Page 55 of Unwrapping a Lumberjack

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“Merry Christmas,” I murmur. “To both of you.”

Across the room, Rhodes raises a mug. “To another Christmas on Wilder Mountain!”

Brenton lifts his own. “And to surviving parenthood!”

Everyone laughs.

Natalie laughs.

Our daughter squeals.

And I lift my mug too, feeling something steady and certain settle deep in my chest.

This mountain has always been mine.

Now it’s ours.

All of ours.

Warm. Loud. Bright.

A home that keeps growing at the edges without ever losing its center.

I kiss the top of my daughter’s head, then Natalie’s, and watch the people we love fill the room with the kind of joy you don’t plan—you just let happen.

Snow keeps falling softly outside. And inside, everything is exactly as it should be for Christmas.

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