January 1990 – 2 years, 2 months old
"Wook, Mommy, wook," Olivia called excitedly, as she teetered under the weight and size of the box she was carrying, Remington following right behind her, prepared to pick up child or package… or both.
"What do you have there, Livvie Bee?" Laura asked from where she sat on the couch.
It had become tradition, these last two years, to take a four-day weekend at their house in Vail for her birthday. Quiet time, for just the three of them, whereas the days directly after Christmas were dedicated to spending time with friends and family.
Remington had outdone himself, preparing some of her favorite foods for dinner: A crisp salad of greens followed by a decadent filet mignon rubbed with the perfect blend of seasonings, steamed asparagus, rosemary potatoes and, for dessert, a chocolate raspberry cake that has been pure bliss. Stuffed to the gills, the 'party' had moved to the living room where a roaring fire warmed the room, and the town of Vail, lit in the valley below, could be seen through the glass wall.
Livvie's lip quivered when her hands lost grip of the package, and the wrappings could be heard tearing as it fell to the floor only a few feet from her mother.
"Nothing hurt, a stór," her father reassured her, picking up the box and handing it back to her. She happily made the last few steps to her mother and plopped the box in her lap, then wiggled her way up onto the couch to sit next to her.
"For me?" Laura asked, exaggerating each word, as she stroked her daughter's hair. A pair of stunning blue eyes, so much like her father's, sparkled with joy when they looked up at her mother.
"Open, Mommy, open," she insisted. Olivia danced around on her knees in anticipation as Laura carefully unwrapped the box and lifted the lid.
"Oh, Livvie. It's exactly what I most wanted," she praised, as she lifted a new, leather attaché bag from the box. Her eyes flitted to Remington as she ran a hand over the quality leather. "Thank you, baby." She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her daughter's cheek, then wrapped her in her embrace when Olivia's small arms circled her neck in a hug.
"You've one more," Remington announced, as he sat next to her side, opposite Olivia. Setting the box and bag on the table, she accepted the proffered rectangular package.
"Open, Mommy, open," Olivia urged again.
"If you insist," Laura laughed, her fingers already carefully sliding beneath the tape. She folded away the still intact paper, and drew in a breath as her finger traced the image in the drawing. He'd captured Olivia squatting beneath the Christmas tree, her eyes alight with fascination, in impeccable detail. "It's beautiful," she complimented him. "The perfect addition to her nursery room wall." Turning her head, she bestowed him with an open-eyed kiss, allowed her lips to linger long enough to hint at her ever-present desire for him. His lips twitched upwards into a smile when the kiss ended. "Thank you." He cupped her cheek in his palm and soft blue eyes settled on her face.
"Pleasure."
Setting the portrait on the coffee table before them, Laura waited as Remington shifted in his seat and propped his feet on the table, then tucked herself against him.
"Pat cake, Mommy?" Livvie asked, hopefully, as she climbed over Laura to sit on Remington's lap. Their daughter's smile lit the room, as her mother happily complied.
"Pat a cake, pat a cake, baker's man…" Laura chanted, as she guided Livvie through the motions. The toddler's excited laughter surrounded her parents as the nursery rhyme concluded.
"Pider, Mommy, pease!"
"The itsy, bitsy spider crawled up the water spout…" Laura sang, while performing the accompanying hand motions.
That evening, after Olivia had gone to bed, the couple settled back on the couch together, to watch the snow fall on the valley below.
"What did you wish for? Hmmm?" he asked quietly. She gave a shrug of her shoulder, and a shake of her head.
"I didn't." His brows shot up in surprise at the answer.
"You didn't? Doesn't tradition demand otherwise?" She nuzzled her head against his shoulder, and caressed the hand lying on her waist.
"I already have everything I could possibly want. You, Olivia, the Agency." She shifted in his embrace, and draping a leg over his, leaned her head back to look up at him. "I said, 'thank you'." He drew in a sharp breath at her admission as his heart flip-flopped in his chest. More than seven years after they'd first met, nearly three since they'd been wed, and the woman still made him feel the besotted teenager at times.
"I think it's I who has everything to be thankful for," he corrected, gruffly, in the moments before his lips covered hers.
That night, as she fell asleep in her husband's arms, bare flesh pressed to bare flesh, his warm breath heating her neck, she said a silent thank you one final time.