Oh, but then, there was just . . . a long, wobbly sigh of appreciation for the man holding out his rope-worn hand to help her up. Age had done him so good. Now forty-one, the Della Ray’s captain had a full beard and dark blond hair, just beginning to show threads of gray, that almost reached his shoulders. He’d cut it once, last year, and the girls cried when they saw the shorter length, so he vowed to keep it long forever. They had their father wrapped around their pinkie fingers, and he would admit it to anyone who listened. Hannah estimated the devotion to his daughters made him around 400 percent more attractive.
And as always, his devotion to Hannah shone in his blue eyes, which were twinkling over the chaos, just like hers.
“He’s gone,” Fox said gruffly, wrapping their fingers together. “Come inside now and make up for scaring ten years off my life.”
“Should be easy since I brought presents—”
She lost her balance, slipping on the ice, and Fox, his balance normally perfect thanks to his profession, went down with his wife. He tried to cushion her fall, but they just ended up sprawled on their asses in the driveway, snow falling around them, their howls of laughter bringing their daughters running from the house in flannel nightgowns and hastily shoved-on boots. While Abby and Stevie started an impromptu snowball fight, Fox pulled Hannah into his arms, tipping up her chin so he could look at her face, his heart knocking heavily against her shoulder.
“Jesus, Hannah,” he whispered in a rough voice. “Do you ever get so happy, you can barely stand it?”
“Yes.” She reached up and cradled his jaw. “With you? All the time.”
He made a sound in his throat, brushed some snowflakes from her cheek. “Doesn’t feel like enough to say I love you at this point.”
“Our love is always enough. It’s always more than enough.”
Throat flexing, he nodded. Looked into her eyes for long moments, before lowering his lips and kissing her slowly, sweeping his tongue through her mouth enough times and with enough promise to make her squirm, breathless. One kiss only ignited their appetite, and with the dogs happily chasing the girls through the front yard, they were in no rush to stop. Not until minutes later when another car pulled up and Piper’s giggle sailed out into the evening air, followed by Brendan’s exasperated sigh.
“Hey, Aunt Hannah and Uncle Fox!” their nine-year-old nephew, Henry, called. “Get a room.”
“We’ve got a whole house of them,” Fox said, finally standing and pulling Hannah to her feet, tucking her against his side. “We’ve got everything we could ever want,” he added, for her ears alone. And together, aunts, uncles, cousins, and dogs walked up the path to share Christmas Eve, same as they would every single Christmas, forever and always.
Acknowledgments
I really don’t know where to begin thanking people for this book! This one was delayed, writing-wise, because my husband had the absolute nerve to get sick and spend three months in the ICU. If we hadn’t received a miracle and gotten him back home, I’m not sure this book would have ever gotten written, let alone any others. So I truly have modern medicine, doctors, nurses, science, friends, and faith to thank for boosting me back to this place where I can write a madly touching love story and escape back into Westport with my beloved Hannah and Fox.
Thank you to Floral Park, Long Island, for rallying around me in my time of need. I didn’t know the meaning of friendship until I was huddled out in my backyard in ten-degree weather, surrounded by frozen-solid friends in masks determined to give me moral support no matter their discomfort. For months. They went above and beyond. I’ll be forever grateful.
Thank you to the romance community, authors and readers alike, for sending me love and support and gifts meant to comfort. Thank you to my （thankfully alive!） husband for making me love so many different kinds of music （even, maybe especially, Meat Loaf）， as well as fostering my appreciation for record collecting. It really helped when writing Hannah to understand how particular one can be about vinyl. I’ll never set my drink on one of your sleeves—especially the Floyd. Promise.
Thank you to my editor, Nicole Fischer, for really understanding the vibe and vision of the Bellinger Sisters series and for helping to give it so much life. This marks eleven books together, and I’ve loved every single finished product we’ve worked on. Thank you to everyone at Avon Books, including cover designers, publicists, and marketing gurus. You make all this possible!
Lastly, thank you to everyone who fell in love with this series. This one was straight from the heart, and I’m honored you came with me on the journey! Here’s to many more.