With his head in her lap, Duncan shouted.
“Yes! Sweet mother of God, yes!” Then he scrambled on hands and knees, reaching under the dresser and pulling out the tartan scarf Elaina had worn on her wedding day. “I knew I put it somewhere safe after I washed it. Must have fallen behind the mirror.”
He returned to her with the garment in hand and wrapped it over her shoulders—for her tonight and for the baby upon their return.
He reached for her hand once more.
“Are you ready to make our own luck, Mrs. McAllister?”
She winked at him. “Aye, Mr. McAllister.” Then she swiped her thumb under his eye. “I thought you didn’t like to cry.” She teased him, yet seeing him like this squeezed her heart, a different kind of contraction. She definitely preferred this to what was happening in her midsection.
He shrugged. “Guess I’m not so afraid of what I feel anymore, not with you.”
Elaina winced and sucked in a sharp breath. Another contraction.
“Okay,” Duncan said, glancing at her belly. “Maybe I’m afraid of that.” He squeezed her hand and grinned, and Elaina laughed through the pain. He helped her to her feet, guiding her toward the bedroom door.
And they left as two to return as three.
Maggie
Maggie rubbed the back of her neck as she tried again to get the key in the door. A migraine threatened to work its way up to that spot of blinding pain that would make this night unsalvageable. A quiet New Year’s Eve was all she wanted. And coffee. Coffee would fix all.
The door swung open before she tried the key again, and Griffin stood before her, steaming mug in his hand.
“Tough day at the office?” he asked, and she let her art bag drop from her shoulder so she could first steal a kiss and then the coffee.
“They’re great kids,” she said. “And it was a great party, but I think they’ve zapped my last ounce of energy. I’m probably not going to be much fun tonight.”
Griffin led her to their small living room, set her coffee on the side table, and let her collapse onto the couch. Lucky enough to find a job providing art therapy at a local youth center, Maggie kept hours that rivaled his.
“Smells good,” she said, closing her eyes for just a short moment.
Griffin kissed her on the forehead, then escaped back into the kitchen.
“Pizza,” he called back to her. “The kind with no preservatives.”
She smiled and opened her eyes, the rest and caffeine sure to do the trick. That’s when she saw the UNO box on the coffee table.
“Game night?” she asked, and Griffin popped his head out of the kitchen.
“Pizza needs ten more minutes. Figured you could shuffle and get it set up?”
Maggie shrugged. “You got it, Fancy Pants.”
She grabbed the box and gasped, not prepared for its lack of weight. In fact, the box was practically empty except for whatever made the soft rattling noise inside.
She took a few deep breaths. Whatever was happening, she needed to focus—not on exhaustion or hunger or anything outside this moment. Because her eyes already stung, and her heart might burst from her rib cage. There were no cards in the box, and if the whatever that was happening was the something she suspected—oh my God.
With trembling hands, she opened it, and a small diamond ring fell into her palm. When she looked up, her vision blurred through tears, there was Griffin on his knee on the other side of the table.
“Pippi…I need to ask you something.” He slapped the naked deck of cards down on the table.
She nodded, her whole body a virtual earthquake.
“I know the ring isn’t much, but if you don’t mind waiting, someday it will be more.”
She wanted to tell him she didn’t care about the size of the ring. She wanted to scream the word yes before any question was even asked, but she couldn’t do anything other than nod and try to control the trembling.
“No matter where I go,” he said, and she noticed the tremor in his voice, “you will always be my home. Tell me I can always be your home, too. Be my wife, Maggie.”
Griffin slid the deck toward her.
“Full deck,” he said. “All in…always.”
She was on her knees now, crawling around the coffee table to kneel in front of him. She raised a hand to his face and swiped away the tear that lay on his cheek. She was doing that nodding thing again, unable to find her voice, and Griffin started to laugh.
“Is that a yes?” he asked, taking the ring from her palm and sliding it onto her finger.
She laughed now, too. “Yes.” She kissed him. “Yes.” He kissed her back. “Yes.”
Jordan
Jordan looked from Noah, to Elvis, and back to Noah again.
“You sure?” he asked. “Your family’s going to be pissed.”
She laughed and nodded.
“They don’t have to know,” she said. “This is just for us, right? We changed the date so Duncan and Elaina could make it. Technically, we’d have already been married by now.”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed.
“I guess you can’t argue with technically.”
She beamed at him. “Nice outfit, by the way.”
“You as well,” he said.
Actually, they looked ridiculous, but that was part of the fun, right? Jordan in her blue sweatshirt that read Groom and Noah in the white one that read Bride. After all, she needed her something new, borrowed, and blue. The old was the Aberdeen T-shirt she wore underneath, a reminder of where and how they began.
She had suggested the Vegas idea as a joke, but you know what they say. In every joke there is a sprinkling of truth, and truth be told, Jordan wanted to marry Noah Keating today—and again in the summer. So when she opened her Christmas card from him, one that read, “This might be another proposal,” she’d tackled him to the floor with kisses and a resounding YES.
But this wedding would be just for them. Them and Elvis.
The musical trio began the first few bars of “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” their cue to make their way toward the man in the bedazzled white jumpsuit who would pronounce them husband and wife.
Jordan linked her arm in Noah’s, and they took their first step. Together. And when she tripped on her shoelace, they promptly fell. Together.
“Quick check for injuries,” Noah said. He patted himself down. “All clear.”
Jordan rubbed the elbow that broke her fall but echoed his answer just the same. “All clear,” she said. “It’s a good sign, right?”
Noah kissed her and then helped her up.
“I’d be worried if this went off without a hitch,” he said and chuckled. “Now I’m sure we’re making the right decision.”
Jordan swatted him on the shoulder. “You weren’t sure before?”
He grabbed her hand and threaded his fingers through hers.
“Eyes on the polyester, Brooks.”
They took another step. She nodded.
“Eyes on the polyester.”
They weren’t Beatrice and Benedick or Lizzie and Darcy or Lucy and George. They weren’t anything like the stories she’d read and loved for so many years. They were Brooks and Noah, and their tale was still just beginning. But Jordan knew, even before getting to the end—this would be her favorite story of all.
Miles
“Good night, Professor Parker. Do remember it’s a holiday.”
“Good night,” he echoed, then hit the end button on his phone. On the one hand, Miles was thrilled to hear from Professor Norton, the head of the psychology department. They’d be taking him on full-time next year. On the other hand, it was nine thirty on New Year’s Eve, and he was in his office with nothing but twenty-two ungraded term papers to celebrate with.
A soft knock sounded on the door, and he groaned. Miles thought he was the only one in the building. God, what if it was one of his no-shows from his office hours before the holiday break? That’s just what he wanted to do, argue grades with some irresponsible freshman who couldn’t be bothered to keep an appointment.