Page 28 of Mountain Daddy
“Upset?” I choke out a laugh. “I’m terrified. And so damn happy I’m going to explode.”
She lets out a sob that’s more joy than anything and buries her face in my neck.
Elsie throws her arms around both of us, squeezing hard enough to knock the wind out of me. “We’re gonna have a baby! I’m gonna be a big sister! I already told Santa I’d share my toys.”
“Wait, you told Santa before you told me?” I ask, pulling back enough to look at Celia in mock offense.
“It just kind of happened,” she says, sniffling, laughing, wiping at her eyes. “He asked what I wanted for Christmas.”
“And?” I prompt.
“I told him I already had what I wanted.” She shrugs, cheeks pink. “But… if he had any extra miracles lying around, maybe one more creature to love would be nice.”
My throat tightens so much I can barely speak. “Celia.”
She reaches up and cups my face in her hands. “I love our life, Wells. I love you. I love Elsie. The dog, the cat, the chaos. I didn’tthink I’d ever get something like this. A family that feels like the right piece of a puzzle I didn’t know I was putting together.”
I wrap an arm around her shoulders and reel her in, tugging Elsie closer with my other hand until the three of us are pressed together in one messy hug, stockings and firelight and all.
“You’re my miracle,” I say against Celia’s hair. “You and Elsie. All of this.”
“And the baby,” Elsie says firmly, patting Celia’s stomach with great care. “Don’t forget about the baby.”
“I’ll never forget about the baby,” I promise.
Bear lifts his head, bark-whining once as if to weigh in. Gigi jumps down from the couch and winds around our legs, purring. It feels like the universe agreeing with us.
Celia laughs, wiping her cheeks again. “I guess we’ll need a crib.”
“And a car seat,” I add.
“And more toys,” Elsie says.
“And maybe a bigger cabin someday,” I say, thinking of the land behind the house, the way the ridge opens up to the valley. “Or at least another room.”
Celia leans into me. “We’ll figure it out.”
We will. We’ve been figuring it out from the beginning—through storms and blizzards and gossip and fear. Through first kisses and near-misses and the time Elsie told the entire town we were getting married before I’d even found the courage to say it out loud.
We’ll figure this out too.
“Daddy?” Elsie tugs my sleeve. “Can I put the baby’s stocking in the middle? So they’re right next to us?”
I glance at the mantle.
Six stockings now.
Six creatures to love under one roof.
“Yeah, bug,” I say, clearing my throat. “I think that’s exactly where it should go.”
She carefully rearranges them—green, red, cream, blue, brown, white—talking softly as she does, like she’s already telling the baby all our stories. How this is where we bake cookies and sing songs. Where we read by the fire and dance in the kitchen and get snow in our hair because the porch roof leaks.
Celia slips her hand into mine.
“I’m scared too,” she admits quietly, eyes on our daughter.
“I know,” I say. “Me too.”
