“That is the best idea ever, Anna-Bug.” James wraps an arm around us both.
I sink into it, let myself feel the solid warmth of him, his hand resting on my hip, Anna beaming between us. The three of us here, at last. Not stolen moments or careful distances, but simply a lovely morning. The ordinary magic of pancakes, snow plans, and sticky little hands.
“I heard from Gary while you were showering. They can’t get in until tomorrow. He wanted to check in and make sure everything was good.”
I nod, sensing there’s more.
Quieter, more measured, he adds, “He said Ivy is arriving later today, assuming her flight isn’t canceled. She knows I’m here.”
“Mason’s supposed to fly in this afternoon too. But let’s not let them ruin this morning. Jules texted and they’re waiting until tomorrow; Tom got called into an emergency at the hospital.” I drain my coffee as their eager expressions lock on me. “I think it’s snowman time. What do you guys say?”
With Anna distracted, I tug James around the corner. Three-year-olds aren’t known for their discretion, and I don’t want to risk a moment she might repeat to the wrong person. I kiss him hard, hungry and grateful, tinged with desperation, knowing that soon this perfect bubble will pop. But I need this kiss. And I need this morning, this sliver of peace, before we face everyone else.
“Thank you,” I whisper against his lips.
“For what?” His mouth travels over my jaw, down my neck, finding a spot that snatches the air from my lungs.
“For making pancakes. For wanting to build snowmen. For being here.”
He pulls back, hands bracketing my face. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
And I believe him.
With full bellies, we pile on layers to face the frigid cold and a little girl’s dream of a snowman. The winter air nips at our cheeks as we step out onto the snow-covered world. A thick blanket of white stretches as far as the eye can see, sparkling under the bright morning sun. Anna, bundled in her puffy pink snowsuit, squeals with delight, her tiny mittens reaching for the fluffy snowflakes that continue to fall.
“Mama! Make a snowman!”
“Let’s make a whole snowman family.” James grins, quirking a brow.
“A family? Like us?” Anna asks.
The words hang in the frozen air, simple and profound all at once. My heart, like the Grinch’s, grows three times its size.
“Exactly like us,” James says, his eyes finding mine over Anna’s head.
We set to work, rolling the snow into balls of varying sizes. She darts between us, her tiny hands helping to pat the snow into shape, leaving miniature handprints everywhere. James lifts her to place the carrot nose in each snowman, showing her how to use twigs for arms and pebbles for the eyes and mouth. His patience is endless as she adjusts each twig to her satisfaction.
Anna steps back to admire our handiwork.
“Look, Mama!” she exclaims, pointing to the three snowmen standing proudly in the snow. “It’s me, and you, and Unca J!”
The casual statement, something Anna cheerfully shares without understanding its weight, takes my breath away. She sees it so clearly—what we are, what we’ve always been under all the pretense and waiting. Whatever happens next, whatever complications walk through that cabin door, I know this is us. Forever.
With Anna in my arms, James envelops us, blocking the bitter wind and warming us in his embrace. His lips brush against my hair, whispering, “This feels like home.”
“Because it is,” I say.
After hours of play, we make our way inside for a quick lunch before tucking Anna in for her nap. She falls asleep, clutching her ladybug, her little face peaceful and rosy from the cold.
The soft strains of Tinashe draw me down the hall, the familiar melody calling me toward the sunroom. It’s where laughter and secrets curled into the corners, forbidden but undeniable. Where we found love in small, fleeting moments.
He stands at the windows, his silhouette a dark outline against the snow-covered landscape. He’s changed into a soft gray t-shirt and faded jeans, hair tousled. I wrap my arms around his waist and press my nose into the fabric.He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. His hand comes up to cover mine against his stomach. I close my eyes and let myself enjoy this simple comfort.
“Dance with me?” Still holding my hand, he spins around and guides me into a slow, intimate sway. The music surrounds us, its rhythm a heartbeat in the quiet house.
We stay tangled in the moment, kissing and whispering sweet nothings, getting lost in the freedom of being able to touch without the risk of someone coming in. There were so many broken moments, interruptions pulling us back. But now, in this sacred space, we can just be.
But I can’t shake the knot in my stomach, the certainty that the outside world is going to invade soon. Neither of us has heard from Ivy or Mason. Their flights should have landed by now.
