“Diana, thank you.”
“It was nothing,” I say as I unlock the door and let us into our new home. “Want to finish off the tree? With the star?”
After we’ve taken time to settle with some hot cider, he climbs up the stepladder and positions the light-up star. “Good?”
It’s exactly right.
Then we string yards and yards of white twinkle lights, followed by strands of wooden cranberries.
“And now all the ornaments?” I ask.
“Of course.”
So, we hang the decorations that I’ve always wanted to have. Old-timey Santas, vintage Snoopy globes, hand-carved wooden birds, and more than a few Wonder Woman figures. My favorites though are the ones I bought recently. Lots of clip-ons that represent Maine. A moose, a fox, a seal, a black bear, tons of birds. And now, my favorite, a snowshoe hare, the animal that named this town.
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, a day that feels like it could be my best first. Granted, holidays never seemed like they were going to be anything but awful, but this Christmas Eve? It’s somehow held some kind of promise. Like maybe some stupid miracle will occur.
And the forecast just sucks, but I’m happy to be with my love in his bed tonight.
“So, I’m your girlfriend?” I ask. Not that it’s the most important issue of the night, but…
“You’d better be.” His full-body wrap confirms it.
Chapter 25
When we wake, I’m disheartened, but not surprised to find that the snow is deluging us more than predicted. But one peek out of the window tells me we are not being ruthlessly plowed in. Before I can even sigh, I hear plows working hard, and these are not ones from the state; they’re all neighbors taking care of neighbors. I have to laugh at how this Snowshoe Cove town cares enough to understand how plowing is great, but taking the extra step to cleardrivewaysis really everything. Most cities are all about snowplowing the streets and then pinning you into your driveway with a mound of heavy, icy snow.
Still, this storm is stupidly brutal and is going to continue on for too long. I accept that we cannot venture out this holiday to see Dave’s family.
I pour myself into rich black leggings and a matching tank top with an off-the-shoulder cashmere top. I’m nothing if not monochromatic and cozy.
I meet Dave on the couch in his living room.
“Damn snow.” He snugs me up in his arms, and Dave sort of shies a bit. “My phone has been blowing up with texts since Thanksgiving. My family already adores you, and I wanted to take you home again—to my parents’—so much.”
“I wanted that too. New Year’s?”
“For sure.” He scoops me hard. “But I still have a beautiful dinner planned for us tonight.”
“Noooo!” I laugh. “So do I. Are we having a cook-off? I’d rather not because you’d win. Plus, I do have a bunch of calls to make, so I’m happy to defer dinner to you.”
He flops his head against the back of the couch and exaggerates his words. “Boo! Work stuff that you hate and that I hate for you?”
My hand reaches for the back of his neck, and as I pull him up, I smile. “I think you’d actually like overhearing these calls. The emails I’m going to send.”
“Never thought that’d be a turn-on, but I’m liking what I’m hearing. How about I give you your gift first?”
I can’t say no.
He digs a hand into the couch and pulls out a box. For a second, I’m concerned it’s a ring. But then I’m alsonotconcerned it’s a ring. Which is rather curious. That would be stupid to want that, given my life, my upbringing, my insane parents. But maybe that thought, that hope, means I’m healing.
What he does gift me is beautiful. A necklace with delicate charms. All things that matter to me. A lobster, a snowflake, a cat paw, a small Puerto Rico flag, a teeny Zakim Bridge for Boston. And a snowshoe hare, for this town that he knows is my second home.
I shake my head in disbelief as he hooks this sweet jewelry round my neck. I sweep my hand gently to my neck. Rubbing each piece gently between my fingers.
Not surprisingly, my call to my agent’s office is transferred immediately to her line. She’s been begging me for weeks to be in touch.
“Diana! Are we ready to sign everything?” she asks eagerly.
