I open the door to find Axel waiting patiently in the hallway. “Ready for that snowman?”
“Yes!” He jumps up eagerly. “Can we make him really tall? Like taller than me?”
As he bounces with excitement, I notice Britney’s journal still lying on the floor where I dropped it earlier. I quickly scoop it up, tucking it into the back pocket of my jeans.
We’ll need to decide what to do with it later. Maybe burn it once we’ve processed everything it contains, or keep it to explain to Axel my absence from his early years.
“We can try,” Cassidy responds to Axel.
The snowman we built reaches nearly seven feet tall, with Axel directing our efforts from atop my shoulders. We use coal from the fireplace bin for buttons, a carrot from the refrigerator for the nose, and my scarf for its neck.
When Axel’s small hands get too cold, Cassidy warms them between her own, and I catch her heat-filled gaze.
Later, while Axel searches for the perfect sticks for arms, I pull Cassidy against me. The cold air has made her full lipsmore tempting, her breath curling between us in delicate white plumes.
Our lips meet in an unhurried kiss. Her mouth is soft and yielding, parting under mine as I angle my head to deepen it.
Time stretches, the chill of the air forgotten in the heat building between us. Cassidy’s hands slide up my chest as she kisses me back. Every brush of our lips, every shared breath, feels like a reclamation.
She sighs into my mouth, and I respond by slowing even further, drawing out the kiss until it’s almost torturous in its intensity. Our bodies sway, and the snow crunches under our boots.
“We’re really doing this,” I whisper against her lips, and she nods, seeming too overcome to speak.
Axel’s distant laughter breaks the spell, pulling us apart. He’s found his sticks, waving them triumphantly as he runs back toward us.
By the time we tromp back inside, cheeks flushed and fingers numb, the afternoon has melted into evening. I help Axel out of his snow-soaked clothes while Cassidy starts on supper.
After supper, cookies and hot chocolate, Cassidy settles on the sofa and grabs her tablet from the coffee table.
“Would you like me to read something?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I respond.
“I was speaking to my nephew,” she rolls her eyes. “Do you want me to read you a story, Axel?”
He nods shyly. “Mama never read to me.”
“What about ‘The Night Before Christmas’? It’s Christmas Eve, after all.”
“I don’t know that one,” Axel admits.
Cassidy gasps in mock horror. “Every child needs to hear ‘The Night Before Christmas’ on Christmas Eve! It’s practically a law.”
Axel hesitates, then climbs up beside her on the sofa. I sit on Axel’s other side, my arm stretching along the back of the couch behind both of them.
“‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,” she begins, using her best story-time voice, “Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse...”
As she reads, Axel gradually relaxes against her, his eyes growing heavy. By the time she finishes, his head is resting on her shoulder, and my hand has found her side.
“Thank you,” I mouth silently over Axel’s head.
“For what?”
“For giving us another chance. For tomorrow,” I whisper, nodding toward Axel, “for Christmas morning.”
She smiles, her eyes glistening. “We have so much to figure out.”
My free hand drifts to my pocket. Perhaps this Christmas morning, eight years later, will finally be the right time.
