Page 69 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas

I grimace. Compared to his exquisitely unexpected present, my gift for him is ridiculous.

Jake looks at me sideways. “Are you OK?”

With my thumbnail between my teeth, I get up from the bed to get his present from my bag. His eyes light up as I hand it down to him. A blush floods my cheeks as I settle back into the quilts. He opens the small box and takes out the mug inside, holding it up to the light like it’s the Holy Grail. Painted on the side is a cartoon alligator wearing an elaborate white barrister’s wig, and the words “SEE YOU LATER, LITIGATOR.”

Jake’s laugh is loud and delighted. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.

I cover my face. “You’re not a barrister. You don’t even drink coffee at home—”

Jake sets the mug aside so he can lift my hands away. He nudges my chin up to look me in the eyes, and says, “I love it, Evie. Truly.”

* * *

When we arrive at the house, classic Christmas carols stream from the vintage record player in the hall. The air is toasty, a tapestry of rich roasting foods, fresh coffee, and mingled traces of perfume. Everyone greets us at the door, something bubbly in pretty antique flutes in hand. They look like mimosas to me, but I get a very quick education—here, they call them Buck’s fizz. And they’re way generous on the champagne.

“Happy Christmas!” Indi says.

“Nice of you to join us,” says Genny, while Ewan gives us a warm smile.

“We shoveled the path hours ago,” Miles says. “We were starting to think you’d driven off in the night.”

We’ve just entered the kitchen on the way to the living room when there’s another commotion at the front door. We all flow back into the front hall like a merry swarm of bees to greet the newcomers.

“We’re here!” A woman with pink cheeks and a chic shag of thick ginger hair stomps snow from her boots. “But only just.” She’s breathless, somehow managing to carry a bundle of presents, a rolling luggage and a red-cheeked, annoyed-looking baby.

Behind her, another woman says, “If it ever snows like this again at Christmas, we’re staying in London. Sorry, darlings.” She’s nearly as tall as Jake, with the same dark hair and fair complexion as Miles. She must be Cait, and the other woman must be Maeve. She’s similarly loaded down, also carrying a baby, a bulging diaper bag and another bundle of presents.

“You act like we just endured an Antarctic expedition,” scoffs a third woman. She’s also tall, and her eyes sparkle with mischief. “I’ve had mammograms more stressful than that drive.” This must be Gladys.

The moment after Cait and Maeve drop their bags and pass presents to Helena, they hand the babies to Jake, one by one, muttering, “Happy Christmas, love,” barely glancing at him.

Jake follows. “Which is which?”

Genny gasps. Indi tosses a walnut at his back. And Helena says, “Honestly, Jake.”

“What? The last time I saw them, they were all pink and wrinkly. Now they’re all pink and … less wrinkly.”

“Hazel is the wee one. She’s three months. Watch your hair. She’ll yank your eyebrows straight through your skull.”

“Terra is the one who looks like she’d like to headbutt you in the nose,” Maeve says.

The bigger baby looks at Jake with an indignant scowl, staring him down with the most impressive poker face I’ve ever seen. “Why are your children so angry, Cait?” Indi says.

Cait chuckles. “She’s a very tough customer, Jake—”

Jake makes a silly face, and little Terra’s face lights up. She coos at him like a little bird.

“Well, then. I stand corrected.”

Over his shoulder, Jake flashes me a diamond smile, and I save a snapshot of the moment in my memory.

* * *

Wine has been poured, side dishes are bubbly from the oven, and a turkey with crackling golden skin sits at the center of the dining-room table. Helena stands with hands clasped to her chest. “What a perfect, perfect day. Welcome home, my loves.” She turns to me. “And a very special welcome to you, Evie. We are so very happy you’re here.” She raises her brows and tips her head down. “A little bird told me that today is not just Christmas.”

Under the table, Jake lays a warm hand on my thigh. Everyone around the table smiles, warmly murmuring “Happy birthday.” Despite wanting to crawl under the tablecloth, I meet their smiles with one of my own. I look to Jake last, pressing my lips between my teeth to keep from coming entirely unglued. “Thank you,” I mouth to him. Louder, I repeat it for everyone else. “Thank you so much.”

“Shall we toast?” Helena lifts her wine and holds her head high. “To properly celebrated birthdays. To Christmas. To family.” Glasses joyfully clink as everyone echoes, “To family.”