Page 102 of More Than My Hometown

EPILOGUE

MAISEY

Christmas Eve

“So we have to be where? And when?”

The tired in Ewan’s voice is so deep that a part of me thinks it might never leave, despite the fact that he hasn’t moved from that couch since he flopped down on it immediately after emerging from the bedroom this morning. His plan to spend the day “couch rotting”—as he put it—isn’t a bad one. Necessary even. The hours he’s been putting in these last few months have been crazy.

But this last week before Christmas? Forget crazy. It’s been unreal. At one point this week, I actually thought he might just use the camping display and spend the night. Retail during the holiday season is no joke—especially when your own family’s rifle division comes out with a new product right in time for the gift-giving season.

He peers over the back of the couch at me like I’m a walking, talking calendar, ready to spout off the answer. Which, of course, I am.

“We have to be over at my parents’ house at six for dinner and gifts with them and Grandma tonight. But then tomorrow we don’t have to be over at Magnolia Manor until noon.”

“So we have the morning to celebrate, just us?”

I round the couch and park myself next to him, lifting his legs and slipping under them so I can scoot in closer. He’s not the only one who has been working long hours, making our downtime limited. Although as much as I want to couch rot with him, these gifts aren’t going to finish wrapping themselves.

“We do. Although my shift starts at four tomorrow, so I do have to duck out of the Hayes family celebration early.”

Ewan shifts, pushing himself up. His muscles flex under his old T-shirt, stealing my attention as he moves, pushing the priority of wrapping those presents even further down the list. That’s what gift bags are for, after all, right?

Cupping my face, he runs a thumb over my cheek, the callous on the side of his knuckle rough against my skin, sending a shiver through me. One that is dirty, delicious, and comforting all at the same time. Because in the hands of this man, I know I am loved and safe.

“Then maybe we need to start our celebration now.”

A shiver zings down my spine, anticipation starting to fill my veins. Yeah, gift bags it is.

“Just what did you have in mind?” I say, running my hand up and down his thigh.

Ewan’s eyes light up like the tree in the town square, his smile following just as quickly. Which means he’s got a plan.

Swinging his legs off the couch, Ewan pushes up and walks over to the fireplace, grabbing my stocking and slipping it off the hook. Silently, he walks back to the couch, just the one stocking in hand, still beaming like he sunk the winning putt at the Masters.

“Here.”

He holds out the cross-stitched Christmas decoration with my name proudly displayed over a teddy bear wearing a Santa hat. I take it from him, confusion taking over. What is he doing?

“Santa isn’t filling these until tonight,” I say, trying to keep my voice playful.

Peering around him, I look at his stocking, a semi-matching design, his with a snowman complete with corncob pipe and top hat, still limply hanging from the mantel. I have a bunch of goodies to secretly slip in there later tonight—or first thing in the morning—when he’s not looking. Including the chocolate orange I know he’s looking forward to.

“He dropped something off early.”

He remains standing in front of me, watching me intently. My pulse kicks up a notch, the anticipation from earlier morphing into a weird set of nerves to match my confusion.

“This isn’t a trick, Maisey. Promise.” Ewan laughs, kneeling down. Placing a hand on either side of me, he looks me squarely in the eye, leveling me with that Hayes smirk. “Open your stocking, baby.”

I slip my hand inside and pull out an envelope. An envelope? Really?

Then it hits me.

Ewan is kneeling in front of me. It’s Christmas.

OMFG…

Internally I squeal, trying to keep as much outward composure as I can. I don’t want to give away that I’ve figured this out. That inside this envelope is the biggest question I’ve ever been asked. The one I’ve been waiting for. Whose answer is already on the tip of my tongue.