Page 37 of Stuff My Turkey
After Buck left, I headed inside to finish preparations. The small velvet box in my pocket felt heavier than its actual weight. I'd picked up my grandmother's ring from the safety deposit box yesterday—a simple solitaire diamond in a vintage setting that had been in the McGraw family for three generations.
Too soon? Maybe. But when you know, you know.
The fire crackled in the hearth as I adjusted ornaments on the tree. This Christmas felt different from all the others I'd spent in this house. For the first time since taking over the ranch from my parents, the rooms didn't echo with emptiness.
My phone rang—Mom and Dad FaceTiming from the beach, their annual Christmas Eve check-in.
"There's my boy!" Mom's face filled the screen, tanned from the constant South Padre sun. Dad waved from behind her, a Santa hat perched incongruously atop his weathered face. "The house looks beautiful, honey. Just like I used to do it."
"Thanks, Mom," I said, panning the phone around to show them the decorations.
"Everything ready for your big night?" Dad asked with a knowing wink.
"As ready as I'll ever be," I admitted. They were the only ones who knew my plans.
"She'll say yes," Mom said confidently. "Any woman who can handle those temperamental turkeys of yours can handle being a McGraw."
"Speaking of turkeys," Dad chimed in, "how's Buck working out? Still surprised you took him on."
"He's good with the birds," I said. "And Honey says everyone deserves a second chance."
Mom's features relaxed at the mention of Honey. "We can't wait to meet her properly. Not just through a screen."
"You will soon," I promised. "We're coming down for New Year's, remember?"
We chatted for a few more minutes before saying goodbye with promises to call again tomorrow. I'd just put the phone down when I heard another car—the distinctive hum of Honey's Prius.
My heart did that ridiculous skip it always did when she arrived. Six weeks, and still the sight of her walking up my porch steps made my mouth go dry.
She wore a red sweater dress with black boots, her chestnut hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. A small overnight bag hung from one shoulder, and she carried a stack of gaily wrapped packages.
"Sorry I'm late," she called, hurrying up the steps. "Last-minute client needed hand-holding."
I met her at the door, relieving her of the packages. "Saving Bitter Root one legal crisis at a time?"
"Something like that," she laughed, rising on tiptoe to kiss me. "Laverne needed help with her will. She's leaving her entire collection of ceramic cats to May, who looked appropriately horrified."
Inside, she shed her coat and took in the decorations with wide eyes.
"Wow," she breathed. "It's like Christmas exploded in here."
"McGraw family tradition," I explained. "Mom always said if you're going to do Christmas, do it right."
"It's beautiful," she said, tension melting from her shoulders as she took in the family stockings I'd hung—my parents', Knox's, Bitsy’s, mine, and the new one I'd added with her name. She touched it gently, as if afraid it might disappear.
"You didn't have to do that," she said softly.
"Yes, I did." I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're part of this now."
Her smile was worth all the trouble I'd gone through finding someone to custom-embroider the stocking at the last minute.
"When are the others coming?" she asked, settling on the couch.
"Knox and Bitsy should be here any minute."
On cue, the sound of Knox's sedan announced their arrival. Moments later, the door burst open to reveal Bitsy in full Christmas regalia—a green velvet dress with actual jingle bells sewn into the hem.
"Merry Christmas!" she sang out, clutching Knox's arm. "We brought champagne and cookies! And wait until you see what we got everyone!"
