Page 87 of Christmas with the Boss
A gust of wind sends snowflakes swirling around us, as if we’re standing in a snow globe, and John tightens his arms around me. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I meet his lips in a kiss that warms me from head to toe.
We stay like that, lost in our little world as the snow gently falls around us. A commotion sounds from inside, and we reluctantly break apart.
“Ten bucks says Grandpa is trying to start a conga line,” John says with a wry grin.
I laugh, taking his hand. “You’re on. But my money’s on your two great-uncles breaking out the karaoke machine.”
As we rejoin our guests inside, “Jingle Bell Rock” blasts through the ballroom speakers. John’s grandfather is indeed trying to start a conga line. At the same time, his uncle Ross fiddles with what suspiciously looks like a karaoke machine.
My gaze meets John’s, and we burst out laughing.
John extends his free hand with a flourish. “Ready to join the madness, Mrs. Barrington?”
I nod. “Lead the way, Mr. Barrington.”
We jump into the conga line, surrounded by friends, family, and more Christmas cheer than should be legally allowed. Even Maggie seems caught up in the holiday spirit, and I catch her saying the banned words—Merry Christmas—and covering her mouth.
This wedding day is only the beginning of our adventure at home, at the office, and with family. Our happily-ever-after awaits.
Merry Christmas to us indeed.
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