A Wright Christmas

By the time Isaac and I had the house to ourselves, we were pulling out secret presents we had stashed in the top of the hall closet from Santa. I artfully arranged them under the tree. And then, when it was finished and all was quiet, he pressed a firm kiss to my lips.

“You’re going to be my wife.”

“Finally,” I whispered, staring down at the beautiful diamond on my finger.

We’d come so far from those awkward teenagers to this moment. It hadn’t been the normal route to take, but we were here, and we were together. That was what mattered.

Isaac laughed and kissed me again. “Agreed. Finally.”* * *