Page 74 of Dark Christmas

She smiles, leaning against the counter. “Claire and David are all set for Christmas dinner tomorrow,” she says.

“How’s William?” I ask, stirring the soup as I glance her way.

“Freaking adorable,” she replies, eyes bright with affection. "Seriously, he’s baby model material."

I watch her as she moves around the kitchen, humming along to the music. There’s something about this moment—the warmth,the normalcy—that makes me want to hold onto it forever.

I pour two glasses of wine and slide one over to her, but the moment her eyes land on it, something shifts. She hesitates, then, with a small smile, says, “Sparkling water’s fine.”

I narrow my eyes. “You sure you’re okay?”

She brushes it off with a light laugh, but there’s tension behind it. “Yeah, just want to be sharp for Christmas morning.”

I don’t buy it, but I let it slide—for now.

Her face suddenly changes, turning serious. She looks at the counter, avoiding my eyes. “I don’t want to push but... Sasha.”

“I’m still processing,” I say, my voice tight. “The funeral’s next week.”

My hands grip the edge of the counter, tension building in my shoulders. She steps closer, her hand sliding over mine, grounding me in a way I didn’t expect.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” she says, voice soft but steady. “I’m here for you. Just don’t forget that, okay?”

I nod, still not looking her way but I feel her words settling deep inside.

“He was loyal,” I say quietly. “To the end.”

I feel a tightness in my throat, the kind that makes it hard to breathe. I swallow it down, forcing myself to stay composed, but it doesn’t make the ache go away. Amelia squeezes my hand gently, her eyes searching mine.

“I’ve had to cut ties before. It’s part of the lifestyle—walking away when you need to. Friends, family. Sasha was one of thelast of those ties I had left.”

She watches me, her expression soft. “We can keep him alive in our memories.”

“I’d like that.”

She gives me a small smile, and it’s like she knows exactly what I need to hear. “Our life together,” she continues, “can be the opposite of your old one. We’ll build new ties with friends and family. We’ll put down roots.”

I look at her, really look at her, and in that moment, she’s more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her. There’s something about the way she speaks, the way she’s always so damn sure of what we could have, that makes me believe it, too. She’s offering me something I never thought was possible. Stability. A future. Love.

I squeeze her hand back, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

Dinner's ready, and I plate it up, the rich aroma filling the kitchen. Not bad, if I say so myself. Amelia's already at the table, and I bring over the dishes, setting them down. She looks up at me, her eyes full of warmth and love.

I raise my glass. “To Sasha,” I say. “To his memory. And to always keeping it alive.”

She lifts her own glass, smiling softly. “To Sasha. We’ll never forget him.”

We clink glasses, the sound small but solid, an unspoken promise. We each take a sip, then dig in. The food is good, but it's the moment itself that I'm savoring most. Amelia sitting across from me, this life we’re building. I never thought I’d wantsomething like this, but here we are, and I realize it’s all Ieverwanted.

As we eat, I bring up an idea that’s been rolling around in my head. “I was thinking, once things settle down, when you can get some time away from work, we should take a trip. January, maybe. Clear our heads, reset, truly relax.”

She brightens at that, nodding. “That could work. January’s usually the slowest time of the year at the bakery, and Claire’s been talking about taking a little maternity break. We could shut down for a week. I could brainstorm some new pastry ideas.”

I smile. “I like the sound of that.”

After dinner, we clean up with more kissing than actual scrubbing. As I towel off a dish, Amelia sneaks up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing a kiss to my back. I turn, planting a kiss on her forehead. We laugh our way through the rest of it.

In the den, Duke’s still curled up in front of the fire, the little guy owning the spot like a king. A crackling warmth fills the room, and sure enough, just like they predicted, a bit of snow starts to fall outside. I joke. “Better call the snowplows. Could be a real mess out there.”