“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “Everything?”
“That’s too broad,” I remind him gently. “Only tomorrow. Think for me, Aiden.”
But I’m not thinking. Not when he’s wrapped around me, and it’s obvious that physical touch is a love language for him. Without hesitation, I press a kiss to the skin right below his ear.
As expected, some of the tension slides away from his body.
“Wreaths.” He swallows. “Mom always wanted the front gates to look welcoming, even if they were closed.”
“Are they in the barn?”
He nods. “There are big red bows for them, too. And lights.”
“Is that all?”
His body tenses again, and I sigh. I feel like I’m pushing too hard, but I want him to take ownership of these feelings so when he faces a crowd tomorrow, the worst of it is behind him. It’s not the townspeople he’s afraid of; it’s the presence of his parents.
“We used to have a hot cocoa barn. It’s one of the outbuildings closest to the parking lot. And Owen’s been working on the sleigh.”
His panic is almost palpable at this point, winding tight like a spring.
“Focus on tomorrow. We have time for the rest,” I whisper, squeezing again. “Deep breaths and give me one more thing for tomorrow.”
“People will be disappointed about tomorrow, Chlo. I can’t give them what they expect. It’s too hard.”
I pull back enough that it forces him to loosen his hold. But I need to look him in the eyes when I say this next part, because I don’t know when I’ll ever be brave enough to say something similar again.
“Myhusbandcan do hard things. He’s done nothing but hard things since I set foot on this farm.”
His eyes go glassy, and I press my palms to his face, cradling it with the utmost care.
“It’s not the same,” he rasps.
“It’s a different kind of hard,” I agree. “But that doesn’t negate the way you’ve problem-solved and wrestled your way through one crisis after another. You aresobrave, and I’m so proud of you. Everyone tomorrow will be just grateful you’re willing to share this place with them again.”
“Makes me want to marry you all over again,” he murmurs, the softest smile playing around his lips.
“Sorry, I’m a one marriage a day kind of gal.”
“Are you sure you can’t be persuaded?”
I shake my head. “Not without one more thing for us to put on our list for tomorrow.”
“You’re tough, but fair.”
We’re only a breath away again, so I press my lips to his. Nothing passionate, just a quiet reminder of a vow I made to stand with him in the hard. And this is hard.
“Forget one more thing,” I whisper. “What’s the one thing you want to do for your parents tomorrow?”
“Wreaths,” he says again, steadier this time. “But we should have lights too. Mom would be mad if we dragged our feet on those.”
“Then we’ll start there,” I tell him. “Tomorrow doesn’t have to be perfect, Aiden. We just need to remind them of home.”
His breath shudders out, and he nods once.
We don’t say anything else. We just stand there for a moment longer, holding each other in the quiet kitchen, the barn looming outside the window like it’s waiting for us.
Tomorrow will come whether we’re ready or not. Whetherhe’sready or not.
