A Cunningham Christmas (2 page)

“Aren’t you tired at all?” I tease her.

Ramona just coos and sticks her fingers in her mouth. Her little feet kick, and she almost loses one of her yarn socks—my first, and rather sad, attempt at knitting—but I tug it back over her heel. I resist the urge to tickle her, though there’s no sweeter sound in the world than her precious little laugh. I’m supposed to be helping her settle down, not getting her wound up again.

“Come on now, little goose,” I say, rocking her gently. “It’s time for bed.”

She squeals and bounces in my arms.

“No, it’s not time to dance,” I say softly. “It’s time for
bed
, silly peanut.” I make a goofy face at her, then pull her tiny hand away from her mouth. Her tiny hand closes around my finger, something that never fails to make my heart go
pitter-pat
in my chest. She stares up at me with those wide, gorgeous eyes and gives a contented gurgle. She’s still so small, and yet it shocks me sometimes how much feeling, how much intelligence I see in her eyes. I can already see the mischief brewing there. She’s definitely going to be a handful, this one. Ward and I are going to have a hard time keeping up with her.

“You’re going to be a little troublemaker, aren’t you?” I tease her.

“Oh, most definitely,” I hear from the door.

I look up and see Ward standing there, a towel around his waist and his hair wet from a shower. He smiles as he comes toward us.

“Here,” he says, holding out his hands. “Let me try.”

I pass Ramona into his arms. He’s taken to singing to her at night, sharing a song that he says his mom used to sing to him when he was sick. Sometimes it does the trick, sending our energetic daughter off to dreamland. And there’s absolutely nothing more heart-melting than watching his strong, muscular arms cradle our little girl. Even though she’s grown a lot already, she still almost disappears in his arms. But he holds her so delicately, so carefully. Like he’s afraid that even breathing on her might break her. And the expression in his eyes when he looks down at her… even now, after months of seeing his deep love for her, that look still brings tears to my eyes. I thought my hormones would calm down a little after Ramona was born, but I guess I was wrong. I still seem to cry at
everything.
But to be fair, everything about this precious bundle of life we made just seems so amazing.

Ward rocks her in his arms, and he starts singing in soft, soothing tones. I can hardly hear the words, and I know it’s because he’s still embarrassed for me to hear him. He doesn’t exactly have the best voice, but I don’t care. He’s singing to our child. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.

I get up from the rocking chair and put my arm around his waist, leaning my head against his arm so we can both look down at little Ramona. She’s looking up at her daddy with those big eyes, seemingly transfixed by the soft notes coming out of his mouth. Even her kicking has slowed down a little, though her right foot still moves up and down.

After a few minutes, though, when Ward is on his third time through the song, her eyelids start to droop. Her tiny fingers open and close, and her cooing begins to fade out. By the time Ward begins the song a fourth time, she’s fast asleep. He finishes the verse anyway, and when he’s done, he slowly lowers her into her crib.

I pull her blanket over her tiny body. Her lips open and close in her sleep. I hope she has sweet dreams, our little girl.

My fingers brush against her cheek before I pull my hand back. Ward’s arm slips around my waist, pulling me against his side.

“She’s getting so big,” he murmurs.

She’s growing too fast.
That’s what he really means. It seems like only yesterday she was too small, too weak to lift her own head.

I turn into Ward’s arms, burying my face in his bare chest. His skin is still slightly damp, and he smells so fresh and clean. I take a deep breath, deep enough that I catch his own musky scent beneath the aroma of the soap. His chest hairs tickle my nose. And he’s deliciously warm, even though he’s wearing far fewer clothes than I am.

His hand comes up and tangles in my hair. “I’m sorry I missed dinner. I had a paint accident.”

“So Lily told me.” I kiss the base of his throat. “But you’re here now.”

He kisses the top of my head. “Yeah.”

I tilt my face up and stand up on my toes so I can reach his mouth. His lips devour mine, and his arms tighten around me. He’s been working really hard around the house recently, so even though we’re both here most of the time, I haven’t seen him nearly as much as I’d like.

“I’ve been missing you,” I say softly. “I think you should take a break from restorations until the holidays are over.”

“I know,” he whispers, letting his hands run down my back.

He doesn’t offer any more than that, though I can tell there’s something else going on in his head. He hasn’t really been himself these past few days. He’s been antsier than usual.

“Is everything okay?” I ask him, keeping my voice low so I won’t wake Ramona. I run my hands down his arms, enjoying the hardness of his muscles beneath my fingers.

He nods, and his voice is husky when he whispers, “More than okay.”

“You’ve just been so restless recently.” A thought occurs to me, and I grin up at him. “This isn’t about my Christmas present, is it? Did you plan a big surprise for me?”

He jumps, then shakes his head so vigorously that I know I’m close to the truth. “Nothing like that.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Really?” His reaction says otherwise. “You’re definitely nervous about something.”

“I just like having things to do. That doesn’t mean I’m nervous.” He takes me gently by the chin and studies my face. “Are you… do you
want
a big surprise?”

I can’t tell if he’s trying to throw me off the scent or… something else. But I don’t want to add to his stress—if there
is
something stressing him out—with any unreasonable expectations.

“I don’t need a surprise,” I tell him. “I honestly don’t need anything at all. You’ve already given me the greatest gift I could ever ask for. There’s nothing you could give me that will
ever
compare to her.” My eyes fall to our daughter. Her chest rises and falls with her tiny sleeping breaths.

When my gaze shifts back to Ward, however, he’s not looking at our daughter. Instead there’s something like panic in his eyes.

“What is it?” I ask quietly. “Did I say something?”

Again, he shakes his head a little too hard. But instead of answering me, he pulls me into his arms again.

“Ward—”

“You didn’t say anything wrong,” he tells me quickly. “And I won’t do any more projects until after the holidays. I promise.”

I’m going to hold him to that promise. And figure out why he’s so anxious. Now that I have him where I want him, though, I have a few other things in mind first. He seems to have those ideas as well, because he kisses me before I can ask him any more questions. I sink into his kiss, making it clear that I’m not about to let him go anywhere. He grins against my mouth and squeezes me against him.

I always feel so small, so delicate in his arms, especially as his lips become rougher and his hands more demanding. He could crush me, hurt me so easily—but he never has. He touches me with a wondrous combination of need and restraint, and it makes me tremble.

After a moment, he pulls back. “You’re cold.”

I could correct him, but I don’t.

“You should warm me,” I whisper. Outside, the wind howls at the window, the first sign of a mild winter storm that’s supposed to hit us. The forecast is calling for a white Christmas.

In her crib beside us, Ramona makes a small sound in her sleep.

“Come on,” he says, taking my hand. “Let’s go to bed early tonight. I can think of a few ways I might heat you up.”

And jumpy or no, I know he’ll do just that. I let him lead me out of the room, wondering just what he has in store for me this Christmas.

December 24th

WARD

It begins to snow overnight. There’s only a soft dusting on the estate when we wake up on Christmas Eve, but the flakes continue to fall steadily. After lunch, when there are four inches of white powder on the ground, Lou bundles Ramona up in her winter gear and takes her outside for her first real glimpse of one of the season’s greatest wonders.

Our daughter won’t remember it, of course, but that doesn’t matter. I can hardly see Ramona’s chubby little face beneath the hood of her puffy green jacket, but I can hear her laugh. Lou and Lily are sitting with her right on the ground, and they take turns throwing handfuls of snow into the air over their heads. Ramona squeals in glee as the fluffy white powder rains down over them. As I watch, Lou scoops up a huge heap of snow with her gloved hand and blows on it, sending a cloud of snow at our daughter. Ramona laughs again and flaps her arms.

I’m standing on the front steps with Calder, watching this scene. I know this is my chance, possibly the last time we’ll be alone for the next few days. I’ve slipped the ring in my pocket again today—I don’t trust myself to keep it anywhere else, and I don’t want Lou to stumble across it accidentally—and I reach in and wrap my fingers around the little velvet bag, building up my courage. It’s now or never.

I clear my throat. “Since we have a few minutes alone, I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

Calder looks over at me in surprise. Though he and I are more or less friends these days, he knows I wouldn’t normally ask him for
anything
. We’ve spent months establishing unspoken rules for our untraditional situation, and I’m about to launch us into brand new territory.

But I can stand here all day and debate whether or not I should throw off the balance we’ve finally mastered, or I can grow some balls and just say what I need to say.

“I’m proposing to Lou,” I blurt.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even blink. And then suddenly he bursts out laughing. The sound’s so loud that Lou and Lily both look over at us, and I turn aside, praying that Lou doesn’t see my expression.

“Fuck, man,” I say through gritted teeth. “Keep it down. And it isn’t that funny.”

“Like hell it isn’t.”

I risk a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. Yep, there’s that smug look. Just as I expected.

“Look,” I say, turning to face the house and jerking my head to show that he should do the same. “I’d prefer to keep this a secret for now, okay?”

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” he says. “I’m just pleased to hear you’ve finally come to your senses.” Still, he calms down a little, though that arrogant smile of his will give everything away if we aren’t careful.

I’ve discussed marriage with him before, assuring him that I absolutely want to marry Lou, that we’ve just decided not to rush things, and though I think he believes me at this point, he still seems to get some sick joy out of accusing me otherwise. I don’t even bother correcting him.

“You know I wouldn’t ask you anything if I weren’t serious about this,” I say.

My tone sobers him. Or maybe the initial shock of my confession has worn off and he’s decided to be a decent human being again.

“What’s the question?” he asks. He’s dropped his voice a little, and I finally get the impression that he’s willing to speak with me man-to-man.

So now we’re at the point where I actually have to ask him for help.

“I just…”
Really, how hard can this be?
“I was wondering if you had any advice.”

His eyebrow goes up. “You think she’ll refuse you?”

“No. Nothing like that.”
Fuck, I hope not.
But after her comments last night, I’m second-guessing myself. Is what we have already enough for her?
“I meant advice about how to make it special.”

He rubs his chin. “What sort of ‘special’ are you going for?”

“I don’t know. Just… special. Romantic. Something she’ll want to tell our grandkids about.” I feel ridiculous saying that, like suddenly I’m some chump in a romantic comedy or something. “What did you do for Lily?”

He straightens a little. “Haven’t you heard by now?”

“Actually no, I haven’t.” Or if I have, I wasn’t paying much attention. That’s definitely a possibility. Proposal stories aren’t really that interesting until… well, until you suddenly find yourself planning one of your own.

He seems to find my answer funny, but at least he doesn’t laugh this time.

“I planned a game for her,” he says. “Something simple but intimate. She had to guess what I got her as a housewarming gift.”

“Simple but intimate,” I repeat, letting those words simmer in my brain. I’m hoping a hundred ideas will suddenly explode in my head, but they don’t.

Simple.

Intimate.

Jesus, why is this so hard? I twist slightly, looking back over my shoulder at Lou and little Ramona playing in the snow. Part of me just wants to march down there and get this over with right now. Right here.

But that’s not going to win me any extra favors with Lou. And she deserves better. She deserves something thoughtful and memorable. Not something desperate.