“So do I.”

  “My family isn’t perfect.”

  “Mine isn’t either.”

  “But that just doesn’t matter. It’s like when you’re on a plane with a baby and the jet engines fail. You put on your mask first. Not because you don’t love the baby, but because you do. Only you can’t save anyone if you don’t save yourself.”

  Poppy didn’t answer that time, because she really did understand what Sam was saying. This was exactly what she’d failed to do before. Establish lines. Not because she didn’t want to be there for her family, but because she was getting swallowed up without lines. And what he said wasn’t about her. Or him. It was about them. Putting on their own masks first.

  “You can’t help anyone else if you don’t survive,” Sam finished. “Now. This has nothing to do with loving you. Or marrying you. Or having babies with you.”

  “Oh, I think it does, Sam. I think that’s exactly what you’ve been talking about.”

  He took a long breath, scratched his neck. All that talking seemed to betray how worried he was. Anxiety just didn’t suit him. She had a solution for that.

  She half turned, curled closer, kissed off that anxiety. She couldn’t do that for anyone else, but she knew what worked for Sam. Cut off his thinking button by nestling against his lap, stroking his nape, into his hair, with combing fingers. Her lips hovered over his, close, breathing close, heartbeat close. And then showed him what a kiss could be if—and when—she pulled out all the stops.

  She closed her eyes, locked everything from her mind but Sam. No sound, no light, intruded. Just the whoosh of his sigh, the silky easiness of his mouth. The rustle of his shirt coming off. The ache of his heart, beating on hers, heating on hers.

  Years ago, Poppy had learned that you couldn’t fly without taking a risk. You couldn’t find joy unless you opened your heart to it. And you couldn’t find grace within yourself if you weren’t willing to dare being all you could be.

  It all came back to her now. When she most wanted to soar. For herself, for her guy. Swift fingers tugged at his shirt, at his belt. Her mouth came back to stroke his, take a different angle, then sweet-nibble his lips again. Her hands slid up, into his hair, so she could hold him still for another kiss. A slippery kiss this time. The taste of her tongue, his tongue. The taste of intimate promises and flagrant, wicked intentions.

  They both surged apart for about two seconds. They both just needed to come up for air. Sam seemed oddly out of breath. His voice sounded oddly hoarse. “Wow,” he whispered. “What happened to you?”

  “Love, Sam. Just loving you.”

  He reached out. She leaned in. He smiled a kiss. She smiled one back. But once his arms came around her, she couldn’t think of a single reason to talk for a very long time.

  Epilogue

  LIGHTS WINKED AND blazed from every window in Sam’s house. Both of Poppy’s sisters had brought guy friends for New Year’s Eve. Sam’s dad was full of the devil, as if he’d never had a heart issue—and as if he wasn’t wasting a second more of his life. Laughter rang from all three floors. Poppy was checking on everyone, making sure they were having a good time.

  There seemed to be an extra dog around somewhere. Sam’s cousins and spare kin had all showed up for the New Year’s gig. So far Poppy hadn’t met anyone who was remotely shy. Kristin was playing under the tree with the manger, talking to Joseph and Mary so they’d know how to behave in the Christmas story next year. Bubbles was everywhere, but primarily, once Karla’s toddler baby had crashed on the couch by the fire, the dog took up residence as a baby protector/backstop.

  Poppy and Sam had fed the whole crew a couple hours before. The feast was impossibly easy. All the women brought salads or deserts. Sam grilled the steaks. Everybody brought dishes and silverware to the huge old table in the dining room. Sam’s brothers could fill dishwashers like nobody’s business.

  Someone was playing a game of hearts at a side table in the living room. Heaven knew how the baby could sleep through their noisy laughter. Cam and Marigold explored the house, enchanted by the architecture and aura of the place, in love with Sam’s famous stone wall. Sam’s dad kept finding Poppy to sneak a hug now and then. His mom kept doing the same.

  They all seemed to be having fun, even the little ones who’d fallen asleep. No one was honoring regular bedtimes on New Year’s Eve—but they didn’t have to. Everyone ate until they were stuffed, then either crashed or played or settled into talking somewhere or another.

  Poppy just felt . . . happy. Both families together seemed to meld as if they’d been born friends. She took one last check around, but nothing seemed to need doing. She was about to track down Sam when he showed up in the doorway, motioning her with a come-on gesture. She chuckled and surged toward him.

  “We throw good parties, did you know that?” She tucked under his arm, glad to share a quick hug.

  “I never doubted it. I have a little fear we’ll never get rid of everybody. But for a couple minutes, I was hoping you’d come outside with me.”

  “Sure.” She cocked her head, thinking some fresh air sounded really good—even if it was cheek-freezing cold outside.

  “I have a tiny surprise for you.”

  She looked up, thinking, Finally. They’d been so busy. Actually they’d only been really busy being happy, but somehow Sam had forgotten all about that little green velvet box. In Madison, he and Poppy had gotten caught up in each other and the discussion about their lives, then getting ready for this party, and opening the box was overlooked. Her Christmas present. Not that he hadn’t given her all kinds of gifts. She certainly didn’t need more. It was just she was starting to suspect he’d either lost the box or forgotten about it altogether.

  Sam led her downstairs, where another family group was playing pool and sampling some homemade brew. Clearly he’d put their jackets and gloves and hats by the fireplace earlier, because they were toasty warm. By the time they’d collected their outdoor gear, he herded her past the exuberant pool players toward the back door. Right off, she saw two pairs of skates. “I’ll be darned,” she said, “those white ones sure don’t look like they’d fit you.”

  He grinned. “It could be that I lifted your skates when we were in Madison yesterday. By then, I was already thinking about setting up a rink in the backyard. Don’t expect anything fancy—but the ice is smooth, and with all the Christmas lights on, there’s ample light to skate by.”

  They both pulled on winter trappings and headed outside. The air was almost too fresh to breathe, the night as silent as a song. And then she saw his rink—not regulation size but better. “This is wonderful, Sam!” The glaze of silver ice filled out a low spot in his yard and was shaped like a kidney pool. She glanced up. “You think it’s okay if we just enjoy this ourselves? Don’t you think the others will want to join us?”

  “They don’t want to. I’m positive.”

  She blinked. “How can you be positive?”

  “’Cause I told them all to stay inside or risk my wrath.” He murmured, “I think they might have gotten the idea I wanted a few minutes alone with you.”

  “Oh? Any special reason?”

  “No worries. Just wanted to play a little hypothetical game with you.” First, though, once they took off their skate guards, Sam lifted his hand to invite Poppy on the ice. For a hockey guy, he had some surprisingly graceful moves. He tucked a hand around her waist, lifted her hand to match with his, and led her into a slow, lazy dance.

  “Where’d you learn to do that, Sam?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Love. Loving you. It taught me pretty much everything I know.”

  The darn man made her heart ache. He had that winsome expression—that halfway grin that lit up her world, always made her smile back. “About this game you wanted to play . . . ?”

  “Yup. This won’t take long. I was just thinking. Hypothetically, what do you think about Christmas weddings?”

  When she suddenly skidded sideways, he was right there to help her reclaim her balance. “You haven’t asked me yet, Sam,” she reminded him. “So I kind of have to imagine my theoretical answer.”

  “So shoot. In theory, what do you think?” He spun her around once, twice, then hooked her close to him again. Skating backward. Letting her take the lead. Only she was looking at his face, and she no longer cared who had the lead.

  “Well . . . it seems like a long time to wait. But I love the idea of a Christmas wedding. And if the hypothetical couple have a lot to figure out, where to live and all that, that would give them plenty of time to plan and play with how they want to do it all.”

  “I confess it’s been growing on me. Kind of thought the same thing. And then I couldn’t get my mind off the whole theoretical idea. I keep imagining you in a white dress, carrying a bunch of mistletoe and holly and red roses.”

  “Hmm.” She lifted an eyebrow. “I could really—theoretically—picture you in a tux. It’s almost enough to make me swoon.”

  “Yeah? I’d love to see you swoon.”

  The devil made her swoon right there, lowering her into his arms, skating at soaring speeds down his magical rink. But then . . . he lifted her again, close, face-to-face. “I was thinking . . . you have enough sisters to have bridesmaids. And I have enough brothers to have groomsmen.”

  “And we have Kristin, in case we needed a theoretical flower girl. And Bubbles, if we could trust her to carry the ring.”

  “Um . . . I’m afraid that theory won’t fly. We can’t trust her.”

  “We’re just talking theoretically, though, aren’t we?”

  “Uh-huh. Poppy, could you put your hands around my waist, just hold us both steady for a sec?”

  “Sure.” She was still searching his eyes, when he started talking again.

  “I’m not real fond of destination weddings. It’s okay if I’m outvoted. But I just think, there’s this big house with a great staircase for a bride to walk down. I can picture the snow outside, the fireplaces all lit up on the inside. Family and loved ones being there for us. But . . .” She wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he seemed to be digging something out of his front jeans’ pocket, which was impossible to do with gloves. So he ripped off one glove, dove a hand back in his pocket. Suddenly she seemed to be the only one keeping them steady on the ice.

  “But I like the idea of a destination honeymoon. As in, a place just for us. Mountains. Ocean. Islands. Any secret spot.”

  “All of those sound great to me.” But she could see he was still struggling. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s perfect. It’s just—”

  “What?” If he tilted any farther, they were both going to tumble on the ice.

  “Something’s stuck in my pocket. I can’t get it out. I think my fingers are just too cold. I may need help.”

  “Is this a wicked trick, Sam?”

  “No. I love the idea of pulling that kind of wicked trick with you. But not this time. Now I really want to get this out of my pocket and I haven’t a clue why it’s so stuck.”

  “All right, all right. I’ll help. But I’m warning you—”

  He was right. Something was stuck in there. Of course, when she took off her glove and put her hand in his front pocket, he convulsed in near laughter and then she did. But not before she felt the soft furry texture of the item. It was velvet. And the shape of it was a box, even if she couldn’t totally get her fingers around it. “Don’t panic. I’ll get it.”

  “Are we going to risk our future children in the process?”

  “Don’t make me laugh any harder, Sam. The problem is, we both have cold fingers—”

  “Temporarily my only problem is that you have cold fingers.”

  “Sam!!!! I want my ring!”

  Now he got serious. “Who said it was a ring in my pocket?”

  “Possibly I just knew because I have supernatural powers?”

  “I don’t doubt that, Red. But I did worry that you wondered what was taking me so darned long.”

  Something stilled in his face. Something stilled in hers. “What I didn’t worry about was your loving me, Sam.”

  “That’s what I was waiting for. We do have a lot to figure out. From my perspective, that isn’t daunting but the opposite. Intriguing. Interesting things to figure out together. What other people call problems, I figure we are going to have a blast dealing with together. Every minute we’ve had together, we’ve had stuff to cope with, haven’t we? And every minute I’ve known you, I hope you were feeling as happy as I am. How right we are together. Poppy, I totally believe we can work out anything as long as we’re together.”

  “I totally believe it—Oh! Sam! I got it!”

  He grabbed the box the instant she released it—but they’d both definitely waited long enough. He just wanted to open the box himself for her.

  The ring sparkled like a star. She yanked off her left glove and slipped it on her finger, and it sparkled even more. Definitely like a star. Her star. Their star. But it took her a moment before she could say anything because her heart was too full. Love brimmed out of her eyes, her throat, filled up her heart.

  “It’s beyond beautiful. I love it. Not just because it’s a beautiful ring—which it is—but because it means something to me that nothing else could have.” She lifted her hand to show him. “Every time I look at this, I’ll be thinking that it’s not just a star but a Christmas star. Because I found my way to you, Sam.”

  “I found my way to you,” he insisted. “Say yes, Red.”

  “Yes. Yes! Yes, yes, yes.”

  They did circles on the ice for a few more moments. Just to hold each other. Just to feel the joy. Their joy.

  In the distance, she could see Kristin’s face in the window. Bubbles’s face was next to hers. His brothers were trying to peer out from another window. Clearly they all expected what was happening and couldn’t wait for them to come in and celebrate.

  Well, she loved them all. But they could wait.

  She wanted to soar on the ice with Sam a little longer. Soar in his arms a lot longer. Love with him for a lifetime.

  P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*

  About the Author

  * * *

  Meet Jennifer Greene

  About the Book

  * * *

  Recipe for Spaghetti Ice Cream

  Reading Group Guide

  About the Author

  Meet Jennifer Greene

  JENNIFER GREENE is a bestselling author of over eighty-five books, the winner of multiple awards, and an ardent reader herself. She’s written romances, romantic suspense, single titles, anthologies, and numerous nonfiction articles as well. She’s known for her unforgettable characters, sneaky humor, and the vital women’s issues she loves to explore with her readers.

  She lives in orchard country, near Lake Michigan, in an old historic house—with an 1830 log cabin in her backyard. Jennifer has a weakness for stray animals, and so do her two kids—they were forced to raise Newfoundlands, Basset hounds, German shepherds, and Australian shepherds, as well as assorted riffraff breeds. (That’s not counting the raccoons, homing pigeons, cats, and whatever hungry wildlife needed a home.) While the kids were growing up, the clan took an aging motor home through the United States, where she picked up most of the settings for her books.

  She modeled all her heroes after her husband—or that’s what he continues to claim!

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  About the Book

  Recipe for Spaghetti Ice Cream

  I had this at a friend’s house one time and fell in love with it. But when I looked up the recipe, there were a lot of different versions. This is the one I found to be the easiest.

  I think the background for this is German—they call it Spaghettieis—and it’s available on many menus in Germany. (I only wish I had a chance to try it there!)

  Prep time: 10 minutes

  Freeze time: About 15 minutes

  INGREDIENTS:

  1 cup strawberries, mashed (you could use some other fruit, but the red in the strawberries makes it look like spaghetti sauce)

  1 tablespoon orange or lemon or lime juice

  1 tablespoon granulated sugar

  ½ cup heavy cream

  1 tablespoon vanilla sugar

  2–3 cups vanilla ice cream

  2 tablespoons shaved white chocolate

  DIRECTIONS:

  Start by putting an ice cream scoop, serving plates, and a potato ricer in the freezer for 15 minutes.

  Put the strawberries, juice, and granulated sugar in a blender or food processor. Pour the mixture into a bowl and store it in the fridge.

  Whip the heavy cream and vanilla sugar into stiff peaks. Put a spoonful of heavy cream on each chilled plate. Add a couple scoops of vanilla ice cream into the potato ricer. Press the ice cream through, swirling the ice cream spaghetti over the whipped cream.

  To make it look like spaghetti with spaghetti sauce, use your strawberry sauce and a sprinkle of white chocolate on top.

  Serve immediately . . . although I’ve frozen this for a few hours before a dinner and it didn’t seem to do it any harm.

  Reading Group Guide

  Could you relate to Poppy’s dilemma—of doing so much for others that you’re burned out?

  Have you ever felt that you had no time for yourself—no life—and you didn’t see a way to fix this?

  Did you feel it should have been easy for Poppy to confront her sisters and demand they change? Just have a big fight and get it over with?

  Have you ever had the urge to run away or escape just to have time for yourself for a while?

  Did you feel that George—the father in the family—was actually neglectful? Or that the girls, when they were growing up, were in a dangerous situation with no direct parenting going on? Do you know of a family where things look good to outsiders, but inside the house, children are exposed to risk and hardships?