He contemplated for a moment before offering french toast and eggs.
“Perfect. Do you want me to move out of the way?”
Beckett’s green eyes flashed in warning. “Don’t you dare.”
The thought of hopping down just to see if he’d chase me was intriguing.
But he’d already started to pull ingredients from the fridge and cookware from cabinets. I’d have to find out if he’d chase and catch me another time. Maybe later tonight.
For now, I enjoyed my coffee and the view of him bare-chested and in flannel pants as he moved around the kitchen.
“What time are we supposed to be at mom and dad’s today?”
I had started calling Nora and Thomas by ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ a couple of months ago. At first it had been an accident. A slipped “Thanks, mom,” when she dropped off some cookies at the boutique store one afternoon.
We’d both froze on the spot, then her face had broken out into a knowing smile, hugged me and whispered, “You’re welcome. I’m proud to call you my daughter.”
I’d spent a solid five minutes crying in my office before I was able to compose myself.
Then later that week, Beckett’s father had come by the cabin one evening to watch a football game with his sons – they rotated who hosted each week. I had no doubt the man orchestrated a moment alone with me in the kitchen when hequietly asked if I would consider calling him, ‘dad.’ I hugged him as hard as I could.
“Ma said we could show up any time after eleven.” Beckett’s voice brought me back to the moment.
I glanced at the clock. “Do you have anything that needs to be wrapped?” I’d finished wrapping everything two nights ago but wasn’t sure if Beckett had even started.
“Nope. Ready to go. I even put everything in that big storage bin that’s in the second bedroom.”
It didn’t take long for Beckett to finish cooking. “Do you want to eat there or at the table,” he asked as he passed me a plate laden with food.
I hopped down and accepted the plate, “Table.” I’d probably make a mess otherwise.
After breakfast was done, I only half-heartedly protested when Beckett wouldn’t let me clean up. I left him to it and went to get ready for an Ashland family holiday gathering.
I’d bought a knee-length dress just for today, the deep green matching well with my favorite brown ankle boots.
I was putting my earrings on when Beckett came into the bedroom.
“You look beautiful,” he kissed my cheek before he went to get ready.
I pulled out the small-ish box from where I’d hidden it under the bed and settled into the oversized chair in the corner. There was a separate gift for him to open in front of the family, a set of framed photos of us at each stage in our lives.
It had been so difficult to choose from the plethora of photos, but I’d managed with help from his mother. We’d decided on one of us at the playground when we were about seven, one of us making silly faces at each other when we were teenagers, one of us riding side by side on a trail in our early twenties, and then one of our engagement photos.
But I’d also wanted to get him something more intimate, just between us. My nerves were starting to eat at me when he finally stepped into the bedroom, dressed in his nice jeans and the flannel shirt I loved so much.
“Before we go, I have something for you.” Beckett said as he held up the gift and sat on the comically large footrest that matched the chair. Wrapped in dark green paper, the giftbox was long and thin, a gold ribbon folded across and from end to end with a gold bow where the ribbons met.
“It looks almost too pretty to unwrap,” I teased as I held it. I couldn’t imagine what he’d come up with but opened it at his urging.
The silver chain and locket nestled on the cushion in the box was delicate and lovely. But it was the engraving of a wren on the front of the oval that brought tears to my eyes.
“Oh, Beckett,” I whispered. I hardly knew what to say. “It’s beautiful. Where did you find it?”
“I had it made for you. The jeweler said we can add something to the inside, if you’d like. I thought maybe ‘my little wren,’ or our initials, or even our wedding date, but couldn’t decide.” He tried to hide a sheepish grin, but I pulled him in for a kiss.
“I love it. Thank you.”
“Anything for you, Clara.” Beckett helped clasp the chain around my neck, and the smoothness of it settled against my skin.
