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I thought Killian might want to change our plans now that his mom, Ronan, and Fallon are here, but he asked if it would be okay if we still went just the four of us, and I was glad. As much as I love having more family around, and I know the kids do too, I feel like I can switch off and enjoy myself more when it’s just Killian and the kids.

He skated surprisingly well. Once he realized the kids were confident on the ice, he relaxed and even managed to skate a little without holding on to anyone. But most of the time, if he wasn’t holding one of the kids’ hands, he was holding mine, tense as hell while Caitlin and James showed us the little twirls and jumps they can do. Maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t come to Caitlin’s first riding lesson—I’m not sure both of us being nervous wrecks would’ve helped anything.

Killian pulls into the grocery store parking lot, squinting through the snowy windshield. It’s coming down faster than the wipers can handle, and I appreciate the blizzard waiting until we left the Christmas fair to start.

“I’ll go in. There’s no point in all of us getting chilled to the bone,” Killian says. We considered going somewhere for dinner, but with the way the snow is blanketing everything in sight, we would rather be home and cozy. Besides, the kids prefer frozen pizza to restaurant pizza. “Do we need anything else?” he asks, and I shake my head, knowing full well he’s going to come out with more than a couple of frozen pizzas.

He squeezes my hand before getting out of the car and disappearing into the blizzard.

“Mama?”

I unclip my seatbelt and turn to look at James. “Yeah, Bug?”

“Is Killian coming home with us?”

“Of course,” I answer, confused. “He’s just picking up something for dinner. He won’t be long.”

“Does Killian live with us?” Caitlin asks. I knew it would be coming at some point—we couldn’t avoid these questions forever.

“He’s staying with us for now, but Killian lives in Ireland, remember? He has his own house in Dublin.”

“When is he going home?”

“I’m not sure, Caity-cat. Do you not want him to stay with us anymore?”

Caitlin shakes her head so fast that the reindeer antlers Killian bought her at the fair fly off. “No. I don’t want him to go back to Ireland. I want him to stay here.”

“Me too,” James agrees.

God, it’s going to kill them when he leaves. Not just them, I think. I’m trying to savor every second I get with him, trying to avoid thinking about things going back to the way they were before—back to how lonely they were. I know Killian, and I believe he’s going to keep putting in the effort with the kids and with me, even after he leaves. But texts and calls aren’t the same as having him by my side to tuck the kids in, or knowing he’s there if I just need a hug. I have to believe things are going to work out, though, or I’m going to crumble.

“It’s not as easy as just wanting him to stay,” I explain. “There are rules about moving from country to country. And Killian has his family back in Ireland to think about.”

Neither of them looks satisfied with my answer, but I can’t exactly get into the ins and outs of visas. I barely understand how it all works, let alone being able to explain it to two kids under ten.

“What was your favorite part of the fair?” I ask, trying to change the subject. And it works—until Killian comes back, laden down with no less than six grocery bags.

The second he gets in the car, Caitlin says, “Killian, Mama says you can’t stay because you have a house in Ireland, but we all want you to stay.”

He pauses, his seatbelt halfway across his body. He finishes buckling it, before looking back at her. “I’m working on it—leave it with me, Kit-cat.”

My heart stills. The last thing I want is for the kids to get their hopes up, but Killian knows that. He wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it. I can’t exactly ask him in front of the kids, though.

He carefully drives out of the parking lot, managing the snow like he’s been driving here for years.

“Kill?”

“Yes, love?”

“That was a lot of grocery bags for two frozen pizzas.”

Even in the dark afternoon light, I don’t miss the flush that creeps over his cheeks.

“When I saw this at the store, I thought it would be fun. I feel like the icing is laughing at me now,” Killian says as the walls of the gingerbread house that he and James are building fall apart for the third time. He’s still wearing the Santa hat the kids convinced him to get at the fair, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more dejected-looking Santa.

I eye the pile of gingerbread cookies on their board and snort. “I think the problem is that you’re trying to use the roof panel as a wall.”

“What? Oh, my god. I should’ve got the pre-made ones.”