Delicate

EPILOGUE

HAVEN STYLES
Five Years Later

While Frank Sinatra's Christmas album battles to be heard over the Packers and the Patriots game, I'm still also conscious of the sound of my children screaming outside as well as Sugar's barking as he chases after them. But right now, my hand is up a turkey's ass per my mother's instructions and that has the majority of my focus.

"This is really disgusting," I make a face as I pull my stuffing-ridden hand out. "No wonder Harry's a pescatarian."

"It might be gross now, but you'll thank me once we're eating it," my mom winks as I wash my hands with scalding hot water and I know she's right about that.

"Don't touch me you little freak!" Lily suddenly yells through the open kitchen window. I'm assuming she's talking to her brother. They've been calling each other that a lot lately.

"Can you–"

"Yes," my mom chuckles and dries her hands before playfully yelling out the window that she's coming to get all of them and cook them for our Thanksgiving appetizers. Now they're all screaming.

I smile at the sight of her acting like a drill sergeant, and the sight of them coming to attention with their little fingers on their foreheads. That includes little Sav and she looks adorable doing it in her puffer coat and rosy cheeks.

To my left, a familiar hand drops a bag of pecans, four cans of cranberry sauce, and two bottles of Dom Perignon. I smile before I turn to see my husband standing behind me.

"Don't say I never did anything for you," he breaks character to laugh as I pop up on my toes and hug his neck.

"Never," I kiss him. "Was Whole Foods a zoo?" I kiss him again.

"Mhm," he kisses me back. "Completely," and again.

"I might have to try to think of a way to thank you," I start laughing as his brows raise and his hands slide around to my lower back, then down to my ass in his favorite pair of jeans on me. They're the jeans I was wearing when we met—a fact he loves to remind me of.

"I can think of about five different things but the catch is that they need to happen right now–"

"Daddy! Daddy!" Savannah comes bolting in through the backyard with a deep frown on her face.

He gasps to match her fear and releases me to catch her as soon as she jumps in the air for him to do so. "What is it?"

"Lily said you're gonna cook me with Mr. Turkey!"

"Oh my God," I cover my mouth to stifle my laugh, but Harry freely lets his out. I'll have to scold my mom for putting that idea in their heads later.

"She said that?"

"Mhm," she pouts and starts playing with the ends of his hair. "Please don't cook me, Daddy."

"We're not gonna cook you, baby," he's still laughing as he kisses her forehead. "Where's baby Maggie?"

"Watching football with Uncle Jeff," she hugs his neck and rests her head on his shoulder, keeping her little pout even as he starts rubbing her back to comfort her.

Now, Harry adores Lily, obviously. She was his first baby girl and he still treats her like that, and then Margaret, our youngest at 3 years old, is often the object of his affection because she's still so dependent on him, but the man has had the softest spot in his heart for Savannah ever since she was born. When I was privately asking my parents why that is, they said they think it's because she looks so much like me while the other two girls look much more like himself. That's true, but I don't know if that's the full reason. It could be because he wanted that third baby for years before I was ready to give it to him, so maybe he cherishes her because of that.