I spin to see Carter coming up behind me, and nod.
“Sorry about that,” he says, glancing back at Amelia. “I hope I handled it okay.”
I snort. “Better than I would have.”
“What would you have said?”
I shrug and tell the truth. “Probably that she shouldn’t get too attached since we’ll be leaving soon.”
He cocks a brow. “Is that really what you’d tell Amelia? Or is it what you’ve been telling yourself?”
“Mommy! We need more sticks!”
I’ve definitely been saved by the yell. “I’d better…” I sweep my gaze across the ground and pick up two branches that seem suitable as snowman arms, then turn and retreat just as quickly as I got here.
Bug does the honors, impaling the sides of the ‘Daddy’ Frosty with the sticks I found. “Awesome,” she says.
Carter starts snapping pictures on his phone.
Bug holds out her arm. “Let me take one of all of you and the snowmen. Go stand behind ‘em.”
Everyone moves but me.
Bug rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on, Kenna. Don’t be a party pooper.”
I amble over, taking my place behind the ‘Mommy’ Frosty.
“Great. Smiles, everyone,” Bug says.
And while she continues to shoot frame after frame—ensuring I’ll have one hell of a memory to look back on after I’m gone—a strong gloved hand grips mine, squeezes, and doesn’trelease me until the very end of the photo session. I stand here and let myself live in the fairy tale for just a moment. Because I’m not sure there has ever been a more perfect day.
“I’m freezing,” Amelia says, slogging slowly toward the house.
“Feel like a nap?” I ask.
She nods. Amelia has never been one to fight naps, even at her age. She’s gone a day here or there without taking one, but like me, she loves her sleep.
“Thank you,” I say to Carter.
He just lifts his chin and smiles. He doesn’t need to ask for what. He knows I’m thanking him for everything.
Our stare holds until Amelia backtracks and grabs my arm.
Inside, we strip off our wet coats, clothes, and shoes, and crawl into my bed, Amelia toting three books with her. All Dr. Seuss of course. They are theonlybooks she’s wanted to read these past few weeks.
I don’t even make it through the first one before she’s out. I slink my way off the bed, pick up our wet outfits, and head to the washing machine. I look up at the ceiling. They must have wet clothes too. When I go upstairs to collect them, I find Carter putting something in the oven.
“What’s that?”
“Dinner. Thought I’d make short ribs. They have to cook for a while.”
“Sounds divine. I can’t remember the last time I had short ribs.”
“You’ll join us then?”
“Of course.”
He looks out the window. “I bet there’ll be another three inches on the ground by then.”
