“What?” Surprise echoes through me, because I think I know what she’s trying to say.
“The family will notice we’re gone pretty soon, so are you going to get in here and fuck me, or should we head back?” The curse word coming from her lips makes my cock a steel pipe in two seconds flat.
“God, I love you.” I haul her up until her legs straddle me, my erection pressing in between her spread thighs.
Always the spontaneous one, my woman. As she pulls me in by the coat lapels for a searing kiss, I carry her inside like a caveman.
If christening this shack means I get to make love to my wife, and make all the noise we want while we do so, then I’m all for occupying the hunting lodge.
Bowen
“If you eat one more chocolate chip, I’m going to flip a pancake onto your head,”
I warn my sixteen-year-old daughter with a surly scowl.
“Dad,” she whines. “You’ll ruin my hair, don’t even joke.”
My little girl, or the young woman who has replaced her, pats the same long locks her mother gave her, only in my jet-black color.
“So don’t deplete my supply, then! I have to feed this whole army, and that isn’t an easy task.” I flip one pancake and then three more.
The entire griddle is being used, with pancakes, bacon, and sunny-side up eggs all sizzling from the heat. For years now, Christmas Eve breakfast has been my duty, and I take it seriously. Especially since I have a small country to cook for these days.
Jett, Fletcher’s son, zooms by pretending to fly a small toy helicopter. My son, Jeremy, isn’t far behind with Max on his tail. Those two are right on the cusp of molding from boys to men, and it’s nice to see them horsing around.
“It smells fucking good.” Ames, Forrest’s youngest stepson, walks into the kitchen.
“Watch your mouth,” Keaton warns from the kitchen table, where he’s cutting up fruit just like I asked him.
“Sorry, Uncle Keat.” Ames blanches because he knows there are younger ears all around the house.
“They were out of apple juice, so I got two oranges.” Matt, Penelope’s middle son who is now twenty-five, lugs in some more grocery bags. “This family eats like savages.”
“Don’t I know it.” I snort, flipping over what feels like my hundredth batch of pancakes.
“I’m on call today, so I may have to race back to Fawn Hill if I’m called,” Matt tells his mother, who has just walked into the kitchen.
“On Christmas Eve? Come on, Matty.” She pouts. “You live in the same town as I do and we barely see each other.”
“He’s too busy saving the community, Penny. Cut him some slack.” I point at her with my spatula.
I’m the one who steered the kid in the direction of the firehouse when he seemed unsure of what to do with his life. Now he’s a junior lieutenant and one of the most honest and loyal guys in our small town.
“Says the guy who stopped firefighting,” my sister-in-law snarks.
“Hey, that’s because he has a family.” Lily walks in, and as usual, steals my breath.
My wife has been making my heart skip a beat every time she enters a room since … oh, well, probably forever. I don’t remember a day where my sole focus and attention hasn’t been on Lily. Of course, we had our dark times, the ten years where we’d both been heartbroken and damaged, but it only made us that much stronger today. I love that other people look at us like one of those couples who were just destined to be together because I consider it that way, too.
“And a business to run,” I remind everyone. “It ain’t easy keeping the men of Fawn Hill classy.”
“The small-town barber, a quintessential role,” Forrest taunts me as he walks in.
That kind of joke used to piss me off, but not anymore. My small business provides for my family, it keeps me happy and allows me the flexibility I have always wanted when it comes to raising my family.
Though some of my brothers and their wives had lofty dreams, and they’ve chased them spectacularly, Lily and I are the staple small-town folk. She’s more than satisfied working part-time at the library, and I own my barbershop on Main Street. Some days I cut fifteen clients, other days I cut five. Every afternoon in the spring, I’m at practice as the head coach of the Fawn Hill High baseball team.
We love our simple life, dedicated to our hometown and the kids we love more than anything. Plus, as they’re getting older, my job as a parent is only getting more complicated.
Molly is dating one of my players, a guy who is standup, according to my nephew Matthew, who also plays for me. It didn’t stop me from occupying the front yard the first time he came over, swiftly chopping wood with a very sharp ax for our fireplace. No matter that it was the middle of August. Lily had just chuckled under her breath while Molly told me I was so embarrassing.
I can’t be too hard on her, though. For as much as she’s into makeup, hair, and boys, she’s also the smartest person to come out of the Nash family since Keaton. She wants to be a surgeon and is already registered for some pre-college summer courses once school ends in June. My kid, a surgeon. For someone who barely made it to class most days, I’m floored. And so freaking proud.
Meanwhile, Jeremy is my mini-me and gearing up to be quite the heartbreaker. He’s only in eighth grade, and already he’s had about ten different “girlfriends,” if you can call them that. Hanging out with a group of seven kids at the movies doesn’t necessarily a couple make, but that is how Lily and I started our attraction, so I guess I have to watch out for that.
He’s also got one hell of an arm. One so hot that the AAU program nearby recruited him as a ten-year-old pitcher. His team almost made the Little League World Series. My son could have the career I was always meant to have before the car accident, but I have to keep him grounded. He needs to not only work hard but not flame out before his chance at that comes.
“Shut up and make more coffee,” I tell my little brother.
“Not if you require that jet fuel. Remember those grounds he told us about in the group chat?” Forrest says.
“Jesus, I tried them and it was like drinking electric sludge.” Penelope shudders.
I chuckle under my breath. “You’re all a bunch of wusses.”
“No, sweetheart, we just don’t need an IV of caffeine to our veins,” my wife jokes, sending me a flirty wink.
I take a moment to appreciate the way her black leggings mold over the petite curves of her waist, and when she bends to grab something in the fridge, my eyes are glued to her ass.
“Your pancakes are burning.” Ames snorts, and I almost smack him over the head with my spatula.
“Breakfast is ready!” I holler, even though half of the people in this family are standing in the kitchen.
We all gather around the makeshift table that Presley and Ryan put together. It includes the original dining room table that seats eight, the kitchen table and those chairs, a card table they found in the garage plus some folding chairs, a desk from the small reading nook, some of the patio chairs, and then some other chairs they found in bedrooms throughout the house. We’re all smushed together around the hodgepodge set up, and the noise level in here could rival a Steelers game.
Everyone is talking over each other, shoveling breakfast food in their mouth, and laughter can be heard for miles around this property. You can feel it in this room, love. If there were ever a way to capture that feeling and bottle it up, this dining table would be a great place to start.
“I’d like to propose a toast.” I clear my throat and raise my orange juice glass.
I see Keaton, my older brother, kind of blanch at my taking over this gesture. But I cooked the meal, so he’s going to have to live with it. I’m sure he’ll steal the show tomorrow at our Christmas Day dinner.
“To the woman who started this all, who raised four rowdy boys, spoils her grandchildren, and loves every one of us like we’re the only one in her heart. Mimi E, none of us would be who we are without you
. We don’t deserve your kindness and understanding, and I have no idea how you didn’t beat us idiots to a bloody pulp more when we were growing up. We love you, Mom.”
I raise my glass in my mother’s direction and am not surprised that she’s tearing up. Everyone toasts her and then sips their coffee or juice.
“For a guy who hates saying more than one grunted syllable at a time, that was a pretty good toast, Bowie.” Forrest is trying to tick me off.
“That was beautiful, Bowen.” Mom nods humbly in my direction. “I attribute not beating you to a bloody pulp to the glass of red wine I would take to bed each night.”
Presley cracks up. “Mom, I knew there was a reason I loved you the moment I met you.”
The table erupts into conversation once more, and it’s probably hours before the last dishes are cleared and washed. As the day unfolds, different groups break off for different activities. Some of the women and girls go into the tiny town nearby to scour the antique shop. Forrest, his stepsons, and Keaton decide to hike through the woods. Mom sits in the big bay window and reads some mystery novel. Some of the kids are lounged out in the big living room, scrolling on their phones. Matt and I sit out on the big balcony overlooking the lake a couple miles out, shooting the shit and talking firefighting stories.
Later that night, the whole brood of us settle in by the gigantic fireplace. We’re all in matching pajamas that Lily found and ordered, from sizes newborn to adult male large.
All eyes are on my wife, who holds my father’s worn copy of The Night Before Christmas in her hands. Dad hasn’t been with us for a long time; he never got to meet his grandkids or watch any of his sons meet and marry the women we love. When I let that thought sink in, it threatens to bring me to my knees. Dad and I might have had our disagreements, but he was a family man, through and through. Now that I’m a father, I appreciate that so much more. I constantly wonder what he would have thought of me now, how he would have loved this massive family tree he started.
Jett is the youngest here besides the newborn baby, so it isn’t like the kids really need a bedtime story. But we do it anyway, following the tradition Dad started for us all those years ago. He would read this story every Christmas Eve, even when we were well into our high school years.
Lily sits perched in one of the rocking chairs, the fire roaring behind her, and those sexy as hell glasses perched on her nose. We fell in love as kids, and to this day, I find myself getting turned-on by every little thing my wife does. As it is, I’m getting hard watching her read aloud to our family.
The lilt of her voice, the librarian in her making the story come to life … it puts a spell on the room. Everyone is entranced listening to the classic tale. By the time she’s done, there is a hush over our family, and we all just kind of sit with the magic that this holiday seems to bring.
At some point, somebody breaks the silence, and we break off into groups. The Briggs boys and Travis’ wife decide to take some beers up to the roof, and I see Molly, Jeremy, and Max follow them. Those guys know better than to give my kids, much less nonlegal teens, a drop of alcohol. They know they’ll have to deal with me.
Some of my brothers and sisters-in-law head to their rooms to do some last-minute wrapping, and Mom decides to retire to bed.
But before she can walk out to go do whatever she’s lost in her head about, I grab Lily’s hand.
She gives a tiny gasp as I spin her to me and begin to sway, humming “The Christmas Song” along with Nat King Cole over the stereo system. Settling in, the love of my life gives a soft sigh as our bodies mold in that familiar way.
“Fifteen years ago, you stood next to a Christmas tree very similar to this one and asked me to marry you.” Lily’s soft voice floats up from where her cheek presses against my chest.
I dance with her slowly, holding her petite body like fragile China, like I always did. Once upon a time, I almost broke her completely. Now I hold her reverently every chance I get, which I make it a point to be often.
“There’s no way I could live my life without you.” I state it matter-of-factly.
“It always seemed like we were meant to be together. Even in those missing years, I always had the slightest hope that we’d find our way back.” She’s speaking of the dark times.
Even though I know they happened, they’re something I try to avoid talking about. Lily doesn’t like that, when I try to gloss over the ten years we weren’t together. She says they’re a part of our history, a part of why we work so well now. But it hurts like hell, like someone hacking away at my heart, when I think about how lonely and sad I was. We both were.
“I’ve loved you for a very long time. I’ll love you forever.” I kiss the top of her head, bringing myself back to the here and now.
My wife tilts her head up and presses as far up on her toes as she can go. I’ve always loved how small she is, that I practically have to pick her up to properly sear my lips onto hers.
Which is what I do now. The kiss is gentle yet urging, compassionate with notes of lust lurking just beneath the surface. More times than not these days, we make love. There are still nights where the animal in me comes out, pinning her against a wall or daring to attempt sex in the back seat of our SUV like we’re teenagers again.
But overall, I make love to my wife. I sink into her, our eyes locked, and stoke her fires subtly while I watch every expression of pleasure pass over her beautiful face.
“Merry Christmas, baby,” I whisper against her lips.
“It’s not Christmas yet.” Her eyes are closed as her mouth hovers a hairbreadth from mine.
I shrug, pulling her impossibly closer. “I wanted to be the first to say it to you.”
“First. Last. Forever, Bowen.”
She knows me too well. I was never one for many words. Lily always tells me in my language exactly what I need to hear.
And when I take her to bed tonight, I’ll tell her without any words at all just how much I love her.
Forrest
No matter how old you are, there is something about coming down on Christmas morning to a tree stacked high with presents that makes butterflies explode in your stomach.
I’ve had years of this, setting up the tripod and video on my cell phone for the boys to come running down the stairs. Each year, Penelope and I would stay up late wrapping their new NERF guns or putting bows on brand new bikes. The year we got them a joint gift of a new Xbox and tons of games, they freaked out so much that I don’t think any of them misbehaved until at least March.
Times are different now, with the boys being well into adulthood, but it doesn’t mean I’m not that proud dad I’ve always been.
I rose early this morning, making the first pot of coffee and putting a batch of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls in the oven. I lit the fire, stacking the wood and stoking it until it was nice and toasty. I turned on the tree lights, made sure all of the stockings were filled with lottery scratch-offs, and plugged my phone into the stereo to play a Christmas station on Spotify.
Then I waited. Waited for the sounds of my family stirring, for my wife to come down the stairs before everyone else and sit quietly snuggled up to me as we waited for everyone else. It’s not often that Penelope and I aren’t battling or foreplaying with our words, but sometimes on perfectly content mornings, we just sit in silence, her lying on my chest, while we sip our coffees.
My wife is in her happy place right now. Even though our empty nest presents so many perks—hello walking around naked and having sex on the kitchen counters—she misses the boys like crazy. With all of them under the same roof, and our new grandson, Miles, here too, that’s all the Christmas present she needs.
Travis Jr., his wife, Arianna, and their one-month-old son live in Philadelphia. It’s a two- to three-hour drive from Fawn Hill, depending on traffic, and with all of our busy schedules, we don’t get to see them nearly as much as we’d like. Matt is always running around with the fire department in town and has a busy dating life of his
own that his mother doesn’t always approve of. Ames is in college, and we’re lucky if we get a phone call once a month.
I never thought I’d be the family man out of our bunch, but my life has been full of sports practices, high school dances, graduations, and trying to put three kids through college. I’ve loved every single minute of it, and now that there is a new baby, it’s brought out a whole new side of me.
See, I never got to raise babies. I love the boys like they’re my own, but they were already little men when I came into the picture. Spending time with Miles, watching him learn new things each and every week, not to mention day, is fascinating. Plus, Penelope loves to tease me about finally changing diapers.
I’m still working with coding and computers like I always have. It’s my passion, and I likely won’t give it up until they put me in the ground.
Penelope, however, is nearing the end of her teaching career, though. She’s close to fifty, and while she loves the kids, she’s tired of coming home sick most weeks from their colds and dealing with parents who don’t seem to take their children’s health seriously. She’s been a full-time working mom for a long time. And a single mom for a lot of those years. I told her about five years ago that she should quit, relax. I make more than enough money to support the both of us. I think she’s finally, just now, coming around to that idea.
“It’s beautiful here.” She sighs, nuzzling back into me.
“You’re beautiful,” I counter, peeking between her cleavage because I can’t help it.
“Mr. Nash, what a charmer you are,” she teases.
“I can be romantic.” Sometimes.
“You’re thinking about my boobs right now, aren’t you?” P chuckles.
“I’m neither confirming nor denying that.” My smirk is devilish.
She lets out a soft hoot of a laugh. “I love you, Forrest.”
“And I love you, my sweet P.” I press a kiss to her temple.
The next ten minutes sees the rest of the Nash clan padding down the stairs, hair askew, grabbing coffee, and settling in for the present extravaganza. The youngest kids are first, opening their presents in a fury, while the rest of us sit back and just smile at their enthusiasm.
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