Page 144 of Then You Happened
“You and your prizes,” I say.
“These are PG-rated, right?” Fiona asks followed by a cackle.
“We can always count on you to ask that,” Will says.
“Who’s up first?” Tate asks and starts our Thanksgiving tradition.
One by one, our family reads their card and guesses. It doesn’t matter if they guess correctly because there are smiles and more wine and more laughter.
“My turn?” I ask when all of the attention is focused on me.
I open the white envelope and pull the card out. “I’m grateful for sticky cheeks to kiss and tickly tummies to blow raspberries on.”
“Mommy! Mommy!” Rein guesses as she jumps up and down, clearly all the sugar she’s eaten taking full effect.
“It’s your dad’s turn, Rein. Shhh,” Will says and pulls her into his lap to tickle her.
“Let me think,” I play along. “I guess . . . Rein?”
“No!” Rein giggles out.
“Then, Tack?”
“No, silly,” Rein repeats.
“Oh, it’s Tate!” I say and lean forward and press my lips to hers. “I’m grateful for those things too. And you.” I kiss her again.
“Get a room!” Fi shouts out.
“No!” Will says. “We might end up with a Saddle or Filly if they get a room.”
The whole table laughs as Tate rises from her seat. “Next time,” she eyes me, “I get to name the baby.”
I snort. “There will be no more next times.”
Tate’s expression falters for the briefest of seconds as a coy smile plays on her lips. “You sure about that, Sutton?”
Everyone laughs and carries on, but there’s something about the way Tate said it—the softness to it and
the love in her eyes when she looked at me . . .
Wait.
What?
“Tate?”
“Mmm?” The dishes she’s clearing clank as she begins to head toward to kitchen.
“Tate,” I repeat as I blink at her in disbelief . . . thinking, wanting, waiting for her answer.
“Don’t blame me that you’re a sure thing.”
THE END
