Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all. xxx
Winter
...
Fat, lazy flakes of snow are drifting in the air, wafting to and fro in the mild breeze as they make their slow, steady tumble to earth. Piling atop one another, they now form a carpet of at least a foot on the long, sloping lawn surrounding the historic building. Standing at the window of the comfortable, cosy room that is theirs for the weekend, Grace watches with awe at the beautiful sight.
A truly white Christmas is before them. And a winter wonderland wedding.
She thinks of Finn, her handsome, kind and so very gentle grandson. The boy who would do anything for her, and who has followed in his grandfather's footsteps and recently joined the police, his eyes firmly set on becoming a detective.
How can he possibly be all grown up and getting married now?
Only twenty-two…
So young.
But so firmly grounded in the real world.
He and Abigail have been together since they were fifteen, and have never wavered in their devotion to each other.
Smiling, she slips carefully into the sweater she came to fetch, and then makes her way back down to the small sitting room beside the dining area where the whole family will gather together in a couple of hours' time. Alone in the room, his back to the majestic and stylishly decorated Christmas tree, Finn is standing with his hands resting on the sill, gazing out into the approaching dusk.
"What's wrong?" Grace asks softly.
Tension leaches from the boy as he exhales. "They're still not here," he murmurs, shifting to allow her to stand beside him. "What if they got stuck?" he frets.
His sisters.
Grace slips an arm around his waist, and Finn drops his head to rest it against the top of hers.
When did her boy get so tall?
"They will be here," she tells him confidently. "It's a long drive from Aberystwyth."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
Grace hugs him tighter. Knows she doesn't have a favoured grandchild, but even so…
There's a clatter from the front door beyond the tree and the merrily crackling hearth. Laughter too, and excited chattering.
Tall, willowy and brimming with life, two wildly curly redheads tumble into the room, rushing forwards to grab their brother.
"Ava! Alice! Finally."
"Oh, Finn, you worry too much."
The three siblings are a tangle of arms and one big, fierce hug, and then Grace is part of it too and she's laughing with them, her heart so warm and full.
"Girls," she exclaims, drinking them in as they separate and she can finally see more than Christmas jumpers and that long, long red hair. "Look at you both! University agrees with you, then."
They grin, identical down to the last freckle, and sweep her into another round of hugs. "It really does, Granny," Ava tells her.
Alice shrieks, "Grandpa!" and then the two of them are across the room again and hurling themselves at Boyd, who has just appeared with two glasses in hand. He laughs and fends them off just long enough to put his burden on the mantlepiece, then drags them both into his arms for a long, long hug.
"When are you coming home," he demands, though it is good natured. "I miss you both."
"Easter weekend," they promise, the words spoken in unison.
Boyd protests, though it is far from negative. "But that's forever away."
The side door creeks, and the bride-to-be Abigail enters, nine-year-old Nora's hand held in hers, and the young girl's older, teenage siblings trailing behind.
"Mum and Auntie Rose have gone for a quick walk," Leo tells the group, before moving to stand beside the open fire and warm his hands. "I told them they're crazy, it's freezing out there."
"I want to build a snowman," Nora announces.
"Of course, you do, Nor," laughs Daisy, her blue eyes dancing in her small, delicate face.
"Please Leo," Nora begs, staring beseechingly at her idolised elder brother.
"But it's so cold," he protests, even though Grace can see he's relenting.
"What is?" asks a new voice, and Oliver appears through the door too, Harry behind him.
Nora grins. "Daddy! It's snowing, really snowing! I want to build a snowman, but Leo is afraid of getting cold."
"Is he now? Well, that won't do, will it, poppet? Let's get our coats and go and build a snowman then."
"Let's all go," suggests Finn, his handsome face open and happy as he slips an arm around Abigail's shoulders and kisses her temple. "We can build a whole family of snowmen."
"Yay." Nora charges forward and grabs the nearest hand. "Come on Uncle Harry, let's go!"
Within seconds the room is empty, and moments later the front door shuts as the entire group disappears into the evening, still pulling on coats and hats and gloves.
Outside lights twinkle, an old-fashioned torch burns in its holder beside the great front doors, and the enormous, heavily-laden wreath nestled there beneath the eaves seems to sigh in satisfaction. Grace can see it all as she watches from the window. She sips the rich, fragrant red wine Boyd has brought her, rests easily against his side as he cradles her to him, his other hand holding a pint of locally brewed beer.
The children squeal and laugh with delight, several snowmen already well under way before it all erupts into a furious and multi-sided snowball fight. Their happiness and glee permeates through the glass, fills the room around her.
"We're so lucky," Grace muses, laughing as her gorgeous girls appear from their walk and instantly disappear into the flurry of flying snow, Emmy ducking behind a hedge and quickly arming herself, Rose slipping into a drift and making snow angles with little Nora and a rosy-cheeked Finn.
Boyd plucks her now empty glass from her grip, abandons it beside his on the sill, and then turns her gently by the shoulders. "I am lucky," he tells her. "You gave me a second chance. You gave me all of this."
She doesn't need his gesture to their family, or indistinct wave to indicate all they have shared together. She just knows.
He's so tall, so reassuring and comforting beside her.
So many years together.
Age has taken its toll, as it naturally does, but they have worked hard together to remain fit and well. The richness of a life with one another, of family, of travel, of intimacy, motivating them, sustaining them.
Boyd's hand is on her cheek, his fingers sliding through her hair. He brushes her lip with his thumb and smiles that heart-stopping smile that has only ever been a gift for her.
"I love you," she tells him, and it is, as it has always been, the simple, honest truth.
"And I adore you," he replies. She has no doubt that he means it, with every fibre of his being.
Boyd leans forward, whispers softly, "Look up."
Grace does. Immediately spies the sprig of fresh mistletoe and eyes him steadily. "I see. You'll be intending to make good use of it, then." It's something like an order, far, far from a suggestion.
Deep, full-bellied laughter erupts from within, and then he's kissing her. Delicately at first, but morphing slowly, languidly into something deeper, warmer, and far, far longer than perhaps either of them expected.
When they eventually draw back, there is that heat deep inside her, and there is that very same fire in his eyes.
Over twenty years of forever, and it is still not enough.
Never enough.
"I want you," he croaks, voice rough with emotion.
"And you shall have me," Grace whispers back, tightening her arms around him, unwilling to let go even for a moment. "Tonight, after we dine with everyone and celebrate dear Finn and Abigail."
"A celebration of our own?" he murmurs, nuzzling her shell of her ear, placing sweet little kisses in her hair.
"Indeed."
No-one playing outside knows that it was on this day, all those years ago, that he got down on one knee with tears in his eyes, and asked her to stay with him forever.
That highly inappropriate spark mischief flares in his eyes, his deliciously wicked grin as he opens his mouth. "Well, I – "
Grace pokes him in the chest. "Don't." It's a quick order, but one far from any malice.
"You can't possibly know what I was going to say," he protests, though he too, is amused.
One eyebrow arches, her tone matches. "Oh, really, Peter?"
His grin says it all. "Would you ever want me to change? Really?" Boyd asks, still somehow possessing that endearing, little-boy curiosity that attracted her to him more years ago than either of them care to count.
She kisses him again, fully appreciating the moment. Draws it out, lingers against his lips. Inhales his distinctive scent, draws heat and strength and love from his body, his arms folded around her.
There's a thickness in her tone as she speaks. "Not a hair on your head, handsome."
There are more kisses, more watching from the window. The snow is still tumbling from the sky in fat, fluffy flakes. Their family are still playing, still building.
"It's going to be such a beautiful wedding," she sighs, leaning back against his chest.
A hum of agreement tickles her neck, more delicate kisses land behind her ear. "Magical," he agrees, hands steady on her hip, around her middle.
"Come on," Grace urges. "Help me into my coat. I want to go out and play."
They wrap up, slower than in years past, and with more and thicker layers, but then Boyd takes her arm and together he and Grace make their way out into the night.
Into the joy and the laughter, the developing snowmen and the sound of carols rising into the air.