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“Much.”
I straighten the white fur at his collar.
“You know, I think this might be my favorite tradition.”
“This isn’t a tradition.”
“This is the second year.”
“That doesn’t make it a tradition.”
“Shiloh thinks it does.”
“Shiloh is five.”
“He’s very smart.”
“He also ate four cookies for lunch.”
“Five.”
Maverick sighs.
I chuckle.
His hand slides beneath the edge of my sweater.
“Keep smiling.”
“Oh, I plan to.”
I kiss him. He kisses me back.
And for a few seconds, there is no Hope’s Haven. No Christmas party. No Santa suit.
Just my husband and me.
When we finally separate, I rest my forehead against his.
“Did you have a good Christmas?” he asks.
I touch the locket resting beneath my sweater.
I still wear it almost every day.
Inside are the same two pictures he put there last Christmas.
My boys.
Although I keep telling him we’re going to need a bigger locket someday. He hasn’t caught on yet.
“Best one yet.”
His expression softens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He kisses me again.
