“What were Christmases here like before?” she asked, her voice soft and quiet as she traced a swerved pattern across his chest with her fingers.

“You mean with Grandma Betty?”

Chelle nodded, and a million images flooded Nash’s brain. Decorating the tree. Chasing down Maurice so they could include the goose in the annual family Christmas photo. Eating the dozens and dozens and dozens of cookies that Grandma Betty ordered in from a local bakery. Spending Christmas Eve pretending to sleep in a huge blanket fort with his cousins, brother, and sister, and laughing so hard at the dumb jokes Macon made that chocolate milk came out of Nash’s nose. It wasn’t just that the Christmases were fun, it was that it had been one of the few times growing up when he wasn’t on duty, watching out for his parents, Macon, or Bristol.

“They were amazing.”

“Your family is pretty great.” She propped her chin on the back of her hand pressed to the spot above his heart and looked up at him. “Is this always a cousin thing, though? None of your parents are here.”

Nash let out a weary sigh before he could stop himself.

“Shit,” Chelle said as she scrunched up her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. “I hit on a sore spot? Sorry. You don’t have to say anything. It’s not my business.”

But he wanted it to be her business, just like he wanted all of her headaches to be his. He brushed a kiss across her temple and circled his palm over her bare back as she sprawled over his chest. “It’s okay, I want you to know.”

She comically opened only one eye and, squinting up at him, asked, “You do?”

“You’re my wife.”

Her lush lips flattened into a thin line as she pressed them tightly together, and she dropped her gaze to the base of his neck before letting out a shaky breath. “We both know that’s only true for the next few days.”

“But it’s true now.” He stopped himself before he could let out a promise that it would always be. She wasn’t ready for that. He needed time to bring her around. Unfortunately, he only had a few days. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to be.

So instead of saying all of that, he glided his palm up and down her spine in slow, reassuring strokes. “This has always been a cousins-only event. I think Grandma made it that way because she knew none of our parents are exactly parents-of-the-year material. Dixon’s are probably the closest, but they’ve definitely got their reasons for not being here. Griff’s mom is dead and his dad is a true piece of shit. My parents fit somewhere in the middle. They love Macon, Bristol, and me, but they have their own way of showing it.”