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“Yeah. I wanted to keep your legs warm and you don’t have any tall socks.”
My heart fluttered. “Thanks, babe. Sorry to be such a complainer.”
He rose to his feet, his joints cracking. “You’ve earned the right. I’d bitch too if I was carrying around a bowling ball in my belly.”
“With legs that kick,” I reminded him as he brought my fur-lined, rubber-soled winter boots over and stuck them on my feet. “And a head that’s wedged against my bladder.”
“That does not sound pleasant.” He reached for both my hands. “Ready?”
“Don’t forget the heartburn and the nausea and the backaches and the sweating,” I said, placing my palms in his. “Ready.”
“Okay, here we go.” He pulled and I pushed, and it took some grunting on my part, but I managed to stand. “Good job.”
“Thanks.” Placing my hands on my lower back, I tried for a deep breath, but expanding my lungs was tough. My abdomen tightened and I winced.
“What’s wrong?” Noah asked, his brow furrowing with concern.
“Nothing. Just more Braxton Hicks.”
“Do you want to call the doctor?”
“No! It’s Christmas, and I’ve already embarrassed myself twice by going to the ER with these fake labor pains.” I waddled toward the door. “I’ll get my coat.”
“I’ve got it.” Noah rushed ahead of me to the closet—would I ever move that quickly again?—and took out the wool maternity coat my mom had given me this fall. I slipped my arms in the sleeves, and he buttoned it up for me, then reached around me for the ribbon belt and tied a bow on top of the giant mound of my belly. “There. Just like a gift.”
“The only Christmas gift I want is tohavethis baby.” I looked out the window at the sky. “Are you listening, Santa?”
Noah leaned in and kissed my forehead. “Hang in there, Sawyer.” He wrapped his arms around me and I snuggled into his burly embrace as well as I could, hugging his waist and pressing my face to his chest. Being close to him was comforting—I knew how lucky I was, and how lucky our baby boy was going to be.
“You know what? Maybe we should stay home,” said Noah. “It’s cold out there, and—”
“No, let’s go,” I said, making up my mind to have a more positive attitude.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” Letting go of him, I shrugged. “Maybe if I party hard enough, I’ll shake him loose.”
Noah laughed. “Do you want me to grab the hospital suitcase from the bedroom?”
I thought for a second, then dismissed the idea with a wave of my hand. “Nah. If I bring it, I’ll probably jinx myself and it’ll be another week.”
He nodded. “I’m going to back the car out, and then I’ll come back for you. Don’t try to go down those steps by yourself.”
“Okay, Dad.”
Laughing, he gave me another quick kiss before heading out the back door. “Guess I have to get used to that.”
“Wow. Thisisa lot of snow. It’s coming down fast.” I peered out the windshield as Noah carefully navigated the roads to Cloverleigh Farms, where I’d grown up, and where my parents threw a big Christmas party every December 24th. The inn was always closed to guests the week of Christmas, and every year we looked forward to celebrating with staff and their families. However, due to the predicted blizzard, my parents had canceled the usual large, extravagant gathering, and only my four sisters and I (plus our husbands and kids) would be attending.
“Yeah.” Noah’s voice sounded concerned. “Visibility is terrible with this wind blowing the snow everywhere. And the roads are bad. There’s bound to be accidents tonight.”
I reached over and rubbed his leg. Because of his job, Noah knew firsthand how dangerous winter weather conditions were for drivers. “I know it’s selfish, but I’m glad you have tonight off. I wouldn’t want you out there in this.”
The drive to Cloverleigh took nearly double the time it normally did. It was close to seven when Noah pulled up to the inn’s main door and came around to the passenger side to help me to my feet. Icy wind gusts flattened my hair and snow swirled all around us as we made our way into the lobby.
“You good?” Noah said once we’d made it inside. “I’ll park and be right back.”
“I’m good.” I looked around and couldn’t help smiling. The inn at Cloverleigh Farms was always beautiful, but there was no time I liked better than Christmas. A huge fire roared in the massive stone fireplace opposite the reception desk, which was set up as a bar tonight. A towering, silvery-green Fraser fir tree dominated one corner, decorated with white lights, ribbons, berries, and ornaments in red and gold, and a shining star at the top. Beneath the tree, gifts were piled high, and carols played through the stereo system, adding to the joyful noise of laughter, conversation, and clinking plates and glasses. I inhaled, and the savory scent of my mom’s traditional Christmas Eve tenderloin mingled with the cinnamon-sweet aroma of mulling spices.
