A/N: I was reading the tag, and going by what was said, decided that this story is appropriate to post on this site. Hope that the mods agree! Happy Holidays!

Also Note: This story contains some references to events that take place in my holiday fic (Not Quite) Home for the Holidays. Reading that story is not necessary before reading this.



The Christmas Gift

It was a place she had never really thought she would be. Then again, she was at a place in her life that she hadn’t expected either, so perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised her. She liked to think that she hadn’t changed much over the years. She was still the same Buffy she had always been. But she felt older. She felt a lot older. It was hard to remember the carefree girl she had been before she was Chosen. Hard to remember the years spent patrolling on the Hellmouth, back when she believed that there was only one Chosen one. Back when she was the only one.

When she was younger, she had always wished for companions to share her burden. Whether it was Angel, Willow, Xander or even Faith…and of course later on there had been Spike. She had always wanted someone to share the night with, for the night was her life.

Now that there were literally thousands of slayers the world over, she discovered too late that she had enjoyed the company of her friends, because they were her friends. Not because of the help they could supply on demand. She had found that she could be surrounded by a dozen sister slayers and still feel alone.

She had decided that she would make a New Year’s Resolution to finally quit the council and everything Slayer related. She had dedicated more than half of her life to fighting demons and leading others in that fight, and she had finally had enough. She was ready to settle down to that normal life she had always envied.

Unfortunately she was finding now that she didn’t quite know how to do that. She had never finished college. Never held a real job that wasn’t for the Council. (The counseling thing in Sunnydale didn’t really count, and well, there was the time she had spent working at the Doublemeat, but she really had no intention of going back to that!) And so she had never learned to do anything besides fight the good fight.

But she was determined not to go back. She had stayed with Dawn and her husband for a while, but that was growing old. She needed a place of her own, and some direction to her life. She thought maybe she’d try to go back to college and see what appealed. Maybe find that ‘normal’ boyfriend she’d always said she wanted, settle down and have a half dozen or so baby slayers.

But aside from the few dollars she had managed to save over the years, she had no way to support herself. With Giles gone, she was no longer someone special. She was only one of many now, and so to the new Council, she no longer warranted special treatment. No one had ever thought of offering a retirement plan for the few Slayers that managed to beat the odds and live long enough to want to try something new. And so here she was. She wanted to start over, but didn’t have the financial wherewithall or the gumption to do it on her own.

And so she stood on the pavement outside the fancy store on the day before Christmas, gazing at all the beautiful things on display in the window that she knew she would never have. But most of all, thinking about the box in her hand, and the memories that went with it.

She wasn’t at all sure that she was ready to part with this last remembrance of Spike. Even worse, she was terrified that what he had told her all those years ago would turn out to be a lie. She knew that on occasion he had tried to hide his feelings, and lied about his past. But she also knew that he’d never lied to her about anything important. She had trusted him, especially towards the end. She didn’t want to know it if her faith in him had been misplaced.

Spike had told her that the gemstones and diamonds in the necklaces he had gifted all the girls with that holiday in Sunnydale were real. So, however improbable it seemed, if she trusted him, believed in him, then it must be true. He had told her that he hadn’t stolen the jewelry either, and so she had to trust that he had told her the truth. That he had given Buffy, Dawn, and each of the Potentials something valuable that night. Something just this purpose. Something that they could sell it when they needed cash.

“More portable than even cash, won’t burn or be easily destroyed.” He’d said something like that at the time. She kept telling herself that it was what he would have wanted, but it was still going to be hard to do. To sell something that had become so much a part of her.

Not that she had worn the necklace much. It wasn’t the kind of thing one could wear out in public everyday. Maybe if she were going to the Academy Awards. But although she had lived in L.A. for a time, before finally settling here in London, she had never been invited to any fancy Hollywood parties.

After that night in Sunndale, she had worn the necklace to Dawn’s wedding, and that was about it. Spike had given Dawn a sapphire and diamond necklace on the same night. Towards the end, at that last big party with all the Potentials, before things had gotten really bad. Dawn had worn the necklace on her wedding day as the “something blue.” Neither had discussed it ahead of time, and they had both teared up a little at seeing one another wearing Spike’s gift. Symbolically, Spike was present at Dawn’s wedding. Buffy knew that he would have liked that.

Buffy was grateful when it had finally gotten so late that the store was no longer crowded. The store bore the same name as the name on the box the necklace had come in, so she hoped that it was the same chain where Spike had purchased the it originally. She was hoping that they would be able to give her some idea of how much the necklace was worth, and give her some suggestions as to where to sell it.

It was cold inside, but the clerk seemed friendly. She had been afraid that he might be a little snotty, since she probably didn’t look well to do enough to actually shop here.

“Perhaps you would be able to help me,” she began tentatively. “I received this as a gift some years ago, and wondered if it was originally purchased here?” She took out the box and handed it over to the salesperson.

“Well, it certainly is our packaging.” He opened the case to reveal the shining necklace hidden within. It seemed to Buffy that he blinked a few times, and was a little bit more respectful when he looked up again. “This looks like it was a one of a kind item. May I inquire as to why you want to know more about it? I am sure that our jewelers could make up a set of matching earrings, if you’d like.”

“Umm, no,” she prevaricated. “I was thinking more along the lines of finding out how much it’s worth, so that I can sell it. I’m thinking of going back to college, and some cash would be handy…” She was rambling. This man didn’t care what her plans were. She just needed him to verify that the necklace was actually valuable, and she’d be on her way.

“Of course, but we don’t generally buy jewelry here. We sell it.” He answered briefly. Then he seemed to think again, “But a piece like this might have been inscribed and registered with us, and I can at least tell you what you have so you can make sure that you get a fair price for it.”

“Registered? What does that mean?”

“Nowadays, most high-end diamonds are engraved with a serial number, so they can be identified in case of loss or theft. If this necklace was one of ours, it seems likely that these stones would have been so marked. It may also help prove that the diamonds are in fact yours to sell, which any reputable auction house would require, since you don’t seem to have a receipt.”

“You think I stole them?” Oh god – what if Spike had stolen the necklace? Would this man confiscate it? Would they try to arrest her? Maybe she should have thought this through more fully. She had considered that the necklace might be fake, or that it could possibly have been stolen, but not that she would have to prove that she was the legitimate owner. How could she do such a thing? It had been a gift. It’s not like she’d ever gotten a receipt.

But it was already too late. The jeweler was already looking at the central diamond with his eyepiece. “This is lovely. Stunning really.” She wasn’t sure whether it was her imagination, but the clerk seemed to look at Buffy a little differently. “I think you would be best off to take it to an auction house, like Sotheby’s. The styling is classic, and the gems themselves are very high quality. I am sure that you would find a buyer. I can also see the serial number. You don’t mind if I look it up in our computer, do you? It will give us more information than I can ascertain without taking the stones from their setting.”

“No. Please, see if you have a record of it. It would have been purchased around January of 2000.”

It only took a moment’s typing on the computer. “Here it is. All registered as it should be. But did you say 2003? You must be remembering wrong. It says here that it was sold in our L.A. store towards the end of 2001.”

Buffy’s head was whirling. The computer must be wrong. That was the year she came back from the dead. The year she was working at the Doublemeat. The year she and Spike…

“I’m sorry my dear. Perhaps the necklace went through a few hands before it came to you. It says it was purchased by a William St. James and is registered as a gift for a woman named Elizabeth Summers. Do you know them?”

Buffy was turning pale. “Yes, that’s me. I’m Elizabeth Summers.” William St. James? Was that his real name? No wonder he hadn’t told anyone.

“Well, perhaps you are right about the date, and the records here are wrong. The clerk who filled this out must have been very careless. They give Mr. St. James’ date of birth as June 21, 1854. That has to be all wrong.”

Suddenly Buffy was very interested. Here was more information about Spike than the Council had been able to amass in more than a century. “What else does it say? Does it give more information about…about William?”

“Of course. We like to keep records on all our best clients. It says he bought another necklace about the time you recall. Maybe you got the two confused? Oh – that had sapphires in it as well. Clearly a different piece. Hmmm, that’s curious. Although both necklaces were bought in Los Angeles, Mr. St. James lists a permanent address here in London. Rather odd altogether.”

Vaguely Buffy could hear herself agreeing with the man. Inside, her head was reeling. 1998 was the year that she came back from the grave. The year that she and Spike had begun… well, whatever type of relationship they’d had.

She remembered that he’d told her that he could her get money. She hadn’t even wanted to listen. At the time she had assumed that he meant he’d go out and steal for her, or worse. She’d thought that she had to take care of herself and Dawn all alone.

But, if the computer records were right (and despite what the clerk thought 1854 sounded about right), Spike had apparently purchased the necklace in 2001, just before her birthday. And then not given it to her until more than a year and a half later. Sometime after he’d come back from Africa with his new soul.

He’d given them all jewelry the night of the party. Necklaces for her, Dawn, and all the Potentials. She’d barely even looked at it then. Had never even said ‘Thank you.’ She would like to think that it was because she had been too preoccupied with the battle against the First, but she knew that wasn’t true. She was just used to taking things from Spike; whatever he was willing to give.

And she had been unsure what kind of relationship she wanted with the vamp who’d gone to the ends of the earth for her. Despite all he’d done for her, and how much he had loved her, she’d rarely even been civil to him, let alone polite. If she had it all back and a chance to do it over again, things would be different. Knowing now what her life was like without him, she would never take him for granted again. But that was not going to happen, and she needed to move on with her life.

Spike had told her that the jewelry was his way of providing for Dawn and the others. He’d never said a word about having had this gift tucked away somewhere for the past year. She’d just assumed that it was something he’d done all at once, at the same time as he arranged for the rest of it, and hadn’t thought much more about it. But from the clerk’s reaction, she had probably underestimated Spike, again.

Guiltily she realized that she probably would not have accepted such a gift if she had really looked at it, or if it had been directed solely at her. Somehow by giving them all some type of jewelry for the party, that had made it seem more acceptable. Perhaps that’s why Spike hadn’t given it to her sooner. But that didn’t make sense. He had bought it for her, after all. What had changed?

Then it came to her. Their brief affair had always been tumultuous, and Buffy had tried to sever their relationship almost every day. Just before her birthday, she had beaten Spike and left him outside the police station when she thought she’d accidentally killed that girl, Katrina. She’d never even really apologized to Spike for that. And then Riley had breezed back in and out of her life, and she had finally told Spike that their affair was over, and stuck to it. No wonder he hadn’t given her this birthday present.

She’d never slept with him again after the night Riley had found them together. Not even towards the end, when they had gotten close again. She had almost gone to him the night of the party, and again the night before the final battle. But she had gotten scared. She had always thought there would be time. That they would do it right the second time around. She hadn’t expected Spike to die before she could finally decide what she wanted from him.

The jewelry clerk was trying to get her attention again. There was another man with him. “Ms. Summers, if you’d like, we can give you a copy of the purchase receipt. That will give you a better idea of how much you should insure the necklace for. If you like, we could update our appraisal on it – these pieces are rare, and the price of diamonds of this quality has risen. Or perhaps we can be of mutual assistance to one another. I understand that you need to raise some cash. Might I inquire as to how much you were hoping for?”

“Huh?” Buffy came out of her own thoughts slowly. “I thought you said that you don’t buy jewelry?”

“Under normal circumstances, we don’t. But I am the owner of this shop, and as I said, these diamonds are a rare color and quality that’s become quite the rage. I couldn’t offer you full price for it of course, but I have an idea, if you will agree to it.”

Buffy’s head was still spinning. She had taken a peek at the computer screen, and she was sure that she had misread the purchase price. The clerk, no, the store owner, was still talking. She’d missed some of it.

“It really is exquisite. The necklace was restyled from an antique, with a few new pieces added. Did Mr. Holmes tell you that? That makes it even more valuable. It has a provenance. The original piece was made during the Victorian era. If you look closely, you can see here where it has been re-styled and these pieces have been added on to it.” Buffy just looked at him blankly. Her eyes were still a bit teary. “I can see that the piece has some sentimental value to you. My idea is this. It would be possible, I mean depending on how much money you are likely to need, well, you wouldn’t have to sell all of it. See, if we just took off a few of the newer additions, see these dangles here, near the shoulders? You’d still have the majority of the necklace intact, as well as some cash in hand.”

She perked up again at the word cash. “How much?”

“For these two end pieces here,” he gestured towards the last two filigrees at either end of the necklace and she realized that he was right. If they were gone she wouldn’t even miss them. She’d still be able to wear the necklace for weddings, not that there were likely to be many more of those in the near future, but Buffy wouldn’t be surprised if there was a Christening coming up soon in Dawn’s future.

The man was doing some figuring with a calculator on the counter. She gasped as she heard the number offered. “Of course it’s not nearly as much as you would get if you auctioned it. And the piece as a whole of course is worth considerably more than that…”

“Do it.” Her reaction was immediate. “But I want a copy of that original receipt to keep.” Her inner voice warned her to give the clerk a reason that he could understand. If she started babbling about Spike, he might think she was crazy. She couldn’t just come out and tell him that she wanted to see Spike’s full name and birth date in print. Now that she thought of it, the clerk had already given her a reason, which she would have realized if she’d been paying attention to anything besides her own thoughts. She’d have to advise Dawn to insure her own necklace.

“I’d like the print out so I can document the piece. So I’ll know what it is that I have – for insurance purposes.”

No, not so I can see what Spike said about himself. If I can verify how he really lived and died. Was he really born in London in 1854? Was he really William St. James? God, he’d even given an address. She could see whether it was real or not. Whether the world still had a trace of who he had been, where he had lived, who he had been in life.

As she clutched the cashiers check in her hand, she looked carefully at the piece of paper that came with it. William St. James. She realized then that Spike had given her something more valuable than these diamonds. He had given her a rare glimpse of his true self. Had Spike really been rich the whole time? If so, why had he never let her know that? And what was she going to do with herself now that she was a woman of some means? Would she sell the rest of the necklace? Lose the last tangible thing she had to remember him by? She knew it was just another possession, but she didn’t have anything else – not so much as a picture of him.

She smiled a little sadly as she walked out of the shop. She’d still trade it all to have Spike back beside her.

The day after Christmas Buffy looked up the address Spike had listed. The British called it Boxing Day for some incomprehensible reason, but it was just the day after Christmas to Buffy. Christmas itself had been a sad and mostly lonely affair – new friends hardly took the place of the old. Giles and Xander were both gone, Dawn out of town with her new husband, and Willow, well, she and Willow hadn’t really been friends for years now, although Willow had made a brief appearance for Dawn’s wedding. Nevertheless, Buffy felt the lack of family and close friends more than she had in years. It had happened so gradually, she had thought she had gotten used to it, but apparently there were some losses that never faded completely. Since today was one of the few sunny winter days she had encountered while living across the pond, and she was determined to try to enjoy it. And so she had traveled across town to see if the house where Spike had once lived was still standing, or if it had been replaced by a shopping mall or tube station.

Relieved to find the neighborhood still much intact, Buffy found the house easily. In fact, it appeared to be some sort of museum, open to the public twice per week. Just as it said, it was a Tuesday, but she wasn’t sure the museum would be open on Boxing Day. Nevertheless, she worked up the courage to knock on the door. At the very least, she might get a peek inside, or, if she was very lucky, she could talk the owner into letting her have a tour of the place today, despite its being some inexplicable holiday no one else had ever hear of.

The door opened to reveal a small round woman, who was so short she had to look up to talk to Buffy. Heartened, Buffy peered eagerly over her shoulder into the elaborate foyer. During her time in London with the new Council, she’d been in some of these old homes before. For the most part, they seemed to all have a charm that more modern houses lacked. This one seemed to have the period furnishings as well. As she launched into her hastily prepared story, she soaked in as much of the ambiance of the place as she could, trying to imagine if this was what it must have been like when Spike had lived here.

She stopped talking and her heart started pounding as she heard a man’s voice call out from across the hall, “Who’s at the door, Martha?” The accent was all wrong, but something about the voice sent shivers down her spine.

Buffy was already shoving the small woman aside as Martha began to answer, “Some American wants to see the house. And she’s pretty determined too.” Martha ended with a huff.

But Buffy had forgotten the small woman entirely, as she blinked at a sight that couldn’t possibly exist. For there was Spike, or an older and much-subdued looking version of him, sitting at a large antique desk strewn with papers and a half empty cup of tea. A middle-aged man sitting in the sunlight, wearing glasses, and pecking at a laptop computer. No, of course it couldn’t be Spike. Perhaps this modest widower was some distant modern-day relation that happened to bear an uncanny likeness to the man she had known.

“I’m sorry sir,” murmured the housekeeper. “She just barged in like I wasn’t there. Should I call the constable?”

“No.” Was it just her perception, or was there a tremble in his voice as the man slowly stood? He seemed to remember himself as he turned his attention back to the woman, “Put on some more tea, and bring the cart around, Martha. Then you can take your day off.” The resemblance was remarkable. But even if she could account for the change in his accent, she knew that Spike would never age. Would never sit in the sunlight. And she would never see him again.

Finally, the man put away his things and he turned his full attention back towards her. His eyes were bright, intense and unfaltering as he walked boldly across the sunlit room. Despite how impossible it was, she knew that look. Knew it in her bones, so that it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he spoke again, although it did. “You’d better sit down, Buffy. Before you fall. Your color doesn’t look too good. Almost as if you’d seen a ghost.”

“It can’t be you,” she whispered as she stumbled into the offered chair. But it had to be true – he knew her name. Knew her. “Spike?”

But he was shaking his head as he sat beside her. “It’s William now. Been just William for a long time.”

“William St. James.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” he smiled shyly and nodded as he reached to take her hand. “It’s been a long time.”

“How is it possible? How long have you been here? Why didn’t you let me know you were alive?” The questions came fast and furious now, and behind them, a growing sense of hurt.

Letting go of her hand to move away, he attempted to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. He mumbled something or other. It didn’t matter. She was here. For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Martha came back with their tea and a disapproving look, then they could hear her gather her things together and depart with another huff.

A few more minutes passed in silence.

Finally Buffy asked, “Aren’t you going to tell me what happened? How can you be here, and why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s a long story,” he prevaricated. “Don’t really know why that last time was different than any of the others. But when I came to after that big showdown in L.A., I was like this.” He flexed his hands in the light streaming in from the window, smiled softly and amended, “Well, it took a while for the wrinkles to start setting in, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t earned them a hundred times over.”

Buffy wasn’t to be put off, and the hurt was bewilderment was starting to turn into anger. “Why didn’t you tell me? Come to me? Let me know that you were alive? Really alive. All these years. First I thought you’d died back in Sunnydale. Later they told me you had been re-incarnated and had been working with Angel against the Black Thorn. It didn’t seem like anyone could have survived that near apocalypse. Why didn’t you tell me, Spike?”

“I wanted to,” he temporized, “but it was complicated. And Angel…” Buffy knew he was regretting ever having listened to anything Angel had said. “And then, after… I’m no good to you like this, Buffy.” He went on to explain, “I’m just as bad as that wanker Harris was, and you know how that worked out. Weak, soft…human. How would I have fit into the life of a Slayer?”

“Spike, you should have known it wouldn’t make any difference to me one way or the other.” She couldn’t believe that his hands had actually been warm – and a little dry from the cold London climate. She remembered what holding his hand had been like, that last time, enveloped in flames. “I told you, back in the Hellmouth. I told you then that I loved you.”

With a sudden gasp of pain, a new thought occurred to her. Why didn’t she ever think things through? But it was only fair if he had. It had been more than ten years – everyone else had moved on, of course he must have too. It was obvious that he didn’t love her anymore. Perhaps he had stopped as early as when he’d gotten the soul. He’d certainly never come out and said it again – although he had said other things… She sighed so softly she wasn’t completely certain that his merely normal human hearing would make it out. “Did you…did you stop loving me? Is that why?”

To her relief he reached out with his callused hands to caress her face. “Buffy, no. I’ve never stopped loving you. Not for one second of one day.”

“Then why?” It was hard to understand, and she never thought well when she was upset. Tears started to form in the corners of her eyes, but she did her best to hold them back – give Spike a chance to explain. And she’d always thought that she knew him so well.

Spike just shrugged. “I’m sorry, Buffy. You know me, always doing or saying the exact wrong thing. Seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She finally decided, and reached over to touch his face in turn. Somehow, they wound up in an embrace, her body fitting so perfectly against him, just like it always had. As if the intervening years hadn’t happened. Sniffling a bit and blinking back tears, she pulled back to look into his eyes. They were just as blue as they always had been, although behind spectacles now. “It doesn’t matter at all,” she smiled, and wiped at her nose, “We’re together now. That’s all that’s important.”

“Are we?” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. “Are we together now? Is this really what you want, this poor weak sot who couldn’t fight his way out of a Girl Scout convention?” He stepped out of her embrace and moved back over to the desk. “Was told the sodding Powers thought they were giving me a gift, this Shanshu. But I never wanted it. Never wanted to be human again. Didn’t even think to ask for it when I’d had the chance, back in Africa.”

He was fiddling with the few items on the desk, before he turned to look up at her, his eyes tearing now also. “Think before you answer Buffy, because I don’t think I could take it if you decide to leave me again after you’ve said otherwise. Just make a quick getaway now, and we’ll be done with it. Forget you ever found me.” He puzzled a moment. “Why now, Buffy? After all this time? ”

“I quit the council. Wanted to start out again, fresh. Thought maybe I’d go back to college, try out that normal life I thought I wanted. I went to the jewelers where you bought that necklace, and they had all this information about you, and it made me curious… But none of that matters now. Now that I’ve found you, I’m not leaving you. Not ever. I’ll do just what I said I would. Leave the Council. Retire from being a Slayer. Start a new life. Decided that before I ever came here and found you.” She smiled, and continued babbling “You’re my New Year’s Resolution. And I never break a New Year’s Resolution.”

“That right?” As he approached her again, she noticed there was a hint of the old smile about his eyes now. “Well, then. I suppose we’ll have to go back there then, and I’ll buy it back for you. Get you something to go with it.”

“No, I didn’t sell it. He offered to buy just a few strands, and I figured that was enough. I nearly fainted when I saw how much he recommended I insure it for. How did you ever manage to pay for a thing like that? I know you didn’t steal it. The purchase records are how I found this address.”

“Told you I had money,” he shrugged, “you just weren’t always too good at listening. But they’ll be closed today.” Suddenly he was unsure again. “Could buy you a ring to match, if you’ll have it.”

Was this his way of asking… It couldn’t be, could it? “Spike, I…”

“Say yes, and make me the happiest man on earth.” Through the thudding in her chest, Buffy could barely speak, all she could manage was a nod – which he didn’t even see. Stupid vam - - stupid man. Why was he still talking and not kissing her senseless? “Don’t have to answer now, kitten. It’s like we’ve just met for the first time, isn’t it? Buffy, meet the sentimental sot, William St. James.”

Still at a loss for words, she did what she should have done to begin with, and kissed him. “Of course it’s yes.”

Unfortunately they both needed to breathe now, and pulled apart reluctantly. “No use going out today, pet. How about I give you a tour of the house?” In that low tone of voice she always thought of as his bedroom voice he whispered into her ear, “Did you know it has six bedrooms?”

“Six?” Pulling away to look at him, Buffy made a face, “Isn’t that rather a lot to clean?”

“Umm,” he snorted, “like you’ve ever cleaned a day in your life. But, no need to start now. Though I may have to give Martha a better Boxing Day gift along with a raise in salary for all the extra laundry she’ll be doing.”

At Buffy’s puzzled face he explained, “The sheets, love. She’ll have to wash all of our dirty sheets.” He breathed in the soft shampoo smell of her hair. He’d always loved that smell. “Besides, if we’re not careful, it’s possible between the two of us that we’ll manage to fill all those bedrooms, and then she’ll have even more wash to do.”

“What is wrong with you? Has all that sunlight gone to your brain?” For some reason known only to former vampires, he was blathering on about housework, when he should be going back to the kissage. “Why are you going on about wash and sheets, when we’ve only just found each other? There’s absolutely no reason to taunt me about my cleaning abilities. And I’ll have you know that I’ve learned to cook as well. But if you expect me to do all the housework, you’ve got another think coming!”

They may not have seen one another for years, but the two of them hadn’t changed at all. Buffy still misunderstood everything he was trying to tell her, and she was still absolutely gorgeous when she was angry. “Well, I have mentioned it, but maybe you didn’t quite think it through, love. I’m human now, Buffy. And there is one thing I can do as a human that I couldn’t as a vamp.”

“I know. You’ve been standing in the sun all morning.”

“Not what I meant, love,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “ What I meant was that we could fill up those rooms with little bitty Buffys. Even put up a white picket fence outside if you want.”

“But that… I mean…” This novel idea would take some getting used to. There’d been too many shocks in one day. It was too much to take in all at once. There was only one thing that she was sure of, and he was standing right in front of her.

“What do you say, love? If we get started right away, maybe by next Christmas…”

All she could do was to fall into his arms, like she has always belonged there and always would.