Page 33 of Smoked

He glances over his shoulder. There’s flour in his beard, and that crooked, self-conscious grin that used to come with a deflection attached.

I cross the kitchen and slide my arms around him from behind, pressing my cheek to his back, my hands on the warm curve of his stomach. He covers them with his and I feel him exhale.

The front door bangs open and Riley blows in on a gust of cold air, stomping snow off her boots, a grocery bag in each arm.

"The eggnog was sold out everywhere so I got the fancy oat milk kind and if anyone complains I'll fight them." She drops the bags on the counter and pulls her ponytail tighter. "Uncle Ike and Sloane are coming. Sloane's carrying a pie and Uncle Ike's trying to parallel park in the snow and it's hilarious."

On cue, the door opens again. Sloane comes in holding a lattice-topped pie, cheeks pink, snow in her hair. Ike follows a minute later, stamping his boots and grumbling about the curb.

"Merry Christmas Eve," Sloane says, setting the pie down and pulling me into a hug. She smells like cinnamon and cold air, and she holds on an extra second. "The pie's cherry. Don't let Wade near it until tomorrow."

"So rude," Wade calls.

Ike claps Wade on the shoulder and they give each other one of those half-hugs big men give each other that say everything without requiring a conversation about feelings. They stand there a beat too long, and I catch Sloane watching them with the same expression I probably have.

They don't stay long. Ike has to be at the station early for the holiday shift and Sloane has a morning run planned that makes Riley and me exchange a look of shared horror. We walk them to the door and watch their taillights disappear into the snow, and the house settles.

Riley flops on the couch and starts texting with both thumbs. I'm drying a mixing bowl when she appears in the kitchen doorway.

"Ms. Fields."

I set the bowl down. She only calls me Ms. Fields now when she's about to say something serious she's been thinking about.

She comes over and leans against the kitchen island, dark ponytail over one shoulder. She has an expression I recognize from her father—the one he gets when he's decided something and is trying to figure out how to say it.

"I just want you to know," she says, "that I'm really happy you're here. In a this-is-the-best-thing-that's-happened-to-this-house way." She chews the inside of her lip. "Dad is…he's happier than I’ve ever seen him."

My throat tightens. "I'm happy I'm here, too."

"Good." She straightens up. "So…has he talked to you about when he's going to propose? Because I want to help him with the ring since he’s horrid with jewelry."

I laugh and it comes out a little watery. "I don’t know anything about that. It’s entirely up to him."

"But he’s so sloooow. I love him, but my god. I'm going to have to manage this." She says it with total confidence, then grins and disappears back to the couch.

I stand in the kitchen with a dish towel in my hand, smiling so hard my face aches.

Wade comes downstairs after changing. He's in a worn T-shirt, gray sweatpants, and slippers. It’s my favorite look of his…besides his smoker competition stuff. He catches me looking and rubs the back of his neck.

"What?"

"Nothing. Come sit with me."

We're on the couch, his arm around me, my feet tucked under his thigh, the tree lights making everything gold and green, when my phone rings.

I don't recognize the number.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Fields? This is Margaret York from Reaching Families. I apologize for calling on Christmas Eve, but I have some news I didn't want to wait on."

I sit up straight. Wade's arm tightens around me.

"Your dossier has been formally accepted by our partner organization in Phnom Penh. You and Mr. Dawson are officially in the program—we'll begin the referral process after the new year. I'll have a full timeline and next steps in your inbox by Monday, but I wanted you to hear it from me tonight."

My hand is shaking. Wade is watching my face and I can see the moment he understands, because his eyes go wide.

"Thank you, this is wonderful news," I say. My voice cracks. "Thank you so much for calling."