Page 90 of Wild Promise

“Thank you for not giving up. On us. On me.”

“Couldn’t if I wanted to.” He kissed me, and he tasted like cranberry sauce and home. “You ruined me for anything less, remember?”

I smiled against his lips. “Merry Christmas, Zane best-boyfriend-ever Alexander.”

“Merry Christmas, firecracker.” He pulled back to look at me, and the love in his eyes was so plain, so steady, so completely without condition, that I almost couldn’t stand it. “Now let’s go join our family before Olivia drinks the wine she’s not supposed to have, and your dad falls asleep in the recliner.”

“He’s already asleep in your recliner.”

“Our recliner.”

I laughed, and he took my hand, and we walked into the living room together. Mrs. Walker was showing Lucy how to knit. Nate was stoking the fire. Avery was curled up in the corner of the couch, scrolling her phone. Olivia was, in fact, sneaking wine.

And Dad was asleep in the recliner, snoring softly, looking more peaceful than I’d seen him in a long time.

This was my life now. Messy and imperfect and held together by stubbornness, love, and more snickerdoodles than any one household should consume.

And I wouldn’t trade a single second of it.

Six Days After That

Zane

I’d been to Glenn and Sylvie’s house a hundred times. Christmases, Thanksgivings, birthdays, the occasional family dinner when Sylvie decided I looked too thin and needed feeding. I knew which floorboards creaked, which bathroom had the good towels, and exactly how many beers I could drink before my aunt started giving me the look.

But I’d never walked through the front door feeling like I belonged here. Not really.

Not until tonight.

“Stop fidgeting,” Melina murmured beside me as we stood on the porch, the cold air biting at our cheeks.

“I’m not fidgeting.”

“You’ve had your hand in your jacket pocket since we got out of the truck.”

She had no idea what was in there. And I had no idea when the right moment would be. But fuck, I couldn’t stop touching it.

“Just cold hands,” I lied.

“Uh huh.” She reached up and smoothed the fabric of my new shirt flat against my chest, her fingers lingering. “You look good. Relax.”

Easy for her to say. I was about to walk my girlfriend into a room full of Alexanders who’d spent the last decade wondering if I’d ever get my shit together. They wouldn’t say it—the Alexanders were too polite for that. They’d just smile and pour wine and silently assess whether this was real or another one of Zane’s phases.

Except it wasn’t a phase. And the ring box in my jacket pocket was proof of that.

The door swung open before I could knock, and Sylvie appeared in a cloud of warmth and the smell of frankincense and pine. She was in her sixties, silver-haired and sharp-eyed, with the kind of elegance that didn’t need effort. She took one look at Melina and her whole face softened.

“Ah, so this is her,” Sylvie said, pulling Melina into a hug before either of us could get a word out. “Glenn has not stopped talking about you since the dance.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Alexander,” Melina said, hugging her back with only a slight hesitation.

“Sylvie. Please.” She released Melina and turned to me, cupping my face in both hands. “Et toi. You look happy, mon coeur.”

“I am happy.”

“Bien. It’s about time.” She kissed my cheek, then ushered us inside. “Come, come. The house is already full. Coats go in the bedroom at the end of the hall.”

She wasn’t kidding. The place was packed.