Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I sigh. “She probably will. She’s lucky that way.”
“Not as lucky as I am,” Caroline says, pressing up on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. “Kettle corn. We have to go now if we’re going to get there before they close.”
I hug her close, pressing my lips to her forehead before taking her mittened hand in mine. “Understood. Let’s go, missy. The sooner we get corn, the sooner we can get home to our bed.”
Her eyes glitter. “Bed sounds good.”
“So good,” I agree, endlessly grateful that my wife’s pregnancy cravings extend to my cock.
I’m a lucky man. Luckier than I ever thought I could be a little over two years ago, when I was trapped in reality show hell and crawled into a plastic igloo with an angel.
Caroline saved me. And Greg. And my hope for the future.
“Do you still want to rent a room on Martha’s Vineyard for Ainsley and Trevor’s wedding?” I ask. “Even though we’ll have Bump by then?”
“Of course. We can’t miss their wedding. We should rent two rooms and bring Gran. She’d be happy to watch the baby during the wedding in exchange for a lazy Sunday on the beach.”
“Sounds good,” I say. “I’ll book the rooms and get the cat sitter set up.”
“And I’ll talk to Gran.” Caroline sighs happily as we start down the snow-dusted city street, surrounded by the sound of holiday carols drifting from bars and people laughing over their Christmas Eve dinners in warmly lit West Village restaurants. “Want to get a tree on the way home, too? They’re on sale, and Greg enjoyed tearing the tree apart so much last year. I hate to deprive him of his holiday fun just because we’ve been too busy with the show to decorate.”
“Only if we decorate it with the non-breakable ornaments,” I say. “I was afraid he was going to cut his paws on all the glass last year.”
She squeezes my hand. “Still a good cat dad.”
“Hopefully, I’ll be an equally proficient real dad.”
“You will be,” she says, without a second of hesitation. “You’re the best person I know. I love you a ridiculous amount, Leo Fenton.”
My heart overflows again. Maybe it’s the holiday magic or maybe it’s just her, my wonderful wife, but I can’t help the sappy note in my voice as I say, “Same, Caroline Fenton. I don’t want to imagine where I’d be without you.”
She gives a mock shudder. “Oh, no. Never do that. It would be horrible. You’d be so sad.”
“The saddest,” I agree, smiling. “And I’d still be eating sandwiches and stale leftovers for every meal.”
“And much less kettle corn,” she agrees, leaning her head against my shoulder.
We wander through the holiday market, fetching snacks and a few last-minute cat-toy presents for Greg, then catch the subway to our place in Hell’s Kitchen.
Our place. Even after almost two years of wedded bliss, it still feels like a miracle.
Nearly as much of a miracle as the fact that my evil cat continues to be a very good boy.
Mostly…
As soon as Caroline and I turn off the lights that night, we hear the rustling of branches in the other room, as Greg launches into battle with his holiday nemesis. But he keeps the chaos to a respectable level.
We laugh and turn up the instrumental holiday music on our bedroom speaker, then make love to an extended cut of Carol of the Bells. I come buried deep inside my wife just as the track fades into a jazz version of Here Comes Santa Claus.
Being a comedy writer, I’m obliged to make a joke about this fact. Caroline rewards me with a round of giggles that become a cackle of laughter as the tree crashes to the ground in the other room, followed by outraged squalling from Greg.
I hop out of bed, pulling on my pajama pants to check on our furry troublemaker. By the time I bring Greg to bed for a special holiday sleepover—our only chance of keeping our tree in one piece until morning—Caroline is in flannel pajama pants and one of my sweatshirts.
We snuggle with the cat between us, watching the snow fall outside, and once again, I’m hit with a wave of gratitude that takes my breath away.
In that moment, I truly don’t believe I could love her more.
Then, just three days later, she delivers Bump, a precious baby boy with her blue eyes and my stubborn chin, and my love grows so large it leaks out of my eyes and all over my father-in-law’s shoulder as he wraps me up in a big hug in the delivery room.
I’m glad he’s there, after all. I’m glad all the people we love are there, bringing gifts and flowers and well wishes to our suite as Caroline recovers from the thankfully relatively easy birth.
Two years ago, I was at my personal rock bottom.