“I like the way you think.”
Dylan chuckles, his body sliding along mine, his focus on removing all the clothing I put on only an hour earlier. “I thought you might.” Grasping my fingers, he lifts my hand to his lips, but the smile never falters. “I had a feeling you were pregnant.”
“You did? I thought I kept it so well hidden.”
“I know you, Sunshine. We’re two halves of the same whole, remember?”
“I was scared that it might be too much or too soon.”
Dylan’s tongue plays along my lips, flirting and teasing. “Nothing with you will ever be too much. You don’t know how hard I prayed for this baby.”
I frame his face with my hands, tears pricking my lids. “I did, too. I guess sometimes, dreams do come true.”
“I have you, Poppy. Proof positive that dreams come true.”
A year later…
I look out the window as I prep the beans for the casserole, marveling at the beauty of the sun reflecting off the newly fallen snow. We’ve already had two feet, and it’s not even January. Montana sure loves the white stuff.
At least this year, I’m prepared.
“Mom, can I go outside and build a snow castle?”
I glance over my shoulder at Marissa, leaning against the doorjamb. “What? You don’t want to help me peel potatoes?”
Marissa giggles, shaking her head. I swear, I love that child more every day. I don’t know where I’d be without her in my life.
“Hmm, sounds like someone is smarter than me. Playing in the snow is far more fun than cooking.”
“So, I can go?” she hedges, taking a step out of the room.
I dry my hands, closing the distance between us. “We still have a little time before dinner. But, check with your father first.”
Marissa juts out her lower lip, and I gather her to me, tickling her ribs. “Stop with that silliness. You know he’ll say yes.” I smack a kiss on her cheek, watching her run off in the direction of the living area.
“Poppy, get in here,” Dylan calls out a minute later.
I stroll into the great room, offering my husband an innocent smile. “What can I do for you, Mr. West?”
“I have to decide?”
“We both know what the answer will be,” I counter, winking at them both. “Now, get outside and build a castle. Make me proud.”
Dylan shifts, careful not to wake Luke, nestled in his arms. “I just got him to sleep.”
Our little man has been fussy the last few nights and sleep is at a premium. “Luke and I will do some baby massage. Hopefully ease his tummy.” I take Luke from Dylan, laying the baby gently over my shoulder. “You two go play.”
Dylan bends over, pressing his lips to mine, his hand reaching around to cop a feel. “I’d like to play with someone else later.”
“You better quit, or you’ll wake Luke.” I grin as Dylan grabs up Marissa, and they head to the mudroom to change.
This man and his children. He was born to be a father.
And a husband. I couldn’t ask for more. The man showers me with adoration, and although I tease him, I love the constant affection.
I walk upstairs, settling next to Luke on the bed, as I massage his extremities. Even when he’s balking or crying endlessly, I’m amazed by this little life.
I still marvel at the last year. Dylan was right about his super sperm. I got pregnant right around Yule. I swear it was the night before our wedding—the universe reminding me how much Dylan and I needed one another. We were literally married for a minute, and I was knocked up.
But he was a saint during my pregnancy, doting on me and our unborn child. Even Marissa got in on the action, helping me to make a blanket for our newest addition. Her only caveat? We had to make hats for Paddington and Mr. Whiskers. The animals and I still aren’t on speaking terms, but I do have some amusing photos of the cat and dog modeling their berets.
Marissa’s exact words when we told her about our impending arrival was that every child needs a servant. Like I said, she’s forging an empire.
Marissa started calling me Mom almost immediately, but I strove to ensure that she learned everything about Merry. I want her mother’s memory as a permanent part of our family. I will always feel indebted to Merry’s spirit, although she hasn’t visited me since before Luke was born. She came to reassure me that the birth would go off without a hitch and we would both be fine.
Thank the gods, she was right. Our little man arrived right on time, screaming out his arrival in September. As soon as they settled him against my breast to nurse, Dylan broke down, the sobs racking his body, and I saw him release the fear he carried that I would suffer the same fate as Merry.
But I have a few guardian angels in my corner, and they’re not going anywhere.
“That meal was stupendous, Poppy.” Estelle pats her lips with her napkin, squeezing my hand. “You are such an amazing cook.”
“Good thing, since you guys like to eat,” I joke with a smile. “Did everyone get their fill?”
Dylan looks at his daughter, tugging gently at her curls. “I think it’s time for everyone to state their Yule wish. What do you think?” His gaze swings to me, and I nod in agreement, my heart hammering in my chest.
Here goes nothing.
I take a seat next to Marissa, grasping her hands in mine. “I love you so much, Marissa.”
“As much as Luke?” It’s a common game with us. She always inquires which one I love more, and my answer is always the same.
“God, yes. You’re my first. No one can hold a candle to you in my heart. My Yule wish is that I’d like to adopt you, Marissa. Merry will always be your Mom, but I’d like to be your mother, too.”
Her big brown eyes fill with tears as she throws her arms around my neck. I discussed my plan with Dylan, and he was certain she’d agree, but until she said yes, I worried I was overstepping. Moving too fast.
It turns out that my heart knows best.
I wipe away her tears before dabbing my own. “Now, what’s your wish? Let me guess…the new gaming system?”
Marissa shakes her head, handing me a piece of paper. When I read it, there’s no stopping the tears.
My Yule wish is for Poppy to be my mom. My real mom.
Dylan kneels between us, wrapping an arm around us both. “All of you—my mother, my beautiful daughter, my gorgeous wife and my amazing son—you are my Yule wish. I’ve never known this level of happiness. Thank you.” He presses a kiss to each of our cheeks, both wet with tears.
Our seven-year-old, precocious as ever, breaks into the moment.
“Um, Dad?” Marissa inquires as Dylan stands.
“Yeah, Cupcake?”
“Does that mean I don’t get the gaming system?”
The laughter reverberates around the table and Dylan and I smile at each other, knowing the system is neatly wrapped upstairs.
“I think that’s a job for Santa,” I remind her, smiling as Luke’s cry comes over the intercom.
“Looks like someone is feeling left out,” Dylan chuckles, following me as I go fetch him from the crib. Some fathers are hands off, but that was never the case with Dylan. Maybe it’s because he raised Marissa on his own, or maybe it’s just his way, but he is there for every dirty diaper, every spit up. Every everything.