Page 60 of Finding Home

Meg had reminded her about the tree, as if Julie would forget. They’d spent the best part of two days in the hospital with her after she’d gone to a Christmas tree farm with her dad when she was five.

Meg’s asthma had always been worse around real pine trees, so this was non-negotiable.

Cole began threading the lights from the top, working in slow circles. Julie opened another box and found the ornaments she’d been looking for. They were from her grandmother’s collection and meant the world to her.

There were six glass balls wrapped in cloth. They’d survived three moves and a decade in storage. She set them aside, waiting for the right time to add them to the tree.

“These decorations stay near the top,” she said. “Away from small hands.”

Cole glanced at the balls. “How old is your granddaughter?”

“Nellie is nearly three. She’s old enough to want everything and young enough to have no idea why she shouldn’t have it.”

“Sounds familiar,” Cole said.

Julie looked at him.

He kept his eyes on the lights. “I was a menace at that age. My mother said so repeatedly.”

Julie smiled. “I would never have guessed.”

By the time Cole had finished with the lights, and Julie had placed the more robust ornaments on the lower branches, the room had changed. It wasn’t just the tree, though it helped. It was the feeling of Christmas, the anticipation of seeing her children again and having unlimited cuddles with Nellie.

Cole stood back and looked at the tree. “We forgot the star.”

Julie looked around the room and pointed to a stack of small boxes. “It’s in the third box.”

Cole opened the lid. The star was old, pressed tin, slightly battered, and had belonged to her great-grandmother before it had belonged to Julie. Cole climbed carefully onto the footstool she kept for reaching the high cupboards, fitted the star over the topmost branch, and stepped down.

They both looked at it.

“That’s perfect,” Julie said.

Cole stood behind her. He didn’t say anything, just rested his hands on her shoulders and looked at the tree with her.

Julie turned to face him. He was close, close enough that she could see the small scar above his left eyebrow that she’d asked about and he’d deflected with a story she still wasn’t sure she believed.

She reached up and straightened his collar. She didn’t need to. It wasn’t crooked.

Cole watched her do it.

Then he lowered his head and kissed her, unhurried, one hand coming up to the side of her face. She’d kissed him enough times now to know the difference between the quick ‘I’m glad you’re here’ ones and the kisses that meant something deep and specific. This was the second kind.

When he pulled back, he didn’t move far.

“What was that for?” she asked gently.

Cole grinned. “Nothing in particular and everything in general.”

Julie held his gaze, then pressed her palm briefly to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Cole lifted his hand to cover hers. “So am I. There were times when I thought I wouldn’t be.”

Julie sighed. Cole’s recovery hadn’t been as easy as he’d imagined. He’d had setbacks when he did too much and he grumbled a little more frequently. But Julie was incredibly proud of the way he’d slowed down to give his body time to heal.

Cole’s arms tightened around her. “What time are your children arriving?”

“Meg’s flight gets in at four forty-five. Daniel’s is twenty minutes later, but on a different airline.” She’d been tracking both on her phone since morning, though she had no intention of admitting that. “I’m driving to Kalispell at three.”