"Yates, this is too much. Where will we put it?" right here by the window," he declared, already setting it up in the stand he'd brought. "Every child deserves a proper Christmas tree." Together, they decorated the tree, transferring the popcorn garlands from the smaller tree and adding glass ornaments Yates had brought family heirlooms, he explained that had been packed away since his parents' deaths. They should be enjoyed, he said simply, when Faith protested that they were too valuable to risk around a child and two kittens. My mother would have wanted it this way.
After Emma was finally asleep, vibrating with anticipation for the morning, Faith and Yates sat before the fire, mugs of spiced cider in hand. A comfortable silence stretched between them, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the occasional purr from whistle curled on the hearth rug. "I have something for you," Yates said finally, reaching into his coat pocket. "A Christmas gift I'd prefer to give you privately." He handed her a small package wrapped in fine paper and tied with a silk ribbon. Faith unwrapped it carefully to reveal a velvet box.
Inside was a gold locket on a delicate chain similar to the one he'd given Emma, but larger and more intricately engraved. "It's beautiful," Faith whispered, opening the locket to find it empty. "Thank you, Yates. It was my grandmother's," he explained. "I thought perhaps someday it might hold miniatures of us.
You, me, Emma, a family portrait of sorts." The implication was clear, and Faith's heart raced. They'd spoken often of their feelings for each other over the past months, but never explicitly of marriage. Now, as she looked into Yates's hopeful green eyes, she knew the moment had come. "Yates," she began, then paused, gathering her courage. "Are you asking what I think you're asking?" He took her hands in his, the locket still nestled between their palms.
I had a whole speech prepared," he admitted with a rofful smile. "About how I've loved you since that first day. How you and Emma have brought joy and purpose to my life in ways I never imagined possible." "That sounds like a lovely speech," Faith murmured, her eyes misting. "The truth is simpler than any speech," Yates continued. "I love you, Faith Summers.
I love your strength, your kindness, your devotion to Emma. I love the way you've created a home here through sheer determination. I love your mind, your heart, your spirit." He took a deep breath. "And I would be honored beyond words if you would consent to be my wife." Faith felt tears spilling down her cheeks, but they were tears of joy. "Yes," she whispered.
"Yes, Yates Turner. I will marry you." His smile was radiant as he leaned forward, cupping her face in his hands. "May I kiss you, Faith? I've been wanting to since the harvest festival." "I've been wanting you to since then, as well," she confessed, her cheeks flushing. Their first kiss was gentle, tentative, a meeting of lips that quickly deepened as months of restrained emotion found release.
Faith felt herself melting into him, her hands clutching his shoulders as his arms encircled her waist, drawing her closer. When they finally parted, both breathless, Yates rested his forehead against hers. "I love you," he murmured again as if he couldn't say it enough now that the words had been spoken. "And I love you," Faith replied. The words coming easily now, more than I thought possible.
They agreed to tell Emma in the morning as a Christmas gift more precious than any wrapped package. As Yates reluctantly prepared to leave propriety, still demanding separation until their marriage, he paused at the door. When shall we marry? Spring would be traditional, but I find myself unwilling to wait that long. Faith considered this.