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I reached for his hand. “What about Christmas?”
He smiled. “What about it?”
“I want a real Christmas this year.”
“Define real.”
“Lights. Tree. Too much food. Ugly sweaters.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Matching pajamas.”
“Definitely not.”
“A family dinner.”
“Fine.”
“Cookies.”
“Fine.”
“Your family.”
He sighed.
“Unfortunately.”
I laughed.
He squeezed my hand.
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“What do you want?”
I thought about it.
The answer should have been complicated.
It wasn’t.
“You.”
His expression softened. “Already got me.”
“I know.”
“And the baby.”
I rested my hand over my stomach. “And the baby.”
“And your master’s.”
“And my master’s.”
