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When she opens the back door, we step out onto the patio, and she surveys the yard. It has a garden shed and a swing set, and there’s plenty of room on our half-acre lot to kick a ball or play fetch with a pet.
“You haven’t said much. Do you like it?”
The corner of her mouth curls up.
“Like it? It’s my dream home. It’s beautiful. It’s everything I ever imagined.” I watch as my girl’s head falls back and she belly laughs. She’s so beautiful, her face bathed in moonlight, that she takes my breath away.
When she finally turns to face me, I’m on bended knee.
Her hands fly up to cover her mouth.
“Every one of the past sixty-six days, eleven hours, and”—I glance at my Rolex and do a quick mental calculation—“twenty-two minutes has been excruciating not knowinghowyou were orwhereyou were. I knew I’d find you eventually, because I wasn’t about to give up until I did. But now that I have, I can finally ask you what I’ve been wanting to ask you for two months.” I pull from my pocket the ring box I’ve kept in the glove compartment of my car for weeks and flip it open. It’s not the same ring. This one is an antique. It’s the ring my grandmother wore for fifty-two years. The one she hoped to pass down to the woman I would someday wed.
“Isadora Miller, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife and grant me the privilege of loving you for the rest of our lives?”
And there, under the moonlight, in our new backyard, Izzy makes me the happiest man in the world when she agrees to marry me.
Epilogue: Izzy
Five Years Later
“Mama, are we going to see Gweat-Gwampa and Santa now?”
“Yes, little bug, we are.” It’s Christmas Eve, the first day of the annual festivities, and my four-year-old daughter, Claire, and I are riding the elevator down from our rooms on the second floor. I need to speak to the party planners and staff.
This year, Aldous Steele celebrates his ninetieth birthday. He’s still spry as ever, and I have something spectacular planned.
I’ve taken over organizing and coordinating Christmas week and I’ve promised Aldous to continue the tradition once he’s gone—in his and his wife’s honor.
“Auntie Gina!” My daughter shouts, waving her hand frantically.
Gina runs over, scoops my daughter into a hug, and plants Claire on her hip before leaning into me.
“Girl, I’m not sure, but I think I may have just seen Beyonce in the ladies’ room!”
I laugh. “I wouldn’t be surprised. She was invited.”
“I’m dead. Dead,” Gina says dramatically.
“I think she went that way. Mind if I take this little bug to see the tree?” Gina winks.
“Go ahead, I’m going to see if my guys are headed back from the slopes yet.”
Making my way through the lobby, I squint through the picture window at the falling snow.
The moment I see him, a jolt of electricity zaps through me.Even half frozen, Cam is hot as Hades. His hair is tousled, sprinkled with snow, and peppered with flecks of ice crystals. With his red scarf, he looks like a sexy mountain man lumberjack. He’s got our four-year-old son, Preston—Claire’s twin—riding on his shoulders.
“How did the first attempt at skiing go?” I cross the lobby to them as Cam puts Preston down and stamps the snow off his boots.
Preston takes after his father. He loves physical activity and has trouble sitting still, whereas Claire is more of a homebody like me. I’m slowly teaching her to help me cook a few simple dishes and she loves to do crafts.
“It was fun, Mommy.” Preston hugs my leg and I rub his cold little nose.
Cam laughs. “Kid’s a natural. Didn’t want to come in. I had to bribe him with Santa. He thinks he's ready for the black diamond.”
Just then, my sister and her husband step out of the elevator. They’ll be celebrating their two-year anniversary soon.
“How’s my favorite nephew?” Ada calls.
