Chapter 1
Present Day
His dark gray socks stuck out from beneath the tree, toes wriggling to stretch at random. The black sheen of his shoes, cast aside next to a crumpled suit jacket, glowed brilliant from the twinkling lights. I bit the inside of my cheek to fight off a giggle. My husband, the restaurant tycoon, the former executive chef—ever a child at Christmas—was sprawled out on the floor, staring up at me through the branches.
“Marc, honey. What are you doing? I thought you were working late.”
“I finished up.” He stuck one arm out and waved me over. “Come here.”
I shot a glance down the hall. I’d just put the kids to bed and didn’t want to wake them. Thankfully, their doors remained closed. I followed the circular staircase down, the large tree nestled in the curve, shooting straight up to the second story.
Kicking off my shoes beside his, I wriggled beneath the tree.
He looked over at me with a grin. “Hi.”
I couldn’t help but smile back, the light dancing amber in the brown of his eyes. “Hi.”
One look and he could always make me forget. That he’d missed out, that we’d missed out, on our time together. Again.
He turned his attention to the tree and let out a happy sigh. I joined him.
He was here now, wasn’t he? And I knew he’d make the most of it. Like always.
The ornaments shimmered above us, reminding me of happy moments, so many memories. We used to do this all the time, back when it was just the two of us, in our one-bedroom apartment. Even if we couldn’t afford presents, we’d always managed a tree.
“Remember the year I worked all Christmas Eve for the Joneses? Just so they’d give us that tree?”
My hand found his, lacing our fingers. “That was the best tree.”
“This one’s pretty good.”
I wrinkled my nose. “It’s fake.”
“No needles.”
“No smell.”
“True.” He squeezed my hand. We’d had the same debate for nearly a decade. We used to get both as a compromise. But not anymore. When had we stopped?
“Oh!” He took out his phone, and I waited for the inevitable work call to disrupt our moment. It would be over soon.
Instead, the sound of music filled the air, the classics tinkling from the tiny speaker. My breath released as the notes settled over me.
Marc was home. Marc was home and he was here.
The tree lights completed a round of their slow fade in rhythm to the music. An old trick from my mother. Wrap the trunk with fading lights, the rest with standard. The tree will glow. And it did. It always did.
“So.” He kissed the top of my hand. “What’s the plan for tonight?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I was planning on a bath and being Mrs. Claus without you.”
His brow furrowed. “You didn’t think I’d be back in time?”
I rolled my head, along with my eyes, deliberately in his direction.
“Right.” He tipped his chin in defeat. “Why would you.”
I snuggled into him, resting my cheek against his chest. “I’m glad you’re here though.”
“Me too.” His arms circled my waist. “You smell like the kids’ bubble bath.”
“You smell like the airport.”
“Okay.” He laughed and shimmied out from the tree, pulling me along by the ankles. “I see how it is.”
I giggled and gave him a little kick.
Unfazed, he popped me upright and kissed my nose. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” I frowned as he hurried me toward our room. It was cold out. “The kids are asleep.”
“Call your mom. See if she can come over.”
“It’s Christmas Eve.”
He threw the rest of his suit on the closet floor and started rifling through his jeans. “She can watch It’s a Wonderful Life just as easily here. She won’t mind. She’s always offering.”
“I guess,” I muttered, already dialing.
She picked up on the first ring. “Jillie? Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.”
“Oh, good. Marc’s home then?”
“He is. Um, we were wondering if you could come by for a little bit?” I winced at the high-pitched work voice coming out of my mouth. Cleared my throat. “There’s a few last-minute things we need to do. If not, it’s okay. I’d hate to inconvenience you.”
“I’m already on my way.” And with that she hung up.
I stared at my phone for a second, then back at him. “You texted her earlier, didn’t you?”
His favorite green fleece hung around his neck and he shoved his arms into the sleeves with a big smile.
I shook my head. “You could’ve just told me.”
“It’s more fun to watch you go all Miss Manners on your mom.”
I tried to ignore his comment and quickly undressed, forcing myself to also ignore the heap of clothes now piled on the floor. My mother lived less than ten minutes away. And it was early yet. Why had I been so formal? Was it really such a habit now?
“Earth to Jill.” Marc tugged a red fleece over my head, snapping me back to attention. “There. Now we’ll even look like Christmas.” As an added touch, he plopped a Santa hat on my head, already donning his own, and pulled me back out of the bedroom just as my mother’s key turned in the door.
“Right on time, Mom.” Marc gave her a big hug. “Thanks again.”
“Any time.” She kissed his cheek, then aimed for mine. “Have fun, baby girl.”
We backed down the long driveway, the house looming before us like a temple of lights. I still couldn’t believe we lived in it. We’d bought it on a wing and a prayer, an investment, knowing the area was about to boom. And we’d been right. It had. But then Sasha was born, and big sister Alex and little Finn had begged to stay. They didn’t want to move. Again. And honestly, neither did we. Plus Marc had landed the promotion . . .
His car jolted over the stones of a back road.
“Um, Marcus, can I ask where you’re taking me?”
“You can ask.” His eyes glinted in mischief.
I laughed as we hit a giant dip in the road. The suspension of his precious Jag was getting thoroughly tested. “Missing the Jeep?”
He grinned at the memory of his former ride. “You know it.”
Tiny whispers of snow started to fall as our destination came into view, peeking through the overgrown tree branches. Our old ice skating spot. The white lights strung above, just as they’d been back in high school. All the nights we’d spent, spinning in pond-sized circles, electric thrills pulsing through our mitten-joined hands, came rushing back.
In a flash he was out of the car, had opened my door, and was easing my feet into skates, tightening the laces as he went.
My voice shook with each tug. “You paid him to stay open.”
“Old Man Jones didn’t mind.”
He wouldn’t admit it, but I knew he’d been generous.
Old Man Jones, that was. He was always generous.
We waved at him through the window, remembering the days when his wife used to stand by his side waving too. Marc made quick work of his skates, and we headed straight for the ice, leaving our blade covers near the entrance.