The woman she loved.
The woman she’d fought for.
The woman she’d nearly lost to stress and exhaustion and circumstance more than once.
Their eyes held across the rim of the meal, a moment of shared history, shared pain, shared hope.
Erin’s breath hitched. Just barely.
Later, Alex thought again.
Later is coming.
For now, she leaned close, touched her forehead gently to Erin’s for half a second — a tiny secret blessing of a moment — and whispered, “Merry Christmas.”
Erin’s answering smile lit her up from the inside.
“Merry Christmas, beautiful.”
Lunch spread on for almost two hours — eating, storytelling, laughter loud enough to echo off the high stone walls.
Near the end, Alex sat back, hand absently resting on Erin’s thigh, her gaze drifting over the room.
Everywhere she looked, she saw love.
Messy, complicated, chaotic, wonderful love.
And she felt a sudden, overwhelming wave of gratitude — fierce, bright, consuming.
For her children.
For her friends.
For this strange, imperfect, magical Christmas.
For Erin — her anchor, her softness, her impossible, steadfast love.
Snow drifted past the window.
Candles flickered.
The castle hummed with warmth and life.
Alex took a slow breath, closing her eyes for a moment as she whispered silently:
Thank you.
She didn’t know who she was thanking — the universe,fate, chaos itself — but the words filled her chest and made something inside her settle.
When she opened her eyes, Erin was watching her.
“You look happy,” Erin said softly.
“I am,” Alex murmured. “I truly am.”
Erin reached under the table, brushed her fingertips along Alex’s knee, and whispered low:
“Tonight.”
