beside me, his thickly muscled arms laden with plastic bags of this and that
we’d already purchased. “Leesha,” he said. “Do we need this?”
Jackson,” I breathed out, my fingertips lightly touching her delicate features.
“And look at how sweet the baby Jesus is laying there.”
nudged me. “And there’s poor Joseph leaning on his staff,” he teased. “Poor man
doesn’t have a clue what’s hit him.”
frowned up at my six-foot-six husband of nearly one year. “Very funny, Jackson
Morgan. And completely sacrilegious. I’m sure he knew.”
sure he didn’t.” Jackson raised his arms, the plastic bags coming with them.
“Now, listen. You’ve spent all we can afford to spend right now on these old
bowls,” he said. “And why, I’ll never know.”
I’d learned one thing in our brief marriage, it was how to get my way. “They’re
not old. They’re antiques. And think how pretty they’ll look on our cute little
table on Christmas day when we have your mom and my dad over.” I linked my arm
with his and squeezed. “Besides, you can’t get new stuff like this.”
of it matches,” he said, his brow furrowed.
kissed his shoulder, then nibbled at it. “It’s called eclectic.”
bent down to give me a kiss. “That’s called dirty pool.”
that mean I can have the nativity set?”
kissed me again. “No. It means we can’t afford it, no matter how cute you try
let out a deep sigh, and stroked the top of the stable. Jackson was right. Our
budget was limited, more than I’d ever dream of before Sara was born. I walked
away. But the crèche found its way under the tree that year, along with the
annual ornament nestled in the toe of my stocking.
Jackson,” I whispered past the knot in my chest and in the silence of the guest
room as I unwrapped the mother of our Lord. “How you surprised me.”