile is full of promise, and I have to force myself to focus on not dropping our son in a snowbank.
Three years of marriage, and she still makes my pulse spike just by looking at me like that.
"Down, Daddy! I wanna help carry things!"
I swing Danny down from my shoulders, watching as he immediately runs to Dove, wrapping his small arms around her legs. She drops a kiss on top of his head, and the simple domesticity of the moment hits me like it always does. This is my family. My wife, my son, the baby growing inside her.
After years of believing I'd never have this, sometimes I still wake up expecting it to disappear.
"What do we do first?" Danny asks as we reach the cabin, bouncing on his toes with barely contained excitement.
"First, we get warm," Dove says, unlocking the door. "Then we make hot chocolate and wait for our special guests."
Right on cue, the sound of a car engine reaches us from down the mountain road. Danny perks up like a hunting dog.
"Is that them? Is that Mia and Bentley?"
Through the trees, I can see headlights approaching. The Ashford family (all of them, parents included) coming for their third annual Christmas Eve visit to our cabin. What started as Mia begging her parents to "visit Santa and Miss Dove" has become something none of us want to give up.
To everyone's surprise, especially their own, Robert and Catherine Ashford had agreed. Even more surprisingly, they'denjoyed it. Turns out when you remove the pressure of managing perfect holiday events, the Ashfords are actually decent people who love their children.
"That's them," Dove confirms, and Danny immediately starts jumping up and down.
The next hour is controlled chaos. Mia, now eight, immediately takes charge of Danny like the big sister she's appointed herself to be. Bentley, six and serious about important matters, helps me build up the fire while explaining his latest theory about reindeer aerodynamics. The adults settle around the cabin's main room with coffee and the kind of easy conversation that comes from people who've stopped pretending to be anything other than themselves.
"How's the pregnancy going?" Catherine asks Dove as they watch the kids arrange cookies on plates for Santa.
"Better than the first time," Dove replies, one hand resting on her stomach. "Though this one's more active. Tannon thinks it's a girl."
"I know it's a girl," I correct, bringing her a cup of herbal tea. "And she's already keeping her mother up all night, just like her brother did."
"Daddy, will the baby like cookies?" Danny asks seriously.
"Not for a while, buddy. Babies drink milk."
He nods gravely, apparently filing this information away for future reference.
As the evening progresses, we fall into the comfortable rhythms we've developed. The kids perform an elaborate Christmas pageant involving stuffed animals and a cardboard stable. Robert tells stories about Christmases from his ownchildhood that surprise everyone with their warmth. Catherine helps Dove in the kitchen, the two women having developed an unlikely friendship over shared experiences with demanding children.
"You know," Robert says quietly as we watch Mia patiently teach Danny how to hang ornaments on the small tree we've set up just for the kids, "I never thanked you properly."
"For what?"
"For loving them when Catherine and I forgot how." His voice is serious. "For showing us what we were missing. We almost lost our children because we were too busy building empires to notice they needed parents."
"They just needed you to show up," I say simply. "Kids are resilient when they know they're loved."
"Still. What you and Dove gave them... what you taught us... we'll never forget it."
Before I can respond, Danny runs over and climbs into my lap, his head heavy against my chest. The excitement of the day is catching up with him.
"Story time?" Dove suggests, settling beside us on the couch with her own cup of tea.
"The one about the Christmas mouse," Danny mumbles sleepily.
