Christmas Bliss (28 page)

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“Oh, oh, oh, ohhhh,” Michael said softly. He held up the baby for me to see. “Lookie here,” he crooned. “Looks like you and Harry got yourself a little cadet.”

He was cherry red, with tufts of dark hair plastered to his still-damp scalp, and his face was scrunched into a scowl so like his father’s I burst out laughing.

The nurse took him then, and did the things they do with newborn babies, and then they handed our son back to me, and he was wrapped up in what looked like a big red flannel Christmas stocking, with a soft candy-cane striped cap on his head.

Michael shook Harry’s hand and offered him a cigar. Then the nurse dimmed the lights in the room, and we were left all alone.

I looked up at Harry, who was perched gingerly on the edge of the bed. He was blinking back tears. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

“Boys aren’t beautiful,” Harry said, trying to sound brusque. He put out his finger, and the baby wrapped a tiny wrinkled hand around it.

“This one is. He’s absolutely the most beautiful, perfect baby ever.”

“If you say so.” Harry dropped a kiss on my forehead, and then one on the baby’s. We sat quietly like that for a long time, admiring our son, who quickly dropped off to sleep.

“You want to hold him?” I held the baby out.

“Think it’ll be okay? I don’t want to wake him up.”

“Take him,” I said, smiling. “He’ll have plenty of time to sleep.”

I transferred him into Harry’s arms, and the baby stirred for a moment, and then fell right back to sleep.

Harry stood up. “He’s a sturdy little fella,” he said, hefting the bundle in his arms.

“At eight pounds, two ounces, he’s more than sturdy. He’s a chunk,” I pointed out. “I don’t even want to think about how big he’d have been if I went full term.”

“He’s long too,” Harry observed. “Twenty-two inches? That’s about the size of a nice red snapper..”

I yawned. “He’s definitely a keeper. Don’t you think?”

“You both are.” Harry stretched out on the bed beside me, and I transferred the baby into the crook of my arm. “Did you mean what you said, back there at Weezie’s?”

“What do you think?” I said teasingly.

“I think we better get married right quick, before you change your mind,” Harry said. “What are you doing next Saturday?”

“It might take a little longer than that, just to get the legal stuff with Richard ironed out,” I reminded him. “But yes, I want us to get married, and as soon as possible. Maybe James will give us a two-fer—a death certificate and a marriage license.”

“That’ll work,” Harry said. He gazed down at the baby.

“What are we going to call this little guy? We haven’t even really talked about it much, have we?”

“We talked about naming him for your father.”

“No. Look at him. He doesn’t look anything like a Louis.”

“You’re right. How about my dad?”

“Arthur’s a good, strong name,” Harry allowed. “I kinda like it.”

“But maybe not for a first name.” I yawned again and looked at the clock. It was nearly one in the morning. It had been a very, very long couple of days.

“Hey,” I said. “You know what? It’s Christmas Day!”

“You’re right.” He kissed me on the lips. “Merry Christmas, BeBe. You just gave me the best gift any man ever got.”

I felt just the tiniest bit smug about delivering a Christmas baby after all. And then I had an idea. I looked down at the baby, whose rosebud lips twitched just a little as he hiccupped in his sleep.

“What would you think about calling him Nicholas? Is that too gimmicky?” I crossed my fingers.

Harry grinned. “Nicholas? You mean, like St. Nick? Yeah. Nick! I had an Uncle Nick. He gave me my first Penn fishing reel when I was ten. Nicholas Arthur Sorrentino.”

The baby stirred. His eyes opened wide. He made a faint mewing noise, and then, I swear, he smacked his lips.

I pushed down the neckline of my hospital gown and guided him into place, tickling the side of his cheek, the way the nurse had shown me earlier. He latched on to my breast, and a moment later, he was contentedly sucking away.

“He did it,” I marveled. “First try. He’s a genius!”

“Like his mama.” Harry shifted in the bed, then drew a lumpy green-and-white-striped tissue packet from the pocket of his rumpled suit pants. He dropped it into my free hand. “I almost forgot.”

“What’s this?”

“Christmas present.”

“Open it for me, please?”

He tore the tissue away, then held out a narrow filigreed platinum band with a round cushion-cut diamond surrounded by a galaxy of smaller stones.

For once, I was speechless.

“Weezie told me I should tell you it was a push present. You know, for having the baby. But it was never going to be that. In my mind, it was always going to be an engagement ring.”

“Harry, it’s beautiful!”

“It was my mom’s. I could get you something more modern if you don’t like this…”

“My fingers are kind of swollen,” I told him, holding out my left hand. But he slipped the band onto my ring finger and it fit like it had been made for me.

“What made you change your mind? About getting married?” he asked.

“You did,” I said simply. “I always loved you. Always. But I’d thought I’d been in love before. Too many times. Last night I knew this was different. We were different. I knew what we had was good and lasting. And then today, watching Weezie and Daniel, and my grandparents, even Joe and Marian Foley, it struck me—we have what they have. And they made it work. They made it last. Their marriages aren’t perfect. Ours won’t be either. But no matter what happens, I could never walk away from you. No matter what. You can be a fisherman or a farmer, or a, I don’t know, a forest ranger. You’re stuck with me, Harry Sorrentino. Forever.”

“Okay.” He offered me his hand. I hooked my little finger around his. “Forever. Pinkie swear.”

ALSO BY MARY KAY ANDREWS

Ladies’ Night

Spring Fever

Summer Rental

The Fixer Upper

Deep Dish

Savannah Breeze

Blue Christmas

Hissy Fit

Little Bitty Lies

Savannah Blues

About the Author

MARY KAY ANDREWS is the
New York Times
bestselling author of
Ladies’ Night, Spring Fever, Summer Rental, The Fixer Upper, Deep Dish, Blue Christmas, Savannah Breeze, Hissy Fit, Little Bitty Lies,
and
Savannah Blues
. A former journalist for
The Atlanta Journal Constitution
, she lives in Atlanta, Georgia. Visit her at
www.marykayandrews.com
.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

CHRISTMAS BLISS.
Copyright © 2013 by Whodunnit, Inc. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

Cover design by Michael Storrings

Cover photograph by Herman Estevez

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

ISBN 978-1-250-01972-1 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-250-01973-8 (e-book)

e-ISBN 9781250019738

First Edition: October 2013