by J. J. Murray
“I just don’t see how we can—”
Dylan kissed her lips. “Shh, Hope. We’ll figure it out. We’ve figured out so much already, haven’t we?”
“Yes.” She took his hands and held them to her face. “Yes, we have, but like you said, we’re flat broke.”
Dylan smiled. “Isn’t it enough that we have each other? I have been wanting to say that to you for the longest time.”
Hope shook her head. “That was my line.”
“It’s not a line, Hope,” Dylan said. “It’s a reality. You saved my dream, Hope, and I will forever love you for that, and I will spend the rest of my life trying to repay you.”
“You saved my dream and my life, Dylan. I can never repay you.” She kissed his chin. “But I’m going to try.”
Dylan ran his fingers lightly over her hair. “So sexy.” He smiled. “I guess there’s only one more thing you need to do.”
“Besides worry?” Hope said.
“No more worrying,” Dylan said. “We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”
“In a freezing-cold beach house on Christmas Eve?” Hope said.
“In each other’s arms,” Dylan said.
Hope nodded. “What do I have to do?”
“There’s one more present hidden somewhere in this house,” Dylan said, “and you’ll have to find it.”
“You could just give it to me,” Hope said.
“And ruin the surprise? Never!” He rubbed her back. “Go find it.”
Hope looked in both bedrooms.
“Very cold,” Dylan said.
She went downstairs to the kitchen.
“Warmer,” Dylan said.
She opened cupboards, the ancient refrigerator, and several drawers and found nothing but crystals of sand. “Is it outside? You didn’t bury it in the sand, did you?”
Dylan shook his head.
“It’s not on you, is it?” Hope asked.
“You’ll get that present later. At least twice if you’ve been nice, and three times if you’ve been naughty.”
“I have been so naughty,” Hope whispered. She squinted at the tree. That’s where it is. She walked toward it and looked among the branches, finding a bird’s nest. She showed it to Dylan. “Look. A nest-warming gift.”
“Boo,” Dylan said. “But you are getting colder.”
He isn’t kidding. “Please tell me where it is.”
“You walked right . . . under it.”
What did I walk under? She looked above the front door. That’s something . . . golden up there in the mistletoe. She pointed. “Is that it?”
Dylan nodded.
It was in the last place I looked.
Dylan pulled down the entire piece of mistletoe, holding it over Hope’s head and kissing her. He slid the ring off a thin branch. “Let’s go down to the shore. It’s probably warmer down there anyway.”
The sunset fading from purple to gray, heavy dark clouds floating just offshore, Dylan led Hope through a few dancing snowflakes to the water’s edge.
It’s snowing! It’s snowing at the beach!
He knelt on the sand and looked up at her. “This may be the last time I ever ask you to do something.”
Hope’s heart pounded. “You can ask me to do anything.”
“I don’t think so,” Dylan said, smiling. “You’re going to be asking me for a new kitchen, roof, deck, appliances, furniture, driving lessons . . . I won’t have time to ask you anything, so I better make this count. I love you, Hope. Je t’ aime. And my knee is soaked because I am kneeling on wet sand, but I’m not moving. You have given me life again, and joy again, and peace again, and no matter how much you claimed to hate Christmas, you kept Christmas all along, and you sacrificed your dream for mine. I give you this gift, this eternal gift, because I want to spend an eternity of sunrises and sunsets with you. We love what we do, and love found us. Vous marierez-vous avec moi? Please marry me. I don’t want to live another day without you.”
I should be crying. Why am I not crying? I’m too happy to cry! “Dylan, you’re the only one I could ever marry. You saved my life, and I give it back to you. I love you.”
Dylan slid on the ring, and it glowed brightly as stars poked through the gloom while larger snowflakes drifted down.
They stood at the shoreline, looking at their ocean, their stars, and their waves. Hope thought of a lifetime of mortgage, debt, leases, uncertain finances, one child . . . or eight or nine . . . maybe ten—and a lifetime of dreams, dreams that had come true and would continue to come true as long as the ocean rolled with this man by her side, this Island man, this gentle man who taught her to live again.
“Let’s go inside and warm up,” Dylan said. “I filled the closet with quilts.”
Hope kissed him. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Dylan squeezed her hand and nodded. “Take your time, cailín.”
As Dylan walked up the dune behind her, Hope took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Are you still there?
Hope heard nothing but the waves kissing the shore.
That’s what I thought.
Yuh vex meh nuh more, Depression. Yuh vex meh nuh more.
She opened her eyes and looked up, snowflakes landing and melting on her face. Snowflakes dissolving on my face. This is the only way I am going to “cry” for the rest of my life.
She climbed the dune, bounced across the deck, and opened her door. “Dylan, I know what we can name this place.”
Dylan sat under several quilts in front of the tree. “What?”
“We’re going to call his place Hope’s Landing.”
He held out his hand. “It is a good name.”
She joined him and wormed under the quilt, feeling his warmth.
“Merry Christmas, Hope.”
“Joyeux Noël, Dylan.”
Bonjour, amour.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Copyright © 2013 by J. J. Murray
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ISBN: 978-0-7582-7725-1
eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-0463-4
eISBN-10: 1-4967-0463-0
Kensington Electronic Edition: October 2015