Kristin stayed right where she was, arms around my neck, chest pressed to mine, ring warm on her hand. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, her mouth soft and happy in a way I had not seen since before everything went sideways.
I kissed her once more, softer this time, a promise more than a show. “Happy New Year, sweetheart.”
She smiled. “Happy New Year, husband.” The word settled into me and locked there. I felt it move through me from my throat all the way down. It felt right.
We stayed by the fire until the cold became sharp enough to bite through our coats, and the last of the kids started drooping against whoever was closest, turning wild energy into heavy limbs and slow blinks.
People drifted back toward the house in groups of two and three, talking low, shoulders hunched against the chill, boots thudding in tired rhythm. We hung back and let the crowd go ahead. It felt good not to rush. It felt like the whole night had been leading to this quiet walk.
Kristin walked pressed to my side, her hand in mine, her head against my shoulder. The ring caught the last flicker of firelight and flashed with each step, and I could not stop looking at it. She caught me staring and laughed under her breath.
“Is this the one you bought for me three years ago?”
“Yep, I’d had it designed specifically for you. I knew you’d need a thicker band to withstand your daily grind, a lower set stone so you don’t catch it on things, and although you might be flashy in the arena, in your personal life, you prefer to go unnoticed. So, while the diamond isn’t a boulder like you deserve, it’s tastefully large.”
She lifted our joined hands and looked at them, like she was memorizing the sight of both of us together. “How did I ever think you didn’t know me inside and out?”
When we reached our place, we didn’t turn on any lights right away. We stood in the entry and let the dark settle around us. The windows of Kipp's house still glowed up the lane. Our yard lay quiet and blue in the starlight. The world felt quiet and ours.
Inside, I helped her out of her coat and hung both up by the door. She toed off her boots and left them on the mat. I shut the door and locked it out of habit. She watched my hand on the lockand nodded once, like that was good, like that meant there was a line drawn and nobody crossed it.
She turned, slid both arms around my waist, and pressed her face into my chest. I felt her smile against my shirt.
“Thank you,’ she said.
“For what?”
“For asking me again.”
I kissed the top of her head, breathing her in. “Thank you for saying yes twice.”
She pulled back just enough to look up at me. Her eyes were still bright, and the firelight from outside caught in them and stayed there like a reflection she carried. “Both times there wasn’t any other answer than yes.”
The words hit me harder than anything else all day.
We stood there in the soft hum of our house, just breathing the same air, just listening to the quiet settle around us. The tree lights still glowed in the corner, washing the room in that warm color. Our boots dripped a little on the mat. It felt like a snapshot I wanted to hold forever.
There was nothing chasing us. Nothing waiting outside. Only home. Only us. Only a new year that finally felt like it might let us keep what we had.
She leaned up and kissed me again. “Take me to bed,” she whispered.
“That’s one thing you never have to ask me twice to do,” I said, laughing as I lifted her into my arms.
The year turned, and for once, the only thing I felt was right.
That is how it should be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
KRISTIN
If you’d told me three years ago that I’d be standing in a barn dressed in white, about to marry Lincoln Felder in front of the entire Flying Diamond family, I would’ve laughed you out of the room. Or cried. Probably both.
But here I was, my hands trembling as Fallon pinned my veil into my hair, Nora smoothing my dress, Elle adding last-minute greenery to my bouquet, and I was already fighting tears. Even Lexie, who had been relentlessly teasing me all morning, had gone quiet when Wes stepped into the room.
He looked at me like I was his own. His hat was pressed against his chest, his rough hands almost too gentle for the man I knew had worked hard on his Christmas Tree farm.
“You look beautiful,” he said, voice gravelly.
