The Mechanics of Mistletoe - Liz Isaacson Page 0,94
works for you?” Sammy asked.
“Whenever,” Bear said. “I don’t do much but work on the ranch. You’re busier than me.”
“Spring break would be nice,” she said. “Then no one would have to take Link to school while we’re on our honeymoon.”
“When’s spring break?” Bear asked, knowing it wouldn’t be in the next couple of days.
“March,” she said, looking up at him. “Does that work?”
“Yes,” he said, and she circled March sixteenth on the calendar.
“It’s a Saturday,” she said. “Then we can be gone for the next week.”
“I’ll text my mother right now.” Bear did that, and everyone looked at him when he finished. “What?”
“Do you have a gift for Sammy?” Rachel asked, and Bear’s face heated.
“I do,” he said. “But it’s kind of lame, and I’d rather give it to her in private.”
Sammy blinked, but her mother didn’t miss a single beat. “No problem.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, Sammy, we’ve got your favorites here.” She removed the lid from the food, a healthy dose of steam escaping. “Happy birthday, dear.”
Rachel proceeded to stick candles in the chicken Alfredo, which made Lincoln laugh. She put a few in the cake Ranger had dropped off earlier, and they sang Happy Birthday to her, just the four of them.
Somehow, though, there were more voices adding to the song than people in the room. Bear felt a very real impression that the heavens had opened, and angels had come down to celebrate Sammy’s birthday with her. He thought she must have felt them too, because she wept through the whole song.
She hugged both of her parents afterward, and even Lincoln piled into the group huddle-hug. Bear stood on the outside and watched them grieve and heal and love, and it was beautiful.
Sammy opened her eyes and met his, raised her hand as an indication that he should join them. He did, stepping right behind Lincoln and wrapping his long arms around the lot of them.
Just like that, he became one of them, and the love they had for each other infused into him too.
“Thank you,” Sammy finally whispered, and Bear stepped back, which allowed everyone else to do the same. “I know Heather and Patrick were here for that.” She wiped her eyes. “Now, I’m starving, and I’m going to eat all of this chicken Alfredo by myself.”
She beamed around at everyone, and Bear could only smile back as his emotions had lodged themselves somewhere in his throat, making speaking impossible.
Later that night, Sammy rode home with Bear while Lincoln snoozed in a sleeping bag on his grandparent’s living room floor. He went down the block and around the corner to her driveway. When he pulled in, he put the truck in park and reached behind the seat.
“This is what I got for you,” he said, handing her the book. It was wrapped in plain white paper, with a bright pink ribbon that crisscrossed and made a bow. “I obviously didn’t wrap it.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “So clean.”
Bear’s heart beat out a painful rhythm as she carefully unwrapped the book as if she’d keep the paper for another gift. She looked at the book, which was navy blue leather and didn’t give away what was inside.
She glanced at him and opened it, reading the first page. It was his note to her, and he had it memorized for how often he’d worked on it in the past month.
Sammy,
I’m not great with writing down how I feel. I want you to know I think you’re one of the smartest, most capable women I’ve ever met. I fell in love with you the day I found that birthday card taped to my front door, and I keep falling a little bit more every day we’re together. Your kindness and generous spirit are amazing things for me to witness, and I promise I’m going to become the man you deserve.
I love you. I am in love with you. I will always choose you.
Love, Bear
A sob came from her throat, and she turned toward him and flung her arms around him in the same moment. Bear didn’t know what to do, except to hang on to her. He did that, holding her close while she cried. She finally calmed and pulled away from him.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I asked everyone to write a little note about you,” he said, his own voice tight. She turned the page, where his mother’s writing sat.
Sammy read it and sniffled. “Your mother loves you.”