“Mommy! Captain Saxon! It snowed!”
Saxon doesn’t even open his eyes. “Told you.”
Junie bursts into our bedroom without knocking, her hair wild, her slippers mismatched, her excitement about three sizes too big for her tiny body. “It’s Christmas! There’s snow! There are presents! Santa came! He?—”
She stops dead in the doorway.
Her eyes widen. “You’re snuggling.”
Saxon’s arm tightens around me. “We are.”
She beams like it’s the greatest gift she’s ever received. “I knew it.”
Saxon finally cracks one eye open, looking at her upside down from where his face is practically buried in my shoulder. “Merry Christmas, baby girl.”
Junie runs and launches herself onto the bed, and while she aims for the spot between us, she overshoots and lands half on Saxon’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
“Oof—Junebug.”
She giggles and hugs him fiercely. Saxon hugs her right back, groaning dramatically while she giggles louder. I watch them with a smile. This big, immovable mountain of a man who once swore he’d never let anyone rely on him again—cradling my daughter like she hung the moon. My heart swells, warm and achy in the best possible way.
“Come on!” Junie squeals. “The tree! The presents! The cocoa! The cinnamon rolls!”
“Cinnamon rolls?” Saxon perks up.
“Yes!” She pats his cheeks like she’s reviving him. “Extra frosting.”
He sits up immediately. “Well, why didn’t you lead with that?”
The living room looks like a snow globe.
Outside the big picture window, Devil’s Peak is blanketed in fresh, unbroken white. The faint glow of sunrise turns everything pinkish and magical. Inside, the Christmas treetwinkles with warm lights, ornaments leaning slightly crooked because Junie “decorated” the lower half to death.
Presents spill out in colorful piles under the branches. Junie gasps when she sees them. Then she looks back at us like she needs confirmation she isn’t dreaming.
Saxon ruffles her hair. “Santa must’ve thought you were pretty damn good this year.”
She giggles. “I’m always good.”
I snort into my coffee.
She whirls. “Most of the time.”
“Better,” I say.
Saxon hands me a mug, brushing his fingers over mine. His touch lingers a second too long, warm enough to send a flush up my cheeks. He does that on purpose—little branded moments of heat that remind me that even though he’s now my husband, the man is still pure danger in slow doses.
The good kind. The forever kind.
“Okay,” Junie says, dropping dramatically to her knees. “I’m starting.”
“Go for it,” I say, curling onto the couch beside Saxon. He pulls a blanket over my legs, then slings his arm around my shoulders, tugging me into his side. I go willingly, melting against him.
Junie opens her gifts one by one, shrieking about each one as if it’s the best present she’s ever received.
A dollhouse. A firefighter Barbie (“She needs to look like a fire captain!”) A sparkly purple helmet for her bike. A stack of picture books. A stuffed moose with a crooked smile. She is pure joy wrapped in a glittery pajama set.
Midway through tearing wrapping paper, she freezes. “Isn’t there one more?”
