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“Really?” she asked, searching his face for any sign that he was just saying what he thought she wanted to hear. “You’ve been nervous too?”
He nodded, his thumb tracing back and forth across her knuckles as he spoke. “Absolutely. I mean, we’re about to become responsible for this tiny human being who’s going to depend on us for everything. That’s huge. It would be weird if we weren’t a little scared, don’t you think? And of course I’ll miss it just being the two of us. But it’ll be the three of us, and that’s wonderful too. I keep reminding myself of that. And that, eventually, our little one will be big enough that we’ll have time to ourselves again. We won’t always be in the trenches, and no phase lasts forever. Not this one, not having an infant, and not any of the others that come after.”
She let out a laugh that was half sob, half relief, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. “I’ve been so worried that something was wrong with me for feeling anxious about it. Everyone talks about how magical and wonderful pregnancy and new parenthood is, but nobody really talks about how scary it can be too.”
“Well, I think it’s both,” Jackson said, settling back against the couch cushions and pulling her with him so she was curled against his side. “Magical and wonderful and absolutely terrifying all at the same time. But you know what? We’re going to figure it out together. We’ll make mistakes, probably lots of them, but we’ll learn as we go. And yeah, our quiet evenings like this will be different, but they’ll be different in good ways too. Instead of just the two of us, we’ll have our little family.”
Vanessa felt the last of the tension leave her body as she settled more comfortably against him, her hand resting on her belly where their baby was currently doing what felt like somersaults. “I keep thinking about how we won’t be able to be spontaneous anymore,” she admitted. “Like, if we want to go out to dinner, we’ll have to find a babysitter and plan ahead and make sure we have everything the baby needs. We can’t just decide to stay up late watching movies or sleep in on Sunday mornings.”
“That’s true,” Jackson agreed, his hand covering hers on her belly. “But think about all the things we’ll get to do that we can’t do now. We’ll get to watch our baby discover the world for the first time. We’ll get to see their first smile, hear their first laugh, watch them take their first steps. We’ll get to read bedtime stories and sing lullabies and create all these new traditions as a family. And eventually the baby will be a kid, and then a teenager, and we’ll get some of our time back. Then we’ll probably miss all the baby and toddler things, just like we think we’re going to miss our couple time now.”
The baby chose that moment to deliver a particularly strong kick, as if agreeing with their father’s assessment of the situation. Vanessa laughed, the sound full of joy for the first time in weeks. “I think someone’s excited about all those things too.”
“See? The baby’s on my side,” Jackson said with a grin, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. “But seriously, Vanessa, it’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to mourn the end of this phase of our lives even while we’re excited about the next one. Change is hard, even when it’s good change.”
She tilted her head back to look at him, marveling at how much better she felt now that they’d talked about it. The anxiety was still there, but it felt manageable now, like something they could face together rather than something she had to carry alone. “Thank you,” she said softly. “That helps so much. I should have talked to you about it sooner.”
“Well, we’re talking about it now,” Jackson said firmly. “And the cider is getting cold. What if we talk and eat?”
“You know what?” she said finally, reaching for one of the mugs of spiced apple cider. “I think I’m ready to enjoy this beautiful evening you put together for us. And maybe we should make an effort to have more evenings like this after the baby comes, even if they look a little different.”
“Deal,” Jackson said, clinking his mug against hers. “Although I have a feeling our version of romantic dinners might involve a lot more takeout containers and a lot less candlelight for a while.”
“That’s okay,” Vanessa said, settling back against his side as she sipped the perfectly spiced cider. “As long as we’re together, I think we can handle whatever comes next.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mabel Stewart stood in front of her bedroom mirror, smoothing down the front of her new sparkly red Christmas sweater for what had to be the third time in as many minutes. She’d found it at the boutique in town just yesterday, and she thought it was the perfect festive option to wear for the outing she had planned today.
She was determined to make up for her jealous anxiety over Eda. And she wanted to look nice for George when she delivered the homemade Christmas cookies that she’d made specially for him. She was done, she told herself, letting herself get jealous over something that had been a complete overreaction on her part.
Turning this way and that, she checked her reflection. She’d taken extra time with her hair this morning, curling it just so and pinning back one side with a silver snowflake clip that she’d purchased at the Christmas market last year. She smiled, pleased with the effect, and headed downstairs to fetch the Christmas cookies.
They were already sitting on the kitchen counter wrapped in cellophane and tied with a cheerful red and green ribbon. She’d made a variety of George’s favorites: gingerbread men with icing details, snickerdoodles dusted with cinnamon sugar, and those chocolate crinkle cookies that George loved so much he’d been known to eat half a dozen in one sitting. She’d spent most of yesterday evening baking them, measuring and mixing and rolling out dough while her conscience had nagged at her with every turn of the wooden spoon. She felt terrible for thinking the worst of George in regard to Eda Leopold.
The wealthy widow had managed to occupy far too much space in Mabel’s thoughts, as far as she was concerned. She’d spent too much time replaying the way the widow had demanded an introduction, the way she’d looked at George, and with every loop, the memory got worse and took on new details that Mabel was pretty sure were a figment of her own jealousy. But it had been hard not to feel inadequate. The woman had an aristocratic air about her that made Mabel feel suddenly aware of every wrinkle around her own eyes, every gray hair she hadn’t bothered to color. She’d felt simple and unimpressive next to the rich, cultured other woman.
But that wasn’t George’s fault, and Mabel knew that. He’d been nothing but polite to the woman, which was exactly what Mabel should have expected from him. George Lowery was a good man, and she’d been short with him because of her own insecurities. That wasn’t fair to him.
She was going to make it right, and put all of this to bed.
She picked up the stacks of cookies, cradling them in the crook of one arm as she grabbed her purse and headed for the door. The cold December air hit her face the moment she stepped outside, crisp and clean with a bite, and she had a feeling they would have more snow before the weekend was over.
The sky was cloudy, and every house on her street was alive with Christmas lights and decorations. She could see wreaths hanging from nearby doors, inflatable snowmen waving from other front yards, and somewhere down the block, she could hear the faint strains of Christmas music drifting from an open window.
Mabel took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, letting the familiarity of her favorite time of year ground her. She loved Fir Tree Grove. She loved her life. She loved George, and she wasn’t going to let something so foolish get in the way of what they had together. She was going to apologize for being short with him the last time they’d seen each other, and reinforce that she trusted him, how grateful she was for him, and put all this behind them.
By the time she reached the B&B, she felt confident in her plan. The building looked particularly charming this morning, Mabel thought, with a fresh dusting of snow on the roof and the evergreen garland wrapped around the porch railings.
Tiny white lights twinkled in the windows, and a beautiful wreath made of pine cones and red berries hung on the front door. It was really the perfect place for anyone who was visiting Fir Tree Grove to stay, and Mabel felt a slight flash of irritation at Eda Leopold all over again for having any complaints about it—especially about the scent of woodsmoke from the fire, which was, in Mabel’s opinion, one of the best smells in the world.
Mabel pushed open the door and stepped into the warm, welcoming interior. The scent of cinnamon and apple cider filled the space, mingling with the woodsy smell of the fire crackling in the stone fireplace from the living room. Christopher was behind the front desk sorting through some papers.
He looked up with a smile when he saw her. “Good morning, Mabel,” he said warmly. “What brings you by on this beautiful Saturday?”
“I’m looking for George,” Mabel said, holding up the cookies. “I brought him a little something while he’s working. Is he still here?” She handed over one of the cellophane-wrapped stacks. “Of course, I brought you some too.”
“He’s upstairs,” Christopher said. “But it’s been a bit, so I imagine he’ll be down soon to check in. He’s been such a huge help, since Henry has been so busy this year. The electrical issues are almost completely fixed. The wiring in these old houses can be tricky, but George seems to know exactly what he’s doing.”
