Page 18 of Her Frosty Billionaire
She blushed, even after four years of marriage. “Well, I’m glad we did. Because now we have her.” She pressed both hands to her belly. “Our little Swiss souvenir.”
“Our little everything,” I corrected.
Hope shifted to look at me fully, her eyes soft. “You know what I love most about you now?”
“My devastating good looks? My charming personality? My exceptional?—”
“Your joy.” She touched my face. “When I met you, you didn’t let yourself feel anything. And now you feel everything. You embrace Christmas—really embrace it, not just tolerate it for me. You volunteer at the toy drive every year. You let Mollie talk you into being Santa at the building party. You cry at cheesy holiday movies.”
“I do not cry?—”
“You absolutely cried duringIt’s a Wonderful Lifelast week.”
“That was allergies.”
“In December?”
I pulled her closer. “Fine. I cried. George Bailey deserved his happy ending.”
“So do you.” She kissed me softly. “So do we.”
I thought about my mother then—something I did often during the holidays now, but without the sharp edge of pain. I started a foundation in her name three years ago, providing Christmas gifts and support to families dealing with cancer. Hope ran it, naturally, turning it into something my mom would have loved.
I like to think Mom was watching. That she saw how her Christmas-loving son had finally found his way back to the magic.
“What are you thinking about?” Hope asked.
“My mom. How she would have loved you. Loved this.” I gestured at the tree, the decorations, the life we’d built. “Loved knowing she was going to be a grandmother.”
Hope’s eyes filled with tears—pregnancy hormones made her cry at everything now. “I wish I could have met her.”
“Me too. But I think she knows. Somehow.”
We sat there in comfortable silence, sipping our cocoa, watching the snow fall. In a few hours, our friends would arrive for our annual Christmas brunch. Then my father would come by—he’d started celebrating the holidays again after meeting Hope, said she reminded him of my mother in all the best ways.
But for now, it was just us. Just this moment. Just the beginning of the family we were building together.
“Merry Christmas, Noel,” Hope whispered, her hand finding mine and placing it on her belly.
I felt a flutter—tiny, barely there, but unmistakable. Our daughter, saying hello.
“Merry Christmas, Hope,” I said, my voice thick. “Merry Christmas to both of you.”
For the first time in twenty-seven years, Christmas felt exactly the way it was supposed to. Full of light, full of love, full of hope.
And I meant every word.
