‘Yes.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I looked around the property last night, and negotiated with the agent this morning. It’s ours.’
Emma’s butt was glued to her chair. ‘Ours?’ Did this mean…? She had no idea what it meant. Or rather, she was afraid to contemplate it in case she was wrong.
Nixon smiled that long, slow, heart-stopping smile of his as he moved closer. Reaching down, he pulled her up into his arms. ‘Yes, ours. As in our home for our family. I know you love the property. I agree it is amazing, perfect really.’
‘You’re serious?’ she squealed. Of course he would be. Nixon would never say so otherwise. ‘We’re going to live there?’
‘You and me, and Rosie and the baby. And Bella.’ He nodded. ‘Yes, Em. That’s what I mean.’
‘But—’ Her hands moved up his chest, up to his face. ‘You want to live with me? As a family?’
‘As your husband. Will you marry me?’
A hundred questions pushed forward as her smile started a slow widening and softening, turning up at the corners, lightening her heart. Nixon had proposed. That had to mean he loved her. Didn’t it? The smile slowed, held position. ‘This really isn’t for the baby’s sake?’
‘No.’ He looked up at the ceiling and puffed out a breath. ‘Not at all. It’s you I want to spend my life with. You and our family.’
Unbelievable words from Nixon. He’d come a long way. But he hadn’t said he loved her. Not a dickey bird. Disappointment railed against elation. Nixon wanted to be with her for ever. It should be all she wanted. Call her greedy, but it wasn’t enough. He’d buy her a house but not say those important three words. Even if only once. Once was enough. She’d cherish them, hold them close. But she had to hear them. Tipping back in his hold, she said, ‘You bought this house because I said I loved it?’
The air quivered between them. ‘Yes.’
‘An impromptu decision?’ Please say no.
‘No.’ Phew. ‘And yes.’
Great. Now what? ‘Can you elaborate?’
Thump, thump, went her heart.
I know it’s hard, but please, I need to know.
‘It happened very fast, but it feels right.’ Nixon shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his chinos and strolled, oh, so deliberately, across to the bay window to stare out at Rosie playing in the pond. Then he turned to her. ‘When Trish mentioned they were selling, this longing filled your eyes, a longing that got to me, made me wake up to the fact I wanted a part of that. Wanted it with you. You’ve got to me, Em. Under my skin, in my head, in…’
She took a step forward, said softly, ‘Go on.’
‘You’re there all the time, even when you’re someplace else.’
Another step. ‘That’s how it is for me too.’ One more step.
‘I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I want to marry you, Emma.’
‘I want to marry you, Nixon. I love you,’ she added as she reached him.
He looked away, swallowed, turned to face her, reached for her hands, held them as though they were fragile as spun sugar. ‘You want me to tell you?’
She nodded. And waited.
Finally, ‘I love you,’ he whispered, a shiver in his fingers.
Up on her toes, reaching for his mouth with hers, her heart going crazy against her ribs, she kissed him. Long and deep and filled with love. Then she pulled back. ‘Thank you. Yes, Nixon, I will marry you, because we love each other.’ Then she went back to kissing him, knowing he couldn’t say any more, he’d laid not just his heart but everything about him on the line by uttering those words. He’d shown her his love, he’d put it out there in actions—and in the best three words ever. ‘I will never hurt you, Nixon.’
‘I know.’ Cocky right to the end now he’d got over the biggest hurdle of his life.
She grinned. ‘So we’ve got ourselves a house, huh?’
‘With lots of bedrooms for the family we’re going to keep adding to.’
‘You’re getting carried away, my man.’
‘My man, huh?’ His kiss was full of promise and the future, and, yes, lots of love.
‘Happy New Year,’ she whispered against his mouth. What a way to start.
EPILOGUE
Next Christmas…
‘MUMMY, CAN I open Jack’s presents from Santa? He’s too little to do it,’ Rosie pointed out earnestly, the excitement that had dragged them out of bed twenty minutes ago temporarily reined in while she waited for permission for her next adventure.
The stocking at the end of her bed hadn’t taken very long to deal with and she was struggling with not being allowed to open any more presents until all the family arrived for brunch.
‘When Dad’s here you can.’ Emma held baby Jack against her breast as she sat curled up in the leather rocker Nixon had bought her for nursing when he was born. It was her favourite go-to place inside the house, and this morning—yawn, it wasn’t six o’clock yet—the decorated pine tree with the presents underneath filled her vision. Another Christmas. They seemed to come around awfully fast. But she didn’t mind. There was always something wonderful happening at this time of year.
‘Get this into you.’ Nixon placed a mug of tea on the table at her elbow before dropping a kiss on the top of her head. ‘Jack more interested in his breakfast?’
‘Make the most of it. Next year will be different.’ She smiled up at this amazing man who’d stolen her heart and delivered his in a million ways ever since.
‘Dad’s here now. I can open Jack’s stocking.’
‘Bring it over to me and we’ll do it together.’ Nixon sipped his tea and dropped onto the floor beside Emma’s rocker.
Rosie upended the stocking. ‘What do you think Santa’s got him, Dad?’
Emma’s heart expanded with warmth. Dad. From the day she’d told Rosie Nixon wanted to adopt her and be her daddy she had never called him anything else. And Nixon had filled with pride and happiness and love.
Love. He still didn’t say those three words very often. After the day he proposed she’d had to wait until their wedding day. Standing on their front lawn, surrounded by their families and friends, he had said, ‘I love you, Emma Wright,’ as he slid the wedding band onto her finger.
He’d said it again the day the adoption was finalised, and then when he held Jack in his arms for the first time.
Every time Nixon told her his face was filled with awe and love and everything she could ask for. It was enough. She didn’t need to be told every day or even every week. Because he was constantly showing her. The cups of tea in bed first thing in the morning, the paintwork in the bathroom, the laundry hung out before he headed into work. Those kisses that melted her bones.
‘Look, Jack. You’ve got a book like I had when I was little. It’s made of really thick paper so you can’t rip it.’ Rosie reached for another parcel, squeezed and shook it. ‘What’s this?’
As though he knew he was missing out on something, Jack pulled his mouth away from breakfast and wriggled so he could see his sister. Emma cleaned his face and sat him up on her knee. ‘There you go, wee man.’
‘Go easy. You don’t want to break it.’ Nixon gently removed the parcel and laid it on the floor. ‘Take the paper off slowly.’
‘It’s a caterpillar. A long one with funny pictures on its bumps.’ Rosie leapt up and brought it over to Emma and Jack. ‘See, Jack?’
‘Careful.’ Emma put a hand up between Jack’s head and the toy, and when Rosie stepped back she reached for her tea. ‘Right, guess we need to get dressed and ready for the influx.’
‘No rush.’ Nixon looked up at her. ‘No one will be here for a couple of hours.’
‘You’re forgetting my family turn up when they’re ready, not when we might be. Mum will be taking over the kitchen before you know it.’ She was doing Christmas dinner here as Nixon’s family were all driving up from Dunedin this morning.
Nixon just grinned. ‘Rosie, can you
bring me that red envelope with the big green bow on it, please?’
‘Who’s it for, Dad?’ She placed it in Nixon’s outstretched hand. ‘Can I open it?’
‘Not this one, my girl.’ He stood up and lifted Jack into his arms before handing Emma the envelope. ‘Merry Christmas, darling.’ His eyes were filled with love and hope. Hope that he’d done the right thing?
Her heart fluttered. ‘What is it?’ she asked as she slid a finger under the back of the envelope and opened it. She tipped out the contents. Two photos. Of a beautiful black horse. Her head tipped up as she sought those wonderful grey eyes again. ‘For me?’ she whispered.
Nixon nodded. ‘But you have to meet her first, see if you like her. If not we’ll find another one.’
Emma leapt up and wrapped her arms around her husband. ‘I love you so much. And not because you’re buying me a horse, but because you’re you. Wonderful, caring, kind…’ Her throat filled up and happy tears streaked down her face. Crying had never really stopped since she’d had Grace, only this past year without exception they’d been happy tears.
‘Carry on. I’m enjoying this,’ Nixon murmured against her ear.
‘And cheeky,’ she managed.
His lips caressed hers. ‘I love you, Emma.’
Wow. He’d said it again. That was a bigger present than any other he could give her.
‘Merry Christmas.’
*