“You deserve them all, my love,” Matt says, and kisses me on the cheek.
“Mama, why cry?” Joy looks at me pointedly, her pink lips pouting in an exaggerated frown.
I laugh and pick her up. “Happy cry, baby,” I say, pressing my lips to her smooth forehead.
I get my paycheck and we head back home. I still feel like I’m on cloud nine. How could life get any better than this? I wonder. Then, I realize that I know the answer.
“Matt,” I say, tugging on his hand for him to stop walking. Joy is fast asleep in her stroller, worn out from the morning’s activities.
He looks at me, and the sunlight sparkling in his bluer-than-blue eyes still makes my breath catch. “What’s up?”
“I have something to tell you,” I say, grabbing his hands.
He raises a brow. “Is it a good something?”
I giggle. “A great something. I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure, but I took another test this morning, and… well, I’m pregnant again.”
His eyes widen almost comically, and he cups my face with his hands. “Really?” he breathes.
I nod, feeling another wave of tears prickling at my eyes. I’ll blame it on the early-pregnancy hormones. “Really really.”
Matt grins and gathers me into his arms. We stand like this for a while, swaying gently back and forth, as the sun shines overhead and our beautiful daughter naps peacefully in her stroller. I wish I could capture this moment and live in it forever, but I know, too, that the future will be better than I can even imagine.
Matt kisses me gently. “I love you, Mrs. Mistletoe,” he whispers against my lips.
“I love you, too,” I say. I place a hand on my belly, already excited to meet our future son or daughter, already excited to grow our beautiful, perfect family and our beautiful, perfect life. I take Matt’s hand, and he grabs the stroller. “Now let’s go home.”
THE ENDChapter OneGabriella“They’ve really never met before?” The words of one of my late-night customers float down to me and spark my interest.
Glancing up from where I’m wiping down a table, I notice both women staring at a wedding photo on one of their cell phones.
“Nope. She just decided that after her latest relationship disaster that she’d put her life in the hands of an expert.”
“They look so happy. So… perfect.”
I move closer to them, cleaning a table that’s already clean so I can hear better.
“Yep, you’d never believe they’d just met.”
“I thought mail-order brides was such an old-fashioned thing.”
“Apparently not. Loads seem to do it. There are a ton of websites. Google it, you’ll be amazed. Excuse me, dear,” she says, noticing that I’m in hearing distance. “Any chance of a refill?” she asks, holding her mug up.
“Oh, of course. I’m so sorry.” I hurry off to grab the pot, but the conversation I just overheard continues to run through my head.
A new group of customers descends on the diner I work in, stopping me from eavesdropping on the mail-order bride business, but I’m more than intrigued.
I’ve wanted to get out of New York from almost the moment I arrived. Having a husband waiting for me at the other end of wherever sounds a lot more appealing than I’m sure it should.
Once I’m finished for the night, I drag my purse from my locker, the envelope my mother gave me this morning poking out the top, making my shoulders drop.
She only wants the best for me. That’s all she’s ever wanted. It’s just a shame we don’t share the same vision.
She wants me to use my newly acquired degree to take the publishing world by storm. I, however, dream of the small town of my childhood and spending my days writing romance in a window seat, staring out at the mountains in the distance.
With a sigh, I drag my purse over my shoulder and set about heading home.“Gabriella, is that you?” Mom calls the second I close the front door on the penthouse apartment we share.
“Yeah, Mom.” Who else would it be?
After kicking off my shoes, I walk toward where she is.
“Good night?”
“I guess,” I mutter, heading for the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.
“Did you get a chance to look at that job opportunity I found?”
“Not yet, no,” I moan.
“Well, you need to hurry. Opportunities like that don’t come around every day. If you waste any time applying, then you might lose out.”
I roll my eyes at her. I’m sure it’s a perfectly good job, but I already know without pulling the papers out that it’s a perfectly good job for someone else.
“I’m going to take a shower and I’ll take a look,” I lie.
“Good. If you want me to proofread your application, just give me a shout.”
“Sure thing.”
Without waiting to see if she has anything else to say, I spin on my heels and hotfoot it to my bedroom.