A loud group of travelers rushed past them toward the security check.
“I should be flying with you.”
“I’ll be fine, Deacon. It’s a direct flight. My brother will get us on the other end.”
“I don’t like it.”
She smiled and cupped his cheek. “Don’t pout.”
“I don’t pout.”
“Okay.” He was so pouting. She turned her face into Deacon’s neck, inhaled him and pressed a kiss there. “I don’t want to leave,” she whispered.
“I don’t want to let you go.”
“I’ll be back soon, and then you won’t have to.”
Chapter 31
TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE Christmas, and Clare was ready to drop. After attending the early Christmas Eve mass, they spent the next few hours trying to keep the girls from swinging from the chandeliers both at his parents’ house and at Deacon’s. Not even their preteen cousins could run the excitement out of M&M tonight. Finally, thankfully, they were in bed. Patrick and Parker had no idea about Santa coming. For them, it was just another night, and after being passed around and entertained, they’d gone down easier than usual.
The girls were allowed to open one present from their grandparents—books, Clare already knew, as she’d helped Deacon’s mom pick them out. They’d promised to read both if the girls didn’t fall asleep on the drive home.
They didn’t. And so after sprinkling reindeer food—a mix of bird seed and glitter—over the lawn, and arranging and rearranging Santa’s cookies next to his milk—with carrots and juice for the reindeer—they got into their Christmas pajamas. And after reading both books, the girls were finally tucked in tight.
“I thought we were going to keep it to a few gifts each,” Clare said as she carefully peeled off and stuck on the stickers for the new dollhouse.
Deacon smiled, not looking up from his job of adding tiny batteries to the plastic cat bed that would meow when the cat was pressed into it. “It does look like Santa’s workshop.”
They’d wrapped some things and left the bigger items unwrapped, a merge of their two family traditions. There were just a few things under the tree for the boys. At just about two and a half months old, they didn’t need much for Christmas.
“Here’s your cat,” she said, handing him the pink plastic feline.
He tested it, making it meow in the bed. Then did it again.
Clare stood the dollhouse mom at the front door, poised to ring the doorbell.
“I think someone else is excited about Santa,” Deacon said, kissing the side of her face.
“So excited, I could bust.”
While Deacon stuck streamers into the handlebars of the girls’ new tricycles, Clare tucked a stuffed kitten into one basket and a puppy into the other. With that last thing done, they sat back to survey.
“It looks good,” Deacon said.
“It looks very good. I like some of the toys out like this. Their eyes are going to bug out as soon as they hit the bottom of the stairs.”
He groaned and laid back, his head just on the edge of the tree skirt. She joined him. His arm came around her, and she rested her head on his chest, with the twinkling lights above them. He laced his fingers with hers, brought them to his lips, and kissed them. “That’s all I’ve got.”
She smiled into his chest, happier than she’d ever been. “Good thing. That’s all I’ve got, too.”
They’d been going nonstop all day. All week, really. She had the breakfast casserole prepped, the sausage balls made, and the strawberries covered in chocolate. They’d have all that plus hot cocoa in Christmas mugs.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his eyes still closed.
“Just going over the food prep in my head, making sure I didn’t forget anything.”
“It’s going to be spectacular. Better than my usual frozen waffles.”
She knew he wasn’t joking. He’d told her how he’d insisted on being home Christmas morning, just him and the girls, instead of having Santa come to his parents’ or having his mother lay out a breakfast spread for them. This was their house. He was the parent. His parents would come later. “What are you thinking?”
“Mmm. What to play with first.”
She laughed. “Have you decided?”
“The Mr. Potato Play-Doh Head.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost midnight, I think.”
“Mmm. What time will they be up?”
“We can hope for six thirty. Pray for seven.”
“Maybe we could sleep right here,” she said. “Then we wouldn’t have to get dressed in the morning.”
“There’s an idea. How about one more present?”
“I don’t know where it’ll go.”
“I have an idea.” He sat up and leaned over her, pulling a paper flower from somewhere behind his back. “I made you something.”
She grinned. He knew how much she loved it when the girls made her things. “Thank you.” She studied the small red flower made out of intricately folded paper. “You made me a flower. You made me an origami flower. I thought you didn’t know how?”
“YouTube.”
“You learned origami from a YouTube? The ancient art of paper folding?”
“I figured it was a good skill to have,” he said with a half smile and a small shrug.
Just when she didn’t think she could love him any more.
“And if I did it right, you pull the sides, and it blooms.”
“I don’t want to ruin it.”
“You won’t. Go ahead.” He nodded at the flower. “Let’s see how good I am.”
She sat up and kissed him. “I think you’re very good.”
“Try it. I want to see if it works.”
“Okay.” Lightly she tugged one petal, then the one beside it and the next one, until the top level opened out. There was even a little paper stamen inside and—“Deacon. There’s a ring in here.”
“What? You’re kidding. How did that get in there?”
A diamond ring, hanging right on the paper stamen. She reached inside and touched it. “It’s so beautiful.” Platinum and shiny and oval and—
“Clare, I love you,” he said, sending her pulse into high gear.
He pulled the ring from the flower. But her eyes were no longer on the sparkling diamond, they were on Deacon’s face, his eyes.
“I said I was half in love with you before we left the beach, but that was wrong. I was way past half. You caught me. Then you swept me away. I love you. I love your smile, especially when the girls hand you a prized piece of lint or a rock. I love that you had our sons. I love that you talk too fast when you’re nervous and you think every little thing to death when you’re unsure. But I’m going to make you sure. I’m going to make you happy and keep you laughing through every crazy adventure and carpet stain and overflowing toilet for the rest of our lives. And when it’s just the two of us in this house, I want to sit and hold your hand and make out on a couch with or without crushed goldfish. Marry me. Be my wife. My life. Forever.”
“Yes,” she said, breathless and tumbling. “Yes.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger, and she said yes again. She said it, whispered it, and cried it. Then they were kissing under the tree, up the stairs. And they found neither of them were all that tired anymore.
Epilogue
CLARE STOOD IN THE bridal room in front of the full-length mirror. It wasn’t quiet, far from it. Jess, Nicole, and both of Deacon’s sisters laughed wildly, clinking glasses of champagne. Her mom and Nancy stood to the side, each with a baby cooing in their arms. Margo and Maci danced and twirled, white rose petals falling from their baskets as they did.
Her dress was simple, soft white and lace, with cap sleeves and a scoop neck. Her hair was down, and a band of tiny flowers that sang of a summer wedding held it back from her face. Her face had natural color, her cheeks and nose pink from long days outside, pushing swings and kicking balls.
Her phone rang, and she turned, recognizing Deacon’s ring tone. Margo held the cell phone over her head and squealed as she answered it.
“Daddy! Hi, Daddy!”
Maci leaned in, putting her mouth to the screen. “Hi, Daddy! We have fwowers!”
Then as if her daddy could see, she flung a handful into the air. Clare laughed at their joy. Let them throw flowers, she thought. It was why she’d planned for a full refill just before the wedding and another for the reception.
The photographer in the corner snapped pictures she knew she’d treasure.
“Cware! It’s Daddy!”
Smiling, she came toward them, her heart fluttering for the man on the other end of the line. She hadn’t seen him since he’d kissed her goodbye last night. They’d gone for tradition and spent the night apart. She’d barely slept for the excitement and because she was so used to falling asleep in his arms. “Tell Daddy I’ll see him soon.”
The girls relayed the message, and Alex took the phone to give her brother grief for calling again.
Clare knelt in front of the girls, and they came to her, crawling on their knees, no thought or care for their white dresses. The rings of tea roses and baby’s breath sat askew on top of their heads. She thought they looked perfect, natural, like little girls who’d been dancing in a field of flowers.
Maci reached out to touch her hair then the flowers on top. “I like your fwowers,” she said.
Clare pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “I like yours, too.”
“We’re fairy princesses,” Margo said.
Maci repeated it as they scooted closer to her.
“I love you,” Clare said, the words tumbling out of her too-full heart. It happened a lot, and she figured it would never be too much or too many times. They were hers, in every way that mattered. And soon they’d be hers on paper, too. They’d even called her Mommy a few times—the first time, Deacon had found her crying happy tears in the bathroom.
She and Deacon had sat the girls down and, while Margo held Parker and Maci held Patrick, had told them the boys were their brothers. That was after they’d told the girls they were getting married, so the biology of it had been avoided. All they knew, all they cared about, was they were going to be a family. They were going to be together all the time, and Clare and the babies would live in their house and never leave.
“Make a tent!” Margo said, reaching behind Clare for her veil.
Clare pulled the sheer length over her head, capturing the three of them under the gauzy folds. With an arm around each girl, she leaned forward and got a kiss on each cheek. When she heard the click of a camera, she knew this would be her favorite picture. And with the sudden burn of tears, knew one day she’d be in a room like this with one or both of these precious babies waiting to walk down the aisle to their own groom.
“Clare,” Jess called. “If you could stop playing on the floor, it’s time to get married.”
She adjusted her veil and straightened, so happy she was nearly dizzy with it. Patrick began to cry, and as she went for him, her mom turned him out of reach. “Oh, no you don’t. I have a bottle, and I know what to do with it.”
Clare smiled. She and Nancy were in grandma heaven. “Okay. I guess the boys and my boobs can make it until after the wedding.”
There was a knock on the door just before the wedding coordinator poked her head in. “It’s time.”
They walked out and lined up per the coordinator’s instructions. The grandmas took their seats with the babies while Alex made sure Margo and Maci didn’t dump their full baskets of petals until they started down the aisle.
The music started, and the bridesmaids began their slow walk.
She looked to Jess. “Want to hear me roar?”
Jess grinned. “Will it be loud?”
“Shake-the-rafters, bring-the-roof-down loud.”
Jess’s lip quivered.
“Don’t cry. You’ll make me cry.”
“I’m not. I can’t hug you, it’ll mess you up.”
Clare squeezed her friend’s hand, kissed her cheek then watched her walk down the aisle.
Next were the girls. They went slowly, really slowly. She and Deacon had laughed, wondering if they would run, skip, or savor their moment in the spotlight. Seemed they were savoring it.
Then as if to prove a three-, nearly four-year-old was anything but predictable, Maci upturned her basket, dumping the remainder in a pile, and ran straight to Deacon, arms raised. To the delight and laughter of the gathered guests, he picked her up, kissed her, then pointed her to her spot with her aunt and sister.
The music changed, and those in the church stood.
“Here we go,” her dad said, holding out his arm.
She took it and kissed his smooth cheek.
Yes, here we go. She stood just another second, gazing down the aisle.
Her eyes met Deacon’s, and she thought, There he is. I found it. I found him. Everything I ever wanted, everything I was always looking for.
And as the wedding march played, and with Deacon’s eyes locked with hers, she took the first step.
The End
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Also from Claudia Connor
Worth the Fall
Worth the Risk
Worth It All
Where I Belong
Worth the Wait
About the Author
Claudia Connor is the author of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling series The McKinney Brothers. Claudia writes warm, heartfelt contemporary romances with a bit of steam, a lot of family, and always a happily ever after.
Claudia attended Auburn University, where she received her undergraduate and master’s degrees in early childhood education, and completed her studies in Sawbridgeworth, England. When she’s not writing, she enjoys movies, reading, and travel, with a heavy dose of daydreaming during all three. Claudia lives near Memphis, Tennessee, with her husband and three daughters.
You can find out more about Claudia’s books at http://claudiaconnor.com/.
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Excerpt from
Worth the Fall
by Claudia Connor
Chapter 1
“YOU EVER NOTICE THAT hot, mostly naked chicks don’t really show up in a snow covered train whenever you pop open one of these?” Rob held out his dripping beer bottle, pointing to the picture on the silver foil.
Matt McKinney pushed back in his beach chair, closed his eyes, and dug his heels deeper into the coarse, east coast sand. He focused on the familiar low roar of the surf, a backdrop of white noise, and tried to block out his cousin.
“I mean, isn’t that some sort of product misrepresentation?”
“Write a complaint to the company,” Matt offered.
“Hell, man.” Rob slapped the arm of his chair. “That’s a good idea. Might get some free beer or something.”
Or something. Normally, Matt would have laughed at his cousin’s thought process. Normally, he would have laughed at a lot of things. Lately? Not so much.
“Uh, excuse me.” A grating female voice came from a towel at his feet. “Talking about naked girls is just like, rude. Did you forget we’re laying like right here?”
Forget? If only that were possible.
Four days ago, he’d found his cousin sitting on the curb outside his home. “Come on, man,” Rob had begged. “I
need to get to the beach. She could be ‘the one’.”
Sidelined from duty by a bullshit injury, Matt had nothing else to do. But as it turned out, Rob had needed more than a ride. He’d needed a wingman.
Whatever. How bad could it be?
Two days later, he knew exactly how bad it could be. He glanced at the divas stretched out in the sand, man-made breasts too big for even his hands, spilling out of their tiny tops.
Brittney gazed up at Rob from her towel, an undeniable lust in her eyes. “If you want hot women on a train, why don’t you drive your little choo choo on over here?”
“Honey, my choo choo is not little,” Rob corrected.
“Mmm. That’s true,” she said, giving Rob a knowing glance.
“Too bad for you, Matthew. This is a one-way train,” Kimmi said, still pissed he’d dumped her drunken body into her bed last night. Alone.
“Or one-man,” Brittney added with a laugh.
Matt wished himself somewhere else. Anywhere else.
Kimmi flipped her oiled body over to bake the other side, the bright orange sequins of her top nearly blinding him. He’d outgrown her type years ago. Though, given his job, he didn’t have a lot of options.
They continued with train innuendos, going through tunnels and what they could do for Rob if he got off track, until Matt couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m going for a walk.” He stood, stepping around coolers and towels.
“Man, you are spending way more time walking than sitting,” Rob said. “You’re supposed to relax.”
If you call this relaxing. “Back in a while.”
“Bye, Matthew,” Kimmi said, doing a flittery finger wave as he walked away. “Thanks so much for asking if I wanted to go.”
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