Dark Christmas: Chapter 37

I step back from the front of the house and dust off my hands, taking in the final result.

The lights are strung up, the wreaths are set, and everything is in place. It’s Christmas Eve, and even though it took longer than I’d planned to get things right, the house finally looks ready for the holidays.

‘Better late than never,’ Amelia says at my side, adding a teasing wink. I glance down at her, bundled up against the cold. She’s watching me closely, her breath visible in the sharp air.

“It’s cold,” she mutters, rubbing her hands together, her eyes sweeping across the street to her house.

The “For Sale” sign glares back at us. I’ve been thinking, and I can’t help but offer, “If you miss it, you could keep it as a private writing space.”

She looks back at me, shaking her head slightly. ‘No, I like the room upstairs just fine.’ She pauses, then adds with a sly smile, ‘And my roommate’s not so bad either.’

There’s a light in her eyes that makes my chest tighten. I take a step closer. We’re about to kiss, the cold air between us practically sizzling, when her phone buzzes. She grins, her breath fogging the air as she pulls back slightly. “It’s Claire, about dinner tomorrow.”

I turn my attention back to the house, taking in the lights strung up along the roof, the wreath on the door. The place finally feels like Christmas, something I haven’t bothered with in years. But for her, it’s worth the effort.

“There might even be snow tonight,” I say.

She looks up at me, surprised. “A white Christmas? Here?”

“White for this part of the world,” I reply. “A light dusting maybe. But it’s better than nothing.”

She chuckles. “I’ll take it.”

I glance at her, catching the way she’s still focused on her phone. I tell myself not to read too much into it, but then a thought crosses my mind. “Next year, let’s go somewhere with a lot of snow for the holidays,” I suggest, picturing us somewhere remote, where the snow falls heavy and silent.

Her expression falters, just for a second, and a flicker of what looks like uncertainty takes over. It’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by her familiar smile. “That could be nice,” she says, her voice warm but distant, like she’s thinking about something else entirely.

“Let’s go inside,” she suggests, slipping her phone back into her pocket, the lost moment between us still lingering.

The house feels like a different place. Warm. Alive. Amelia had free rein to decorate, and she went all out. Twinkling lights of garland wrap around the banister, and a towering tree stands in the corner, loaded with ornaments that make the space feel both festive and personal.

Duke is curled up in front of the crackling fire, lost in a Christmas slumber, perhaps dreaming of catnip balls and play mice. Gifts are piled under the tree, wrapped in Amelia’s bright, quirky style—nothing matches, but it all comes together somehow.

There’s a smell of something hearty and festive in the air, drawing me toward the kitchen. I lift the lid on the roasting pan, catching the rich aroma of honey-glazed ham with rosemary and cloves. Alongside it, mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables are warming in the oven. It’s a perfect Christmas dinner—something else I hadn’t bothered with in years.

Amelia follows, her phone in hand. She taps the screen, and soon the kitchen fills with the sound of Christmas music.

“Frank Sinatra?” I ask with a smirk.

“My dad’s favorite. I like to play it every year and think of him on Christmas morning belting it out with the Santa hat on.”

I chuckle at the mental image.

She smiles, leaning against the counter. “Claire and David are all set for Christmas dinner tomorrow,” she says.

“How’s William?” I ask, stirring the soup as I glance her way.

“Freaking adorable,” she replies, eyes bright with affection. ‘Seriously, he’s baby model material.’

I watch her as she moves around the kitchen, humming along to the music. There’s something about this moment—the warmth, the normalcy—that makes me want to hold onto it forever.

I pour two glasses of wine and slide one over to her, but the moment her eyes land on it, something shifts. She hesitates, then, with a small smile, says, “Sparkling water’s fine.”

I narrow my eyes. “You sure you’re okay?”

She brushes it off with a light laugh, but there’s tension behind it. “Yeah, just want to be sharp for Christmas morning.”

I don’t buy it, but I let it slide—for now.

Her face suddenly changes, turning serious. She looks at the counter, avoiding my eyes. “I don’t want to push but… Sasha.”

“I’m still processing,” I say, my voice tight. “The funeral’s next week.”

My hands grip the edge of the counter, tension building in my shoulders. She steps closer, her hand sliding over mine, grounding me in a way I didn’t expect.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” she says, voice soft but steady. “I’m here for you. Just don’t forget that, okay?”

I nod, still not looking her way but I feel her words settling deep inside.

“He was loyal,” I say quietly. “To the end.”

I feel a tightness in my throat, the kind that makes it hard to breathe. I swallow it down, forcing myself to stay composed, but it doesn’t make the ache go away. Amelia squeezes my hand gently, her eyes searching mine.

“I’ve had to cut ties before. It’s part of the lifestyle—walking away when you need to. Friends, family. Sasha was one of the last of those ties I had left.”

She watches me, her expression soft. “We can keep him alive in our memories.”

“I’d like that.”

She gives me a small smile, and it’s like she knows exactly what I need to hear. “Our life together,” she continues, “can be the opposite of your old one. We’ll build new ties with friends and family. We’ll put down roots.”

I look at her, really look at her, and in that moment, she’s more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her. There’s something about the way she speaks, the way she’s always so damn sure of what we could have, that makes me believe it, too. She’s offering me something I never thought was possible. Stability. A future. Love.

I squeeze her hand back, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

Dinner’s ready, and I plate it up, the rich aroma filling the kitchen. Not bad, if I say so myself. Amelia’s already at the table, and I bring over the dishes, setting them down. She looks up at me, her eyes full of warmth and love.

I raise my glass. “To Sasha,” I say. “To his memory. And to always keeping it alive.”

She lifts her own glass, smiling softly. “To Sasha. We’ll never forget him.”

We clink glasses, the sound small but solid, an unspoken promise. We each take a sip, then dig in. The food is good, but it’s the moment itself that I’m savoring most. Amelia sitting across from me, this life we’re building. I never thought I’d want something like this, but here we are, and I realize it’s all I ever wanted.

As we eat, I bring up an idea that’s been rolling around in my head. “I was thinking, once things settle down, when you can get some time away from work, we should take a trip. January, maybe. Clear our heads, reset, truly relax.”

She brightens at that, nodding. “That could work. January’s usually the slowest time of the year at the bakery, and Claire’s been talking about taking a little maternity break. We could shut down for a week. I could brainstorm some new pastry ideas.”

I smile. “I like the sound of that.”

After dinner, we clean up with more kissing than actual scrubbing. As I towel off a dish, Amelia sneaks up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing a kiss to my back. I turn, planting a kiss on her forehead. We laugh our way through the rest of it.

In the den, Duke’s still curled up in front of the fire, the little guy owning the spot like a king. A crackling warmth fills the room, and sure enough, just like they predicted, a bit of snow starts to fall outside. I joke. “Better call the snowplows. Could be a real mess out there.”

She snorts out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, all two millimeters of it.”

All the same, we both glance out at the light dusting—there’s something so peaceful about it. I sip my wine and lean back on the couch, noticing again how she’s sticking with sparkling water.

We sit curled up together, watching the fire, the soft glow of the Christmas tree bathing the room in warmth. Everything about this feels right; it’s a moment I never thought I’d have but now don’t ever want to lose. I look at her, her head resting on my chest. “I love you,” I say quietly.

She tilts her head up, eyes soft, and whispers, “I love you, too.”

Then, suddenly her eyes light up, like something just clicked. She shifts in my arms, her face serious but excited. “Melor, there’s something I need to tell you.”

I sit up a little straighter, the tightness in my chest back again. “What is it?” I ask. I’m bracing for something that could ruin this peace. I hate admitting it, but I can’t shake the feeling.

She gives me a soft smile, one that doesn’t quite ease the tension inside me. “I want to tell you, but… it’s better if I show you.”

Before I can respond, she’s off the couch, rushing out of the room.

When she returns, she’s holding a small gift, her eyes sparkling with something I can’t quite place. She sits back down next to me, pressing the wrapped box into my hands, her expression nervous but excited.

“This moment with you is perfect,” she says softly, “but there’s something that could make it even better.”

My heart skips a beat. How the hell is that possible? I glance down at the gift, then back at her. “What is it?”

She bites her lip. “I wanted to wait until tomorrow morning, but there’s no way I can.”

I raise an eyebrow, curiosity gnawing away at me. I can tell by the way her hands are shaking that it’s something big. Slowly, I begin to peel back the wrapping paper, my eyes flicking to hers every second. Whatever this is, it’s got her on edge, and now, I’m right there with her.

I tear the wrapping paper away, revealing a small, simple box. At first, it doesn’t register. Then I see it—the pregnancy test, with a little pink plus sign staring back at me.

I hold it in my hands, still as a stone, the reality of it slowly sinking in.

A baby.

The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. I can feel her eyes on me, waiting. Finally, she breaks the quiet, her voice shaky.

“Say something, anything. Even if you’re upset.” She’s rambling, clearly nervous. “I know things are happening fast between us, and a baby wasn’t in the plan, but I’m happy. I really am. And I think you’d be a great dad, but if you don’t want to be involved, I get it. I can—”

I turn to her, stopping her words with a kiss, deep and full of everything I can’t quite say yet. She melts against me, her body trembling slightly. I pull away slowly, my forehead resting against hers, my hand still clutching the test.

“It’s the best news I’ve ever gotten,” I whisper.

Her eyes fill with tears, her lower lip trembling. “Really?”

I nod, wiping away one of the tears that escapes down her cheek. “I love you, Amelia. I’m not going anywhere.”

She smiles, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “I love you, too.”

I kiss her again, then pull back, grinning. “Let’s head upstairs and celebrate the news properly.”