“Ah—next week is Christmas.” I bite my inner cheek. I’m not rolling in cash, but this little gig has made me a fair amount of money the past two weeks. And if I could get a few more clients, I could actually contribute to groceries, maybe even our mortgage. “What about the week after?”
“Lovely,” Noreen says again. “You know, your little jungle house is growing on me, Stella. I quite like spying the woods as the mud slides through my fingers.”
“Grammy.” Rosalie sighs, flicking her eyes to the ceiling of my porch.
I laugh. “I like that too, Noreen.”
“Thanks, Stella,” Rosalie says, pulling me in for a quick hug. I’ve gotten used to her hugs. I’ve gotten used to everything about this life.
I walk my friends to the door and say goodbye. On the way, I spied a large box wrapped horribly beneath our tree. Shutting the door, I tiptoe over to our monstrous tree and peek at the tag. Maybe he decided to wrap Mason’s soccer ball.
Only—that tag reads: Stella.
It’s for me.
Roman got me a gift. And sure, his bowl, “soul piece”—I’m literally giving the man a piece of my soul—is wrapped and hiding in my closet and didn’t cost me anything more than what I’d already spent on pottery supplies.
What is in that box?
I reach down, deciding I should probably check the weight and give it a little shake, when?—
“Hey!” Roman yells.
My heart skips a beat, and I leap away from the gift and tree. The back of my legs smack into the couch, my arms flail, and then I’m down—but at least the couch is there to catch my fall.
I slap my hand over my beating heart and listen to the cackling of my husband.
Roman peeks his head over me, peering down as I lie on my back, collapsed on the couch.
“You’re laughing at me?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says, just getting the words out as he is still laughing. Roman leans down, filling my senses with cedar and pine. He presses a soft kiss to my lips, one that spreads tingles over every inch of my skin. “I’m going to make dinner,” he says, standing straight and moving toward the kitchen doorway. “No peeking, Stella!”
Forty-Five
This is notthe way I thought I’d be spending the Christmas holidays. Two months ago, I was content to spend the break alone. I just wanted my cabin. And now … Now I’ve got Stella. And I truly can’t imagine spending Christmas without her.
I’ve got breakfast for dinner made and set on the table. Stella’s already snuck two slices of bacon. Better that than sneaking open her Christmas gift.
I’m anxious about the portfolio book I had made for her. I stole her photos and had the local print shop make her a bound book with pictures of her projects. I added a note with a written request for a new GOAT plaque, just like she made me all those years ago. I am much less cocky than my eighteen-year-old self, but I want it to be identical to what she made me back then.
“Hey,” Stella says, stealing another slice of bacon.
“I see that,” I tell her. “You don’t have to steal my bacon, you know. You can just eat yours.”
She beams. “Thanks for dinner,cupcake.” She wrinkles her nose. “That’s not it.”
“Nope, keep trying,” I say, leaning down and pecking her lips before sitting next to her.
But instead of eating, she sets both hands on the table and sighs.
“Stell?”
Nibbling on that bottom lip that I quite like, she says, “So, you remember how you snuck up on me in the living room and then laughed and laughed after I fell onto the couch?”
“Thirty minutes ago?” I smirk. “Um, yeah, I remember that.”
“I want you to know I forgive you,” she says, still not touching her food. Is she serious? Stella never lets pancakes get cold.
