“Elissa's already on it.” Ben's smile was grim. “She's very creative when she's angry.”
“That she is.” Charlie felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. Her eyes drifted closed.
“Sleep, Princess,” Ben said softly. “I'll be right here when you wake up.”
“Love you,” Charlie whispered.
“Love you too. Always.”
Christmas Eve,Charlie sat curled up on Ben’s—no,their—couch, with her left leg propped on an ottoman and her shoulder still in a sling. She wore one of Ben's oversized sweaters and thick wool socks. Flo was pressed against her good side, warm and solid.
The Victorian was decorated like something out of a Dickens novel.
A real tree—a massive blue spruce that Ben had cut himself—stood in the corner by the window, covered in handmade ornaments and strings of cranberries and popcorn. Live balsam garlands draped the mantel and wound up the staircase banister. The whole house smelled like a magical forest.
Charlie had never bothered with a Christmas tree before. Never saw the point when it was just her.
This was beautiful, and she wanted it every year. Ben was going to have a fight on his hands if he so much as hinted at taking it down before Valentine’s Day.
Fine, maybe February first.
“Here we go.” Ben walked into the room carrying two flutes of bubbly, light-golden liquid. “Dry hard cider. Made it myself with champagne yeast.”
Charlie took a flute carefully with her good hand. She sniffed it and the bubbles tickled her nose just like champagne. “You made this?”
“Fall before last. It's been aging.” He settled beside her on the couch, careful not to jostle her arm or leg. “I was saving it for a special occasion.”
“Christmas?”
“Something like that.” He winked as he lifted his glass. “To life.”
Charlie clinked her glass against his. “To life.”
The cider was crisp and bright on her tongue, with just a hint of sweetness.Perfect.
As much as Charlie had wanted to spend Christmas with their family—and they'd all visited her in the hospital, showering her with flowers and art supplies and Moleskines and terrible jokes—she was grateful to be here. Just the two of them. Quiet. Safe. Home.
“I have something for you,” she said.
“Charlie, you just got out of the hospital?—”
“It was finished before the avalanche. Shane brought it from my apartment where I was hiding it.”
“You mean the same apartment you’re giving up at the end of this month?” Ben grinned.
“The very same.” She nodded toward the large flat package leaning against the wall. “Can you get it?”
Ben retrieved the package. “I might know what it is, judging by the size and shape and your talents.”
“You might. Or, you might not know completely what it is.”
Ben raised his eyebrows, eyes sparkling. He carefully unwrapped it.
Then he went completely still.
It was the St. Vrain photo—the one of him and his brothers as teenagers, horsing around in the river. But Charlie had recreated it in colored pencil and charcoal, every detail perfect.
Except she'd also added Sean.
