“Build us a place?” Toby echoed.
I nodded. “I’ve always wanted to build my own house here on the farm. I just never wanted to do it without you.”
He said nothing, and a jolt of fear that I was moving too fast or being overbearing again slammed through me. “But if you don’t want to, it’s okay. I don’t want you to feel pressured. Maybe the farm isn’t where you?—”
His palm settled over my mouth, stopping my word vomit.
“I want it. I want all of it. The house. The farm. Most of all… you.”
My eyes searched his and found nothing but sincerity shining in their brown depths.
I whimpered, and he pulled his hand away, and then we were kissing all over again, drowning in each other and dreams I thought might never come true.
The sun was a little lower in the sky when we went back to the truck, our hands not separating at all until we stepped into the house.
“There they are!” Mom called. “Dinner is almost ready.”
“Go wash up,” Gail added.
I gestured toward the powder room down the hall, but Toby shook his head and tugged me toward the large fir taking center stage in the living room.
It was lit with white lights and ornaments we’d collected over a lifetime. It wasn’t the most aesthetic tree but instead harbored decades of memories and love.
“I got you something too,” Toby said, grabbing a small box from the stack his father had carried in.
“You didn’t have to,” I told him.
“I wanted to,” he said, shyly handing it over.
“Did you wrap this?” I asked, taking in the oversized red bow tied around the white wrapping embossed with candy canes.
“Of course.”
“I’m terrible at wrapping,” I murmured.
“I’ll teach you next year.”
I looked up. “You will?”
“Of course.”
Suddenly, I couldn’t wait for next Christmas.
“Open it,” Toby urged.
After untying the bow, I ripped the paper, letting it flutter to our feet, and then pulled off the lid of the small brown box.
The breath in my lungs stalled, and emotion clogged my throat as I stared down at what was nestled inside the deep-red tissue paper.
The Santa ornament.
The one from the tree in the town square. The one that rang with nostalgia, Christmas past and present, one that seemed toreach deep inside me and find the magic I thought had long ago faded.
“The ornament from the town tree,” I said, voice quiet and reverent, as I brushed a finger over the beard. I’d thought about it more than once since seeing it the night of the mistletoe raising. I even considered going back to get it and making a donation to the town so I could keep it.
There was just something about it… something special.
“Where did you find it?” I asked, glancing up. I’d looked for it at the auction right after we delivered the gingerbread gazebo, but it was gone. I’d scoured the entire tree twice, thinking I’d somehow overlooked it. And then I started to wonder if it had been there at all…
