Only then did the clapping and cheering around us break into our bubble. I gazed out, realizing we had an audience and they were all smiling. An under-the-microscope feeling had me ducking my face into his shoulder.
His laughter against my ear made my stomach flutter. “I think everyone knows about us.”
“It’s about time!” someone hollered.
“Congratulations,” someone else yelled.
I groaned.
“At least they’re happy for us?” Archer offered.
I lifted my head. “Not as happy as me.”
A smile played on his lips. “Yeah?”
I nodded.
“You want some hot chocolate?”
“Obviously.”
“You have to hold my hand while we get it,” he said, flexing his fingers and holding them out.
I slid mine into his, linking us together.
“Archer?” I said as we strolled down Main Street under the twinkling lights.
“Hm?”
“I’m glad I came home for Christmas.”
Archer smiled. “Me too.”
18
Archer
Christmas Day
It wasone of those storybook Christmases. You know, the kind that looked too perfect to be anything but on paper.
But it was real.
The sky was clear, the air cold, and the landscape was picturesque with a newly fallen blanket of pure snow. The evergreens were draped in white, and the entire house was alive with the scent of cinnamon and baking ham.
Eggnog flowed freely, and for those of us who weren’t too keen on it, sparkling cider did the trick. Classic Christmas carols filled the air, occasionally accompanied by the pop and crackle of the blazing fire.
For the first time in a long time, Christmas Day wasn’t something to endure. Something to try to enjoy just because it was something I was supposed to do. Today, I was filled with happiness and hope, my heart full in ways I thought it might never be.
And it was all because of him.
The second I saw his Subaru appear on the road leading up to the main house, everything I’d been feeling intensified. My stomach buzzed with anticipation as I waited impatiently by the window, watching him draw closer. When he pulled up to the house, I pulled open the front door and stepped onto the covered front porch.
His parents came up the sidewalk first, carrying wrapped gifts with oversized bows and a small, wiggling chihuahua.
“Merry Christmas, Archer,” Gail greeted as she ascended the stairs. “Don’t you look festive.”
I glanced down at the Christmas sweater I wore in lieu of my familiar flannel. It was red-and-white-patterned with a large green tree in the center, something my mother had given me a few years back that had sat buried in my closet until I got dressed this morning.
