Ashley

I love holidays.

Sometimes.

No, really, I do love the Christmas season and everything that goes along with it. I start decorating the day after Thanksgiving, and I start Christmas shopping then, too. I play holiday tunes in the house and the car and definitely in my hair salon.

But this year, I was struggling a little. I was feeling a little overwhelmed. I mean, I loved my life–how could I not? I was married to the man of my dreams who loved me like crazy and spoiled me rotten. And after years of loneliness and longing for children and a family of my own, I had a brood.

Yeah, Zane and I hadn’t wasted any time there. Our first baby was conceived on our wedding night, and she was followed in close succession by her little brother, and then our twins–one of each there. Four kids felt just right . . . until this past Thanksgiving, when a pregnancy test had resulted in a big surprise for both Zane and me.

I was excited about baby number five. Of course, I was. I loved my kids, and this baby would be as cherished as his or her siblings.

But having four kids under six while coping with the fatigue of first-trimester pregnancy combined with Christmas . . . well, it was a lot.

That’s probably why I found myself curled up in my bed on Christmas Eve morning, sobbing my heart out. I was alone in the house; Zane had left early this morning, saying something vague about the office and shopping. My friend Tori Westin Jaymes was in town to spend Christmas with her family on their farm, and she’d picked up the kids to enjoy some time with her own two little ones.

I had been able to put on a happy face for my best friend; I didn’t get to see Tori nearly as much as I wished since she and her husband Hunter lived in Nashville most of the time. I knew they were talking about buying land near Burton, and I hoped that they would. I missed Tori like crazy. Even though we talked on the phone and texted all the time, it wasn’t the same.

Just another thing to make me cry a little more . . .

“Hey, babe! Where are you?”

I sat up quickly and then moaned a little. I tended to get lightheaded easily during my first months of being pregnant. But I did manage to call out a response to my husband.

“I’m in here. In our bedroom.”

And then I hastily grabbed some tissues and tried to blot my eyes and my face. If Zane knew I was crying, he’d be worried, and then I’d have to try to explain something I myself didn’t quite understand.

“Ash? Are you okay, sweetheart?” Zane knelt next to me, his hand on my knee. “What’s wrong? Is it the kids? The baby?”

“No.” I shook my head quickly. “Everyone’s fine. The kids are with Tori out on the farm. They’ll be back this afternoon.” I pressed one hand to my stomach. “And as far as I know, this one’s good, too. At least, this morning’s bout of puking seems to indicate that.”

“Awww, I’m sorry, honey.” He let out a long breath. “I hate how sick you get when you’re first pregnant. I wish I could fix that.”

I mustered a smile. “I’ll survive. I always do. And I feel fine now.” For the first time, I noticed the package Zane had under his arm. “What’s that?”

“Oh.” He grinned. “This is a surprise for you. But maybe my timing is off. I don’t want to make you feel worse.”

“Don’t be silly. What is it?” I reached for the package, but Zane held it away from me.

“I just . . .” He paused as though searching for the right words. “I know this new baby was a shock, and I know you’re feeling a little stressed by everything right now. So I’m going to spoil one of my Christmas gifts to you–I’ve hired us a mother’s helper, pending your approval. Just someone to give you a hand for a little bit. If that’s okay with you.”

I let out a long breath. “Oh, babe, that would be incredible. Yes, I’d love to have some help. Even just a couple days a week would be awesome.”

“Then it’s settled.” His smile grew. “So that’s the more esoteric part of my surprise. This is the romantic part. Or I hope it is.” He thrust the package toward me. “Go ahead. Open it up.”

I tilted my head and then began to tear the brown paper, mystified until a familiar aroma reached my sensitive pregnancy nose.

“Oh, my God, Zane! You got me a fruitcake!”

He chuckled. “Not just any fruitcake. This is a Delilah’s Cove fruitcake, babe. I had to do a lot of digging and twisting of arms, but I finally found a contact and ordered one.” He laid his hand over mine. “I just wanted you to remember that first Christmas. And to remind you of the magic that you believe brought us to each other–and the love that keeps us together.” He leaned toward and kissed me, careful not to smush the fruitcake between us.

I twined my arms around his neck. “You know, we are alone for a few more hours,” I murmured, my fingers skimming over his warm skin. “And here we are in our bed. It’s not like I can get any more pregnant, right?”

My husband charmed me with that crooked grin that had won my heart years before. And then he scooped me into his arms.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t give it a good try.”

PS. The fruitcake was delicious . . . when we got around to eating it a few hours later.

Keep the Small Town Love Sizzling!

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