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I clench my fist until I feel her bones scrap together.
“And polite.”
I politely bite her cheek, nibbling at her sweet little dimple.
“I’m so happy, Wynn-Wynn,” she exhales a laugh, and a tear falls.
I catch it on my tongue, kiss the corner of her eye.
Her deep breath brings more tears for me to taste, so I do, indulging myself as I kiss trails up her cheeks.
“My mother’s going to be at my wedding.” She sniffles. “Our wedding. I’m so happy.”
Her joy settles into me, and I can hardly handle the way it bursts in my heart. “Our wedding,” I echo, the words soft, reverent, blissful. “Just a few more weeks.”
“Yeah,” she whispers, warming me through. “Just a few more weeks until Christmas.”
Chapter 20
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It’s beginning to look a lot like communication.
December
“And what do you plan to do when you get older?” my father insists, ignoring the lights hanging from the trees in the neighborhood we’re supposed to be enjoying.
Everything gleams, casting the world in magical colors while Christmas music rises and falls on the breeze. Beside us, in the street, vehicles crawl by, children hanging out car windows to flood the night air with their laughter.
None of it sways my father. “Does your fiancé have plans for retirement set up?”
“Yes, he does,” I answer, mimicking the wobble on a blown-up snowman.
My father’s face hardens. “What if retirement comes unexpectedly? His is a dangerous job. What are you going to do if you wind up widowed with a small child?”
I guess he’s still convinced I’m pregnant.
Shoulders sagging, I look toward my mother, who also managed to break away from work and join us to see Christmas lights this evening.
Dragging her gaze off the sparkling home before us, she answers my plea for help by deflating and being completely useless. “He has a point, Devina. From what I understand, Wynnter does a significant amount of physical labor that includes being on roofs or under houses. He’s also regularly using power tools. Anything could happen. These are good questions to consider.”
So now probably isn’t the best time to tell them that I was on a roof yesterday, helping Wynnter shingle a shed. Got it. “Wynn’s careful,” I say.
My mother lowers her attention. “Human error can still ruin the lives of the careful.”
Clearly having heard enough of this, Wynnter grumbles, “Everything’s dangerous. You could get in a wreck on the parkway and tumble off a cliff. A plane could malfunction above our heads and crush us. A fire could start in the dead of night and engulf your entire house before you ever wake up. Lightning could strike. A bear could be wandering downtown with her cubs when you exit a boutique. Life’s dangerous. Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna live it.”
“There are safer occupations.” My father glares at him. “Especially for someone starting a family.”
Sparks fly in the space between my father and my Wynn, so I sink deep into my coat, hoping that it might protect me from them.
Wynnter growls, “December isn’t pregnant.”
My father—far less effectively—growls back, “Her name isn’t December.”
“Wow,” August declares, grabbing me by the hand to save me from being in the center of this brewing argument. She points elsewhere and drags me along. “Are those free candy canes?”
Rescued, I trip after my bestie until I’m staring at a bowl of mini candy canes set out in a twinkling birdbath. “Thank you,” I whisper.
