Chapter 31
TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE Christmas, and Clare was ready to drop. After attending the early Christmas Eve mass, they spent the next few hours trying to keep the girls from swinging from the chandeliers both at his parents’ house and at Deacon’s. Not even their preteen cousins could run the excitement out of M&M tonight. Finally, thankfully, they were in bed. Patrick and Parker had no idea about Santa coming. For them, it was just another night, and after being passed around and entertained, they’d gone down easier than usual.
The girls were allowed to open one present from their grandparents—books, Clare already knew, as she’d helped Deacon’s mom pick them out. They’d promised to read both if the girls didn’t fall asleep on the drive home.
They didn’t. And so after sprinkling reindeer food—a mix of bird seed and glitter—over the lawn, and arranging and rearranging Santa’s cookies next to his milk—with carrots and juice for the reindeer—they got into their Christmas pajamas. And after reading both books, the girls were finally tucked in tight.
“I thought we were going to keep it to a few gifts each,” Clare said as she carefully peeled off and stuck on the stickers for the new dollhouse.
Deacon smiled, not looking up from his job of adding tiny batteries to the plastic cat bed that would meow when the cat was pressed into it. “It does look like Santa’s workshop.”
They’d wrapped some things and left the bigger items unwrapped, a merge of their two family traditions. There were just a few things under the tree for the boys. At just about two and a half months old, they didn’t need much for Christmas.
“Here’s your cat,” she said, handing him the pink plastic feline.
He tested it, making it meow in the bed. Then did it again.
Clare stood the dollhouse mom at the front door, poised to ring the doorbell.
“I think someone else is excited about Santa,” Deacon said, kissing the side of her face.
“So excited, I could bust.”
While Deacon stuck streamers into the handlebars of the girls’ new tricycles, Clare tucked a stuffed kitten into one basket and a puppy into the other. With that last thing done, they sat back to survey.
“It looks good,” Deacon said.
“It looks very good. I like some of the toys out like this. Their eyes are going to bug out as soon as they hit the bottom of the stairs.”
He groaned and laid back, his head just on the edge of the tree skirt. She joined him. His arm came around her, and she rested her head on his chest, with the twinkling lights above them. He laced his fingers with hers, brought them to his lips, and kissed them. “That’s all I’ve got.”
She smiled into his chest, happier than she’d ever been. “Good thing. That’s all I’ve got, too.”
They’d been going nonstop all day. All week, really. She had the breakfast casserole prepped, the sausage balls made, and the strawberries covered in chocolate. They’d have all that plus hot cocoa in Christmas mugs.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his eyes still closed.
“Just going over the food prep in my head, making sure I didn’t forget anything.”
“It’s going to be spectacular. Better than my usual frozen waffles.”
She knew he wasn’t joking. He’d told her how he’d insisted on being home Christmas morning, just him and the girls, instead of having Santa come to his parents’ or having his mother lay out a breakfast spread for them. This was their house. He was the parent. His parents would come later. “What are you thinking?”
“Mmm. What to play with first.”
She laughed. “Have you decided?”
“The Mr. Potato Play-Doh Head.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost midnight, I think.”
“Mmm. What time will they be up?”
“We can hope for six thirty. Pray for seven.”
“Maybe we could sleep right here,” she said. “Then we wouldn’t have to get dressed in the morning.”
“There’s an idea. How about one more present?”
“I don’t know where it’ll go.”
“I have an idea.” He sat up and leaned over her, pulling a paper flower from somewhere behind his back. “I made you something.”
She grinned. He knew how much she loved it when the girls made her things. “Thank you.” She studied the small red flower made out of intricately folded paper. “You made me a flower. You made me an origami flower. I thought you didn’t know how?”
“YouTube.”
“You learned origami from a YouTube? The ancient art of paper folding?”
“I figured it was a good skill to have,” he said with a half smile and a small shrug.
Just when she didn’t think she could love him any more.
“And if I did it right, you pull the sides, and it blooms.”
“I don’t want to ruin it.”
“You won’t. Go ahead.” He nodded at the flower. “Let’s see how good I am.”
She sat up and kissed him. “I think you’re very good.”
“Try it. I want to see if it works.”
“Okay.” Lightly she tugged one petal, then the one beside it and the next one, until the top level opened out. There was even a little paper stamen inside and—“Deacon. There’s a ring in here.”
“What? You’re kidding. How did that get in there?”
A diamond ring, hanging right on the paper stamen. She reached inside and touched it. “It’s so beautiful.” Platinum and shiny and oval and—
“Clare, I love you,” he said, sending her pulse into high gear.
He pulled the ring from the flower. But her eyes were no longer on the sparkling diamond, they were on Deacon’s face, his eyes.
“I said I was half in love with you before we left the beach, but that was wrong. I was way past half. You caught me. Then you swept me away. I love you. I love your smile, especially when the girls hand you a prized piece of lint or a rock. I love that you had our sons. I love that you talk too fast when you’re nervous and you think every little thing to death when you’re unsure. But I’m going to make you sure. I’m going to make you happy and keep you laughing through every crazy adventure and carpet stain and overflowing toilet for the rest of our lives. And when it’s just the two of us in this house, I want to sit and hold your hand and make out on a couch with or without crushed goldfish. Marry me. Be my wife. My life. Forever.”
“Yes,” she said, breathless and tumbling. “Yes.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger, and she said yes again. She said it, whispered it, and cried it. Then they were kissing under the tree, up the stairs. And they found neither of them were all that tired anymore.