Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
“Doesn’t mean you eat it.”
He kicks a puff of snow in retaliation and sprints toward the firepit where the marshmallows are lined up like ammunition.
Ever is helping Winter roll the middle snowball for the giant snowman family they insisted on building. Winter runs the show, of course—pointing with her mittened hands, directing her twin like a foreman.
Joy sits cross-legged near the fire, singing to herself as she roasts a marshmallow to absolute charcoal. Holly keeps trying to fix it for her, sliding in like the adopted big sister she’s become. Holly may not be officially ours, but after her mom returned from deployment, my sister moved into Lucy’s rental cabin and Lucy moved in with me. I adopted Holly when she turned ten and my sister was deployed again—we all figured it was easier that way—I’m the only dad she’s ever known anyway. Holly’s been living with us or running back and forth between our cabins every day since and for all intents and purposes, she’s ours.
And standing in the middle of all the chaos—my wife.
Lucy stands by the firepit, coat unzipped, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes lit with amusement as our kids attempt to out-chaos each other. She’s got marshmallow goo on her glove, snowflakes caught in her hair, and she’s glowing.
Snow falls around her like it’s trying to worship her.
And it might. Hell, I might.
“Ash!” she calls, laughing as Winter loses her balance and rolls sideways into a pile of snow. “I think the twins need a rescue!”
I stride across the yard, pretending to grumble but already smiling. “Alright, alright. Which one of you is stuck?”
“Ever pushed me!” Winter declares.
Ever gasps like she just accused him of arson. “I did not! You fell over! You have gravity problems!”
“Do not!” Winter snaps back.
I scoop her up, dust the snow off her coat, and balance her on my hip. “You two are supposed to be a team.”
“We are a team,” Ever mutters, kicking at the snow. “But she’s bossy.”
“I’m not bossy,” Winter says primly. “I’m organized.”
Lucy snorts behind her glove. Joy giggles. Holly rolls her eyes like she’s already thirty instead of sixteen.
I set Winter down gently. “Work together or your snowman’s going to look like it fell out of a snowplow.”
Ever perks up. “Can we make it giant?”
“No,” I say instantly.
“Yes,” Lucy says at the same time.
Our eyes meet. She lifts an eyebrow. I feel my pulse shift like it always does when she challenges me.
“Mom wins,” Winter sings.
“Mom always wins,” Lucy teases under her breath.
She's right. And ten years later, it still hits me in the chest every damn time.
By late afternoon, the snowman family is nearly complete. There’s a tall one—clearly meant to be me, built with Ever and Winter’s obsession for accuracy: tall, broad, intimidating. Then Lucy. Then Holly. Then Joy. Then Pine.
And then… one more.
A tiny snowball body. A small round head. A scarf made from Holly’s extra mittens.
A sixth snowman.
Okay. Actually, a sixth Calder.
I cross my arms and call out, “Alright, who added a bonus kid?”
Holly freezes mid-marshmallow—caught. Joy gasps. Winter looks at Ever. Ever points at Pine.
Pine shouts, “It wasn’t me! I only ate the nose!”
I lift an eyebrow at Holly. “Sweetheart?”
She shifts from foot to foot, cheeks pink. “Um… it was symbolic?”
“Symbolic,” I repeat flatly.
She nods. “You know… like planning ahead? Just in case?”
I shake my head, amused despite myself. Ten years and she’s still Holly. “We’ve got five. I think that’s plenty of—”
“Ash?” Lucy’s voice cuts through the cold.
Soft. Nervous. Something in it pulls my attention like a hook in my ribs.
She’s standing by the snowman family. Her hands folded together in front of her stomach. Eyes wide, shimmering.
The kids keep bickering. The fire crackles. Snow drifts. But for me, the world narrows to her.
I walk toward her, boots crunching in the snow. “Everything okay?”
She swallows. Looks at the tiny extra snowman. Looks back at me.
“It’s… not a mistake.”
My heart slams into my ribs. Hard. “What do you mean?”
Her breath fogs in the air. Snowflakes cling to her dark lashes as she whispers, “We’re adding to our little brood.”
The river keeps flowing behind us. The fire snaps. The kids yell about who stole whose marshmallow stick. But those words—our brood—echo like a heartbeat in my skull.
I stare at her. “Lucy.”
She nods once. Soft. Wordless. Full of emotion she can’t hide.
“I just found out this morning,” she says, voice trembling with excitement and nerves. “I was waiting for the right moment but… then I saw that little snowman and thought… maybe this was it.”
My breath leaves me in one harsh exhale. Our sixth. Another baby. Another piece of Lucy. Another tiny human who’ll call me Dad.
Emotion hits me like a collapsing roof.
I close the distance between us in three strides, grip her waist, and lift her clean off the ground as she laughs and squeals into the snowy air. I spin her once, burying my face against her neck, breathing her in like oxygen.