Page 31 of Eager Beaver
Five Years Later
Mostcouplescelebratedtheiranniversary on the day they were married, or in the case of shifters, the date they mated. I counted us lucky that we could celebrate both those things, but it still didn’t seem like nearly enough. Our love was the stuff of legends, after all. It wasn’t every day fate saw fit to bring two people together the way she had. Across borders, across species.Nothing could stand in her way. So in thanks for her blessing, we celebrated the Christmas season like it was going out of style.
The cabin was decked out in all the holiday splendor. Glittering garlands bordered every window and doorframe, paper snowflakes that Patrick had cut out dangled from the light fixtures, and there was a massive tree, boughs overloaded with decorations and tinsel, that took up a quarter of our living room. Guy had insisted it wouldn’t fit when I told Maurice which one I wanted him to gnaw down, but if that wasn’t a challenge, I didn’t know what was. And I sure showed him! The tree’s tip was bent over along the ceiling, and it was leaning at an angle, but I was still counting that a win.
In short, it looked like Christmas had vomited festive cheer in our little rustic cabin. It was almost enough to cause a seizure, with all the flashing lights, but I still loved it. I sat on the couch with my feet up on the coffee table, mug of fragrant cocoa in one hand, the other resting on my distended belly, eagerly waiting for each little kick. No matter that I’d told Guy this would be our last baby, I wasn’t so sure. The closer I got to my due date, the more I looked forward to meeting the newest addition to our family.
“Papa! Are you listening?” Patrick took my face between his hands and got right close, until our noses were touching, just to be sure I couldn’t look anywhere else.
“Of course I’m listening, Patrick.J'écoute toujours.” My French vocabulary had grown, but my accent was still atrocious. My children, with their flawless accents, never called me out on it, the sweet angels that they were.
“This present rattles when I shake it. Listen.” He vigorously shook the wrapped present in question, and I thanked our lucky stars we hadn’t bought him something fragile. “Is it Lego?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Do you really want me to tell you? It would spoil the surprise.”
He groaned dramatically, scrunching his little face up and wiggling his body. I knew how much he loved the anticipation. “Noooo, but it’s driving me craaaaazy! I don’t think I can wait until morning to find out. I’m going toexplode!” I had no idea where he got these dramatic tendencies. Certainly not from me…
“Oh no! Please don’t explode!” I wailed playfully. I glanced over his shoulder at his alpha dad, and Guy gave me a little nod. I tried to contain my grin and failed. “Tell you what. How about we all open one present tonight.”
Patrick’s eyes got wide. “Really?”
“You bet. Why don’t you pick one out for each of your sisters too.”
“Yesssss!” he whooped with a fist pump, then ran off to read the tags on the presents to find something for the twins to open. Simone and Marie were only two, and while they were caught up in the excitement of the festivities, and more than a little hopped up on sugar after sneaking too many cookies, the little troublemakers, they didn’t really understand what was going on the way that Patrick did.
The adults, however, were starting a new family tradition this year. I’d convinced them that we needed to tryJólabókaflóð, the Icelandic “book flood.” The plan was on Christmas Eve, we would exchange books, then spend the evening reading around the fireplace, drinking hot chocolate. How could you go wrong with that?
There was a knock at the door, and Guy went to open it, a blast of cold air invading my cozy home. “Joyeux Noël!” Vivienne said, drawing her son in for a big hug. She barely came up to his shoulder, but I swore I heard his back crack with the force of her arms around his waist. It took a few tries for me to lever myself off the couch to join them.
Jean was at Vivienne’s side, arms loaded with presents for the kids to put under the tree, and behind them… “Pierre?” Iasked, peeking around my in-laws to see the Alpha and his mate Olivier lurking on the porch. “We weren’t expecting you. Please, everybody come in.”
Everyone stomped their boots on the mat, knocking off the heavy snow, and Pierre passed me a stack of presents. “Guy was telling me about your human tradition, with the books and the chocolate, and you know me.” He shrugged. “I can’t resist the curiosity.”
Olivier offered an apologetic smile. “I tried to tell him it wasn’t a good time to impose, but…”
“No, no! Not at all. There’s plenty of hot chocolate to go around.” And not just hot chocolate, but also every kind of festive treat known to man. The cravings had hit me hard with this pregnancy, but by the time I’d baked what I was craving, I was already on to the next one, which meantmorebaking. I was constantly trying to predict what baby would want next. Guy complained that he couldn’t say no to my baking and it was making him soft around the middle. Honestly? You wouldn’t catch me complaining. I was loving the giant teddy bear vibes he had going for him. Who knew I would find a dad bod so damn sexy? At this rate, we would double the size of our family in no time.
Besides, the little bit of extra cushion around his middle just meant that he filled out the Santa costume a little better, and the lodge’s kits would all have a blast climbing on him tomorrow morning when he handed out presents. I would even powder his beard with cornstarch to make it white. Even with the disguise, though, I wasn’t sure how they didn’t all know it was him. I guess that was part of the magic of Christmas.
Guy and I set everyone up with treats and warm drinks, and then gave the kids the go-ahead to open their one present. It would keep them occupied until bedtime at least. For a few chaotic minutes, there was the tearing of paper and squealingof excitement from the three of them, and then Patrick, the ringleader, said, “Come on! I’ll show you how Lego works!” Because of course he was right about the Lego.
Once the kids were distracted in the other room, I grabbed a small stack of presents I’d tucked behind the tree. My stomach fluttered with anticipation, and paired with pregnancy hormones, I started to sweat. It made me look forward to the impending blizzard headed our way.
I stood at Guy’s shoulder and cleared my throat. “So, in the Icelandic book flood tradition, we each get to exchange books and drink hot chocolate. And I just so happen to have a present for everyone to open.” I walked around the group, handing one to my in-laws and one to Pierre and his mate. And last but not least, I handed one to Guy.
He smiled up at me, a crease between his brows. “What is it?”
“Open it and find out.” I sounded breathless, my heart pounding in my chest.
I watched as they all opened their presents, carefully peeling back the paper in a totally different technique than the kids and their whirlwind scrambling. When Vivienne pulled back the paper and got a look at the book’s cover, she squeaked and clutched it to her chest. “Oh, Fable!C’est magnifique!” Jean had to wrestle it away from her to get a look himself.
Pierre and Olivier both grinned and cheered, but it wasn’t the Alpha pair whose opinions mattered most to me. I looked down at my mate, my husband, who was still gazing at the cookbook in his lap, tracing his fingertip over my name on the cover. “Well, what do you think?” I coaxed when he still hadn’t said anything. There was a lump in my throat, hard to swallow around.
He finally looked up at me with tears in his eyes. “I think I am so proud of you,” he gushed wetly, before he pulled me down into his lap, hugging the heck out of me. He tucked his face intothe crook of my neck, and I felt his tears on my skin, his beard tickling in the best way.
“Why is Daddy crying?” Patrick asked quietly, worried for his alpha dad.
Guy pulled back from my neck, showing our son the biggest smile. “I’m crying because I’m so happy. Your papa did something amazing. Come see!” He hoisted our five-year-old up onto the arm of the couch, and because the girls would never stand being left out, they both piled on too, until poor Guy was buried under us all. He wouldn’t have had it any other way.
It hadn’t been easy to pull this off without telling them. At first, I hadn’t told Guy because I wasn’t sure it would ever happen, and I didn’t want to get my own hopes up, let alone his. I’d reached out to a publisher with the idea for my rustic maple cookbook ages ago, with a mix of traditional French-Canadian cuisine with a sweet twist. Honestly, I figured that would be it. I fully expected that I would never hear from them. But then the publisher had replied, impressed by my blog, that now had way more than those first 17 followers. They wanted to know more.
It hadn’t been until last week, though, when the publisher had actually sent me a few author copies that reality finally sank in. This was really happening! I’d been so lucky, first to meet my mate the way I did, but then to learn about shifters, to move to Canada, to build this incredible family. I couldn’t believe I was also about to become a published author of my very own cookbook!
I sat there, cuddled up with my family, watching them flip through the cookbook and talk about all the recipes they wanted to try first, and my heart felt like it was fit to burst.
Guy’s hand slid up the back of my sweater, his fingertips light over the small of my back. I met his gaze, full of love and adoration, pride and joy. “Merry Christmas,mon chéri,” he whispered for just me to hear.
I rested my forehead on his and closed my eyes, the lights still flashing through my lids. “Joyeux Noël,my love.”
I couldn’t wait for the twenty-year high school reunion! The stories I had to tell now…
