Me: Landed. Make sure you order dinner. And don’t leave for anything.
Angel: I won’t.
Angel: I mean I won’t leave.
Angel: I will order dinner.
Angel: I already did.
Angel: Glad you made it.
Angel: Please be safe.
I smile to myself.
Me: Never change, Valentine.
Me: Morning, Shorty. I won’t have great service today. I’ll send another number for you to save. It’s satellite.
Me: *sends new contact number*
Me: I’ll still be able to check my phone occasionally, but call that number if you need something urgent.
Angel: Okay. My work is closed until New Year’s, so I’ll just be here eating takeout and watching TV. Don’t worry about me.
Me: If I can’t reach out and touch you, I’ll worry about you.
Me: Tell me something good.
Angel: I ordered groceries this morning and have been baking Christmas cookies.
A pained scream rips through the air as I smile down at my phone.
Me: I think I need proof of this.
Angel: *sends photo of sink full of dirty mixing bowls*
Me: I want your pretty face in the picture, Angel.
Angel: *sends selfie with her hair up in a bun and a bit of flour on her cheek*
I save the photo to my phone, then save it as my background image.
Me: I’m looking forward to eating your cookie.
Angel: I want you to know how hard I’m rolling my eyes.
I roll onto my back and groan. The mattress in this place is shit.
As I’m reaching for my phone, it buzzes with an incoming text.
Angel: I miss you.
Warmth floods my heart, and I hold the phone against my chest, letting my eyes close.
I’m ready to go home and be done with this.
Me: I miss you, too.
Angel: Happy Christmas Eve.
Me: I’ll be home tomorrow morning. You’ll never spend Christmas Day alone again.
Me: Angel, we’re running a little late. I’m sending a car to pick you up so you can meet me at the airport. It’s about an hour from home, but it’ll put us on the right side of town to head to my mom’s house.
My fingers drum on the armrest.
I don’t want to go to my mom’s for our family Christmas. I want to go straight home and bury myself inside my wife.
But this holiday has only ever been bad for her, and I need to change that.
She never mentioned her early childhood, before her father died. But based on everything she’s told me about her mom, I can’t imagine she did a real great job of playing Santa to little Valentine.
My Valentine.
I’m going to throw the biggest fucking Valentine’s Day party she’s ever seen.
And if she’s not pregnant by then, I’m going to stuff her so full she’ll have fucking twins.
Angel: Who will all be there?
Angel: I only have one present for your mom.
Angel: And it’s not wrapped because your stupid bachelor ass doesn’t have wrapping paper.
Angel: And I don’t even know if she’ll like it.
I grin at her name-calling.
Me: Valentine.
Me: She just wants us. Leave the gift at home.
Angel: I can’t show up empty-handed.
Me: We’ll have her over. Now go get dressed. I want you ready with a kiss for me when I land.
