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“Uh oh.” Sylvia, who’d just wandered over with Steffan on her hip, stopped in her tracks. “I hope we don’t lose power tonight.”
“Me too,” I said. “My heating pad plugs in and I can’t fall asleep without it on my back.”
Noah approached then, carrying my pink fuzzy slippers. He greeted everyone, then knelt down to stick them on my feet. “You doing okay, babe?”
“Yeah. My back hurts pretty bad, but what else is knew?” I ruffled his dark hair, which had snow in it. He was so handsome—my heart still beat faster when he entered a room. I hoped that feeling would last forever.
“I saw the lights flicker as I was walking in from the parking lot,” Noah said, straightening up. “The wind is bad out there. I hope we don’t have a power outage.”
“That’s what I just said too.” Sylvia looked concerned. “I wonder if we should head home early.”
“No!” Frowning, I grit my teeth and tried shifting into a more comfortable position. “I dragged my bum all the way here, I’m not going home early!”
“How about I get you some food?” Noah suggested.
“I made crab cakes,” said Sylvia.
“I made parmesan-bacon bubble bread,” offered Frannie.
“I made Oliver go to the store.” Chloe laughed as she reached for her wine. “He came back with frozen mini-quiches, but they’re actually pretty good.”
“I’ll make you a plate,” Noah offered.
“Are there Twinkies?” I asked, only partly joking. Twinkies were my weakness.
He smiled. “I don’t think so.”
I shook my head. Everything sounded good, and I hadn’t eaten much today, but I wasn’t that hungry. “Maybe just some hot tea,” I said. “You might have to ask my mom to use her kitchen.”
“You got it.” He dropped a kiss on the top of my head and went over to where my mother was standing at the food table. She hugged him hello and pointed toward the back hallway that led from the public part of the inn to the home where I’d grown up. I watched as he disappeared behind the door we’d always kept closed to prevent hotel guests from wandering into our private family space.
All of a sudden, I felt a strange longing for my childhood home, the pretty bedroom I’d slept in every night for eighteen years, the view of the vineyards and woods out my window. It looked different now, since my mother had re-carpeted the floor and repainted the walls, but my old bed was still there, and at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to crawl into it, pull my comforter up to my shoulders, and feel safe, warm, protected.
Which was so weird. Not just because I was perfectly safe, warm, and protected every night in Noah’s arms, but because I’d never been all that nostalgic abouthome. Growing up, I’d been busting at the seams with the desire to get out of the house, move away from this small town, take the world by storm. And while I’d done everything I’d set out to do—college, law school, high-paying job for a high-powered firm—leaving had also created a hole in my heart, one I don’t even think I realized was there until I came home for Frannie’s wedding and fell in love with Noah. It was then I realized where I belonged. What home meant to me.
A sense of contentment eased the tension in my muscles for a moment. I was right where I belonged—in life, in the world, in spirit—and the realization came with a feeling of peace. It was Christmas, I was surrounded by everyone I loved—three generations of family—and I was on the precipice of bringing new life into the world. What could be more beautiful than that?
Then the power went out.
And my water broke.
NOAH MCCORMICK
In the Sawyer family kitchen, I located the light switch and flipped it on. The room was large and homey, with white-painted cupboards, butcher block counters, and a wide farmhouse sink. I knew way more about kitchen decor than I ever wanted to because Meg and I had redone the one in our house after moving in. Meg was one of those people who researched every possible option, compared prices, listed pros and cons, and wanted to discuss them all. I humored her, but seriously, as long as a counter was flat, a cupboard door opened without squeaking, and an appliance worked properly, I really didn’t care what color or style it was.
Spotting the kettle on the stove, I grabbed it and began filling it with water from the sink. As I stood there, the wind howled, whistling at the kitchen windows. I made a mental note to check the exterior caulk next time I was here during the day.
While I waited for the water to boil, I opened several cupboard doors searching for a mug. On my third try I found the right one and perused the selection, wondering which one would make her smile.
There was one that said Best Dad Ever. There was one with a photo of Sylvia’s kids Whitney and Keaton on it, taken maybe ten years ago, that said #1 Grandma. There were several Cloverleigh Farms mugs, and then there was one that said,I had my patience tested. I’m negative.
It made me smile, since patience was not generally one of my adorable wife’s virtues. She went at everything with gusto, because if a thing was worth doing or a cause was worth fighting for—and there was nothing Meg loved more than a cause—then it was worth every once of passion she had. I admired that about her. I always had.
Daphne, Meg’s mom, had told me the tea bags were in the pantry, so I went in there and hunted around for a flavor I thought Meg would like. Her favorite flavor was Twinkie, of course, but since there wasn’t any Twinkie tea, I pulled a bag from the box that said Calming Lavender Rose. Meg could use a little calming, poor thing. I was used to wearing a lot of heavy gear on the job, but I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to carry an eight-pound human being in my belly at all times.
The kettle was whistling by then, so I turned off the gas, stuck the tea bag in the mug, and poured water over it. I was just replacing the kettle on the stove when the lights flickered, and then went out.
“Shit,” I said. Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I turned on the flashlight. Using the small beam to guide me, I grabbed the mug of tea and made my way back from the Sawyer home to the inn. It was eerily silent in the hallway, and a strange prickle of worry was making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
