Full Hart, page 22
With Maeve still on his hip, he cupped the back of Lydia’s head and bent down until their foreheads were pressed together. “I live for your happiness, Lydia. Truly. Whatever you want to do, however you want to handle this, I’ll follow your lead.”
She blinked and pressed her forehead a little harder against his. “I know. And thank you. Eventually, when the time is right, I would like to try for another baby. But I’m not in any rush. Let’s just enjoy the child we do have and the wonderful life she’s made even richer.”
He removed his head from her forehead and kissed it. “You’re the strongest woman I know.”
With a wink, she turned back to finish making the coffee. “I’ll finish that sentence for you. But I’m also the bossiest. Now please make your daughter her bottle and go turn on the lights and the tree in the living room.”
“For you, my wife, anything.”
Rex’s face lit up as he opened the gift bag. “Sweatpants!”
Lydia chuckled and took a sip of her coffee. “Full disclosure, those might be more for me than you.”
“Like when I buy you lingerie?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
He chuckled and continued into the bag. “And shirts. I love shirts.”
She snorted. “I’m almost buying this enthusiasm as real. You could quit being the bodyguard on these movie shoots and start being the actor.”
He made a wounded face. “I actually really like my gifts. No acting here. You know how much I hate shopping for clothes. And—” He shoved his hand down his sweatpants, located the hole near his crotch and stuck his big index finger through. “I need new sweatpants.”
She rolled her eyes. “We can keep the holey ones for the bedroom. But they’re not suitable for the public.”
“Agreed.” He sipped his coffee. His wily wife had added eggnog instead of creamer and then a splash of Bailey’s. He needed to pace himself if he intended to drive to his mother’s for dinner. He could drink that coffee like water if he wasn’t careful and have a holly jolly buzz going before noon.
Below the T-shirts was a bevy of charcuterie. Long, thick hunks of cured meats. “Oh mama,” he said, the saliva filling his mouth. “Meat. A way to a man’s heart, or at least this Hart’s heart, is through meat. Damn, woman, you hit the jackpot.”
He pulled out all the different kinds.
They were cold, since she’d obviously had them in the fridge until the moment they decided to exchange gifts.
Blueberry bison salami, fig and port salami, dried chorizo, prosciutto, candied pancetta, and more. It was enough cured meat to last him several months. As well as the meat, there were also a few different kinds of cheeses that would probably pair well, some olives, pickled asparagus, spicy pickled beans, and four tall cans of beer from four different microbreweries.
It was, honestly, the most perfect gift ever. He would drink and eat all of it with a smile on his face.
“You can thank Grant for the suggestion of all the food. Pasha and I bumped into him when we were shopping last weekend, and he said that he and his wife always struggled with what to get each other for Christmas. So they started buying only consumables. Nothing that would forever take up space. He said it made it way easier and it also helped them find new foods they enjoyed and cool little local gourmet shops.”
He was reading the back of one of the lengths of salami but looked up at her. “That’s a great idea. I love it. What kind of consumables would you like? For future reference, of course.”
She tapped her finger to her chin in a cute way. “Ummm, wine. Obviously. Cheese. Chocolate. Maybe some cool dips for crackers. Like cauliflower asiago dip or something. I saw that at the store the other day and thought it looked good.”
Rex committed her list to memory and nodded. “Dips, wine, chocolate, and cheese. Got it.”
Maeve finished her bottle where she was sitting on the floor in front of the tree and tossed it to the side before lunging forward and grabbing a branch of the tree that held a small red bulb.
Fuck, his baby had brute strength. The whole tree started to lean. Rex and Lydia were up off their seats and prying the limbs from Maeve’s chubby vice grip before the whole thing toppled over on her.
“Need to secure it with tie-downs next year,” he said, moving a few tempting ornaments from his daughter’s level to branches higher up and out of her reach.
Pia stretched from her spot beneath the tree, completely unaffected by the fact that she was nearly buried in needles, trunk, and ornaments. As Rex went about righting the tree, Lydia picked up Maeve before she snatched the cat by her tail and caught a paw to the cheek as a form of feline discipline.
Rex had taken Diesel out for a pee and a crap once Maeve had her bottle and while Lydia was making coffee. Now his happy pupper was chewing voraciously in front of the gas fireplace on the new piece of antler Rex bought him.
“Is it charcuterie for breakfast?” Lydia asked with a laugh, bringing a grunting and frustrated Maeve over with her to the couch.
“Got no qualms with that,” Rex said, having resecured the tree and snagged Lydia’s gift from under it in the process. He placed it on her lap, then sat back in his chair. Diesel abandoned his antler and came to stand in front of Rex, resting his big, chunky head on Rex’s thigh. Rex gave D’s ears a scratch, and the dog’s tail began to wag against the floor. “Open your gift,” he urged, lifting his chin toward the bag on her lap.
Making sure that Maeve wasn’t going to abandon ship and head back over to tear down the tree, Lydia pulled the tissue paper out of the bag and set it beside Maeve.
Immediately, their baby began shredding the flimsy red paper. Whatever. At least she wasn’t trying to make the Christmas tree horizontal anymore.
Lydia’s hand went into the bag, and she peered inside. A gasp fled her throat before she pulled the gift out.
Rex sat there pretending to be calm on the outside, but inside he was a nervous wreck.
Crafting was NOT his forte.
Puzzles, he liked.
But glue, glitter, paint, and all that shit—no thanks. His fingers were too big for intricate detailed things like beading or crochet. And he didn’t have the patience to wait for the glue or paint to dry.
But for Lydia, he’d wait for paint, glue, or whatever else to dry. He’d wait forever if he had to just to see the look on her face when she opened her gift.
Fresh tears welled up in her eyes as she pulled out the vase that had his and Maeve’s handprints on it.
He’d done some googling, and there was this technique that involved little to no skill—which was exactly what he needed. All you had to do was buy a clear glass vase, pour paint inside the vase, swirl it around, and if you used two colors, as he did—white and turquoise—it created a cool marbled effect once dried.
Then, using more paint of whatever shade you desired—he’d used peach for his hand and black for Maeve’s—you could make handprints on the outside.
So, he’d done his giant ham of a hand, then over the top, he did Maeve’s little one. Then, for good measure, he covered their handprints in glitter, because he really wanted to find glitter everywhere for the rest of his life, including his pubes.
Seriously, what the fuck had he been thinking?
Well, it was done now. At the moment he saw glitter on his arm and a few pieces on the coffee table.
As his wife spun the vase around in her hand, he got up from his spot on the couch and headed to the garage. He was back in seconds with a bouquet of flowers for the vase.
Lydia blinked up at him, her smile brighter than the sun shining on the snow. “This is the best present I’ve ever received.”
He snorted. “Now whose enthusiasm is put on?” But he was just teasing her. He knew she was being truthful and how much the gift meant to her. She loved all that handmade stuff. She loved anything crafty. She gushed over every scribble and plastic spoon glued to a pipe cleaner her students brought her at the preschool. She acted like every piece was by Picasso himself. But he could tell right now she wasn’t faking it.
He lifted a shoulder. “I mean, that’s not all we got you, right, Maevy?”
Maeve was now eating the tissue paper.
Lydia pulled the paper out of her daughter’s mouth and moved the shredded bits to the other side of her so Maeve couldn’t eat anymore. Her shit was probably going to have red pieces in it now.
Lydia reached down into the bag and pulled out an envelope.
Rex cleared his throat. “Now, I should say, I bought this before … when I thought we would need a weekend alone before … so we don’t have to go. But …”
Her eyes closed. “A babymoon? A weekend away before the baby was born?”
He nodded. “I’m sorry. I just thought—”
Her eyes opened. She shook her head and smiled. Her hazel eyes were wet with tears, but they weren’t sad. There was hope there. Hope for them. For their family. For their future. “Well, maybe we can use this when we’re ready to try and make a baby. Sort of … full circle.”
“When you’re ready.”
Her throat bobbed on a swallow, and she pulled Maeve into her lap and kissed her head. “When we’re ready. Because we’re in this together. We lost together, and we’ll get through this together.”
With a final scratch to Diesel’s ears, he sat up from his chair and moved over to the couch to sit with his girls. Lydia pushed the tissue paper to the floor and made room for him. He wrapped his arm around his wife and kissed his daughter.
As if they knew that now was the time for the whole family to be together, Pia leaped up gracefully onto the couch, careful to avoid Maeve’s wandering eyes and grabby fingers, and sat behind Lydia’s neck. Diesel came to stand between Rex’s legs.
“We are rich,” Lydia said, her words hoarse and strained. Her eyes grew wet, and he could see the tight corners of her mouth as she tried to force the smile.
“We are,” he said softly, kissing her on the side of the head. “But we also know loss. And together, as a family, we’ll get through it. You don’t have to suffer alone.”
She turned to him. “And neither do you.” She leaned the side of her head against his and turned Maeve in her lap so they could see her. So their daughter’s beautiful face was right before them. “Merry Christmas, Rex.”
He pulled her closer to him, turned his head, and kissed her crown. “Merry Christmas, Lydia.”
Chapter 23
Heath & Pasha
Not bothering to knock because people were already in the house and there was zero risk of him walking in on his mother in a compromising naked position this time, Heath opened the door to his childhood home. “Cerry Mistmas!” he shouted, holding the door open for a slow-moving Raze and Pasha with the bucket car seat and diaper bag.
“It’s Merry Christmas, Uncle Heath,” Thea corrected him, coming to greet them all at the door, dressed in a cute little red dress with a small white bow in the middle of her neckline.
“Is it?” Heath asked teasingly. “Well, thanks for correcting me, small fry. And don’t you look ravishing!”
Thea wrinkled her nose. “What does that mean?”
“Pretty, honey. It means pretty,” Pasha said with a bit of exasperation to her tone. “Less chitchat and more moving into the house.” With a grunt, she put down the bucket seat. Eve was wide-eyed and awake inside. She’d screamed the entire drive over, so that was fun.
Heath set down the multiple bags of gifts he’d brought in, then did a whistle that he and his brothers had used during covert operations before.
In seconds, Chase and Brock emerged.
“You got the stuff?” Chase asked with a cheeky smile that made Heath’s own face break out into a smile.
He would never grow tired of seeing Chase smile or hearing him joke or laugh. Out of all of them, Chase had experienced the worst in the field, and he carried a lot of that with him. So, for him to joke, it meant he was relaxed. It meant his demons weren’t with him, and that was a big fucking deal, and a Christmas present in itself.
Heath nodded. “Goods are in the cab of my truck. What’s the plan?”
“Sooner the better,” Brock said. “Kids are growing antsy with all the gifts under the tree and not getting to open them.”
“It’s teaching them impulse control and patience, or so says Lydia the preschool teacher,” Chase added.
“Just let me get Pasha all set up, then I’ll come to help you,” Heath said, not wanting to abandon his wife as she maneuvered her way through the small foyer, tripping over all the shoes.
Raze had already stepped out of his boots and was off to find his cousins.
Heath ditched his loafers for a moment, not wanting to track mud and crap onto his mother’s carpeted floors, then he brought the bags of gifts into the warm, decorated, heavenly-smelling living room.
He gave his sisters-in-law quick kisses and hugs, made sure his wife and Eve were okay in the spot they’d found on the couch, then he slid back into his shoes and accompanied his brothers out to the truck.
“How’d they fare the night?” Chase asked, rubbing his hands together to ward off the chilly wind that had come down from the north.
“Really well. You’ve got two super chill pups on your hands, which will be great for the kids. Fed them, took them out, played with them a bit. Raze would just lie down and the puppies would climb all over him and lick him until he giggled so hard he peed.”
Brock and Chase both snorted.
“Gonna have to get one yourself,” Brock murmured, opening up the back of Heath’s truck.
“Eventually,” Heath agreed. “But with the new baby and stuff, we’ll probably wait a couple more years until they’re out of diapers and life isn’t so chaotic. Your kids’ ages are perfect.”
Stacey and Krista had gone out and bought all the necessary stuff for puppies. Each house had a kennel, a bed, toys, food, food bowls, all of it. But since the puppies were still small and used to being together, they’d put them both in one for the night at Heath’s, so that’s where they were now.
Brock opened the metal grate door to the kennel, and one of the puppies stepped forward curiously. “There’s my girl,” Brock said in a tone of voice Heath didn’t recognize. Brock had never even used that tone with Zoe. It was all cooey and gentle.
Who was this man?
He took the pup in his arms and kissed her head. “Ready to meet your new family?”
Chase and Heath exchanged curious looks as Chase reached inside and the male pup hesitantly stepped into his arms. “Hey, buddy.”
They leashed the dogs and let them out into the yard for a quick pee.
Heath was the first to reenter the house.
Krista and Stacey had made sure that everyone was in the living room in a semicircle around the tree.
At the sound of the door closing, heads turned.
“Are we ready to start opening presents?” Heath asked, directing his question to the older children.
“Been ready for ages,” Connor said. “We had to wait for you guys.”
Stacey shot her son a look.
“And that was okay,” Connor quickly followed up. “It wasn’t that long. It just felt like ages. But you’re here now.” He glanced at his mother, his expression asking if he was forgiven and could still open his presents.
Stacey rolled her eyes and ruffled his hair.
Connor’s phew shoulder shrug and look of relief was hilarious.
“Well, these presents don’t really need to be opened, but they do need names and a whole lot of love,” Chase said, being the first to round the corner with the little male puppy tugging away on his leash.
Connor and Thea’s eyes went saucer-size, and they leaped up from their spots on the floor.
“A puppy!” Connor exclaimed, sliding back down to his knees in front of the puppy. Thea was right beside him.
The puppy wanted nothing to do with their pleasantries of holding out their hand to be sniffed. He pawed his way up their laps and started licking their faces.
Both of Chase’s kids were giggling like crazy.
“Is he really our dog, Dad?” Connor asked. “We get to keep him?”
“Or is it a girl?” Thea asked. “If it’s a girl, I want to name her Thumbelina Tinkerbell Cinderella Bader Ginsberg. Or Ginny for short.”
Adult snorts and guffaws echoed around the living room.
“He’s a little boy, I’m afraid, sweetheart,” Chase said with a laugh.
Connor’s eyes widened. “He looks like chocolate.”
“He’s a chocolate lab,” Chase replied.
Connor turned to his sister and whispered something in her ear.
Thea enthusiastically nodded.
They both turned to Chase again.
“We’re calling him Fudge,” Connor announced, so freaking pleased with himself.
Chase’s face fell. “Fudge? Really?”
Both kids nodded until Heath thought their necks might snap.
Thea planted her hands on her hips. “Fudge … Bader Ginsberg.”
“I kind of like it,” Stacey said, chuckling. “Lots of nicknames. Fudgy. Fudgsicle. It’s cute.”
Chase rolled his eyes, then crouched down and scratched the dog’s ears. “What do you think, boy? You want to be called Fudge?”
The dog’s tail started to wag even more.
“I guess that’s a yes,” Grant noted.
Brock came into the living room next, and when Zoe and Zane spotted the little dog on the leash being held by their father, just like their cousins, they leapt up off the floor and slid down beside the door.
“Boy or girl?” Zoe asked, or more like demanded.
“A little girl,” Brock said.
“Cocoa! We have to name her Cocoa!”
Zane started chanting, “Cocoa! Cocoa!”
Thea turned to Zoe. “Cocoa Bader Ginsberg, right? Because I think the puppies are related.” She glanced at Brock. “Are they related?”
