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“I’m sure.” Atlas took my hand, thumb tracing over the ring. “I’m ready for it.”
“Good.” I grinned as traffic zipped along. “It’s our season after all.”
Atlas grinned back even wider, eyes crinkling, so much love in his gaze that goosebumps popped up on my arms. “It’s always our season.”
Thirty-Five
ATLAS
The snowy solo drive to Kringle’s Crossing on Christmas morning dragged on and on with none of the excitement of my Thanksgiving proposal. But it was all worth it when Gabe opened the side door of his house to let me in. Same house I’d visited hundreds of times as a teen and the same warm sensation in my chest, a feeling of rightness. Homecoming.
“Zeb doesn’t know you’re coming,” Gabe whispered as he ushered me into their mudroom. The aroma of cinnamon rolls wafted in from the nearby kitchen, and happy voices sounded from beyond that, likely the living room. Gabe was in Christmas pajamas and big poofy slippers that matched the plaid print on his pants. The shirt spelled out Papa Bear, and I had a strong feeling Paige had been the one to pick his attire.
“Hope not.” I quietly stamped my feet before removing my boots. I’d returned home long enough to shower, pull on jeans and a heavy sweater, and hit the road to Kringle’s Crossing. Zeb had already been here much of the month, helping with the holiday rush, while I’d pulled a lot of long hours and two overseas trips. It had been a long month, little of it together, but it would all be worth it with my upcoming leave for the wedding and honeymoon. “He thinks my leave starts the thirtieth.”
“And he for sure doesn’t know about your traveling companion.” Gabe gestured at my surprise for Zeb. Thank goodness my present was proving to be quiet and calm, doing little more than an enthusiastic tail wag and canine grin for Gabe while hanging back by my side. I’d bought him a Christmas-themed leash and collar adorned with snowflakes, and once I’d removed my outerwear, I knelt to add a big silver bow to his collar.
“Good dog,” I whispered before standing back up. Not wanting the sound of the collar or nails on the hardwood floors to give the surprise away, I lifted him into my arms to follow Gabe into the main part of the house. The original Seasons home was a colonial farmhouse that had been updated, added onto, and renovated over the years.
“Now, to find your husband-to-be,” Gabe said quietly as we passed through the friendly white kitchen with a big butcher block island and double farmhouse sink. He paused by the archway to the living room and gestured for me to take a peek.
The comfortable room with familiar maple pieces and homey colors was dominated by the large Christmas tree in the corner. A trash bag next to the tree held the evidence of the earlier festivities, and Aunt Lucy and Paige were slumped on opposite ends of the large couch, both looking exhausted in pajamas that matched Gabe’s. However, my attention went straight to the floor in front of the couch.
The twins had taken their first steps over Thanksgiving weekend, and now the brand-new one-year-olds toddled around Zeb, who was sprawled on the rug, playing some sort of game where the babies raced around, over, and on him. The twins, with their wispy red hair, were in plaid sleepers while Zeb had an “Uncle Bear” shirt that matched Gabe’s. Zeb had both babies giggling, and I couldn’t help my happy sigh.
“Okay, he can have the Uncle of the Year title,” I whispered to Gabe. “This year.”
“It’s not a competition.” Gabe laughed a little too loud, and Zeb’s head whirled around.
“Atlas!” He struggled to sit up, and his wide grin made the long drive, the favors I’d had to pull to get the time off, and every other sacrifice of the past year worth it. He was always so happy to see me, whether it had been fifteen minutes or two weeks, and I loved how full his joy made my heart. “You came.”
“Of course I did.” I chuckled as he rushed over to me, babies fast on his heels. They were walking so much more steadily now than a few weeks ago.
“Doggie!” Plum had been the first to talk, and her itty-bitty pigtails bounced as she pointed at my arms.
“And you brought a dog?” Zeb’s eyes were even wider than the twins.
“Eh.” I faked indifference. “We were short a ring bearer for the wedding.”
“Hey there.” Zeb bent slightly to take the dog from me and pet his head. “Sounds like Atlas is putting you to work already.” Looking up at me, he asked, “Does he have a name?”
“The rescue shelter called him Snowy.” I’d wanted the medium-sized dog for Zeb even before I’d seen the name, but it fit the dog and us perfectly. He was a mix of some sort with an Australian Shepherd face, an unusually pale coat, and the longer limbs of a golden retriever. “He’s about to turn one. Rescue thinks he might even have a Christmas birthday. His first family got deployed overseas and worked with the rescue to find a new placement.”
