“For fuck’s sake, Caro! How many people have you invited?”
I’m staring at a fucking Himalaya of food covering our coffee table, our kitchen table, and across every surface in the kitchen.
She’s slumped on our couch, looking so fucking sexy, hair all mussed up.
She glares at me, but I can see the amusement in her eyes, too.
“Huh! We both know you’ll eat at least half of this, Hunter.” Which is true. “You know that I’ve only invited the girls, Atash and his family.” Which is also true. “I feel like I’ve been standing in the kitchen all day—my feet are killing me.”
I have married a fucking wonderful cook. Hell, she’s just a fucking wonderful woman, period.
“Want me to rub your feet, baby?”
“Oh, please, Sebastian.”
I sit on the couch and pull off her sneakers and socks. She moans softly as I massage her feet—fuck, that sound turns me on. And she has beautiful feet: kinda reminds me of some of those fucking boring statues she dragged me to see when we were in Italy.
She closes her eyes, then says, sleepily, “That’s not my foot, Sebastian.”
“I know, baby. What can I say, if a job’s worth doing…”
I lie on the couch and press myself into her. I can’t help it: I get hard just looking at her, but touching her. Yeah … definitely her fault.
“Ugh, you’re all sweaty, Sebastian!”
True. I’ve been out for a run. Well, more of a slow, fucking limping jog along the boardwalk. I hate being so fucking feeble, but it’s getting better. The doc says I’ll always have a limp—well, what the fuck does he know?
It’s already dark outside, but the boardwalk is buzzing, everyone drinking, having a good time, celebrating Christmas Eve.
I’m beginning to feel part of it, like this really is my home. But the truth is, home could be anywhere, as long as I’m with Caro. I am one lucky bastard. Even with a bullet hole through my damn shoulder and a chunk of muscle missing from my right thigh.
She pushes me off.
“Hold that thought, Hunter. I’m going for a shower.”
She slides out from underneath me and heads for the bathroom. I wait until I can hear the water running and then I follow. Although I may have just taken a slight strategic detour to taste some of that amazing fucking food along the way.
I peel off my sweatshirt and t-shirt in one go and somewhere between the living room and the bathroom, I kick off my sneakers and socks. I know she’ll be mad at me for that later, as I leave a trail of clothes through the house, but I fucking love it when she chews me out: the way her dark eyes flash, and her nostrils give that little flare. My sweatpants and briefs make it as far as the bathroom door before I lose them. She keeps reminding me we have elderly neighbors and thin curtains. Whatever.
I slide into the shower behind her and she gives a little gasp.
Her hair is all lathered up so I run my hands through it, massaging her scalp, and she gives a groan of pleasure. Yep, definitely feeling that in my dick.
Then I take the shower gel and wash her all over, sliding my hands over her gorgeous, soft skin; over her fantastic ass; and, my favorite, her beautiful breasts.
I bend down to kiss her and the water from the shower pours over us both, but I don’t need the warmth of the water—I’m fucking on fire just touching her.
I’d like to crouch down to taste her delicious, wet pussy, but the truth is, it’s fucking agony stretching out my thigh muscles like that. The thought pisses me off. Whatever. There’s other stuff I want to do. A lot of other stuff.
“Sebastian, I’m slipping!”
I pick her up around her waist and carry her out into the bathroom, sitting her on the edge of the tub.
Yeah, kneeling—that’ll work!
I fall to the floor in front of her and spread her knees out wide. She gasps as I go down on her and that sound alone is enough to make me come. Hold it in, Hunter, you fucking lightweight.
I work her some with my tongue and some with my finger, but then she comes suddenly and unexpectedly. Jeez, that was quick.
“Fuck, Caro! You okay, baby?”
I look up at her and I love that hot, abandoned look. Her hair is hanging down her back, almost to her waist, and those beautiful breasts are rising and falling rapidly with her very fast breathing.
She nods but doesn’t seem capable of speaking, and that makes me smile. I pull her up and half-carry her to the bedroom.
She sprawls out on her back and then holds up her arms and wiggles her fingers at me. That means she wants me to lie down with her. I fucking love that we have this unspoken language between us. I’ve done a lot of shit with a lot of women, but I’ve never had this level of intimacy with any of them. Only Caro. It’s only ever been Caro.
I lie down and kiss her throat, feeling her hot, sweet skin next to mine, as she stretches out like a cat, arching her back and smiling.
“You want to go from behind, Sebastian?” she says, looking up at me, with that wicked gleam in her eye that really fucking turns me on.
“No, baby; I want to come from behind.”
She slaps my chest but rolls onto her front, and lifts her ass in the air.
“Come and get it, big boy!”
I can’t help laughing out loud.
“What films have you been watching, Caro? Come and get it, big boy?”
She smiles over her shoulder at me.
“I made that one up. Original, huh?”
“Yeah, baby. It turns me on.”
“Sebastian, according to you, you get turned on when I ask you to do the dishes!”
“I know, baby; I think it’s the hot water and foam—gets me thinking stuff.”
“I’ve noticed,” she says, drily. “Now am I going to have to wave my ass in the air forever, or are you going to do something about it?”
I’m too much of a fucking gentleman to keep her waiting any longer.
“You want it hard or soft, baby?”
Yeah, I can do that.
I slide myself into her gently, feeling that fucking amazing slight resistance that turns into hot, sweet flesh closing all around me.
She pushes back into me.
Fuck, if she does that again, there ain’t gonna be much chance of ‘soft’.
I slide all the way out, then push into her again, rolling my hips so I can feel her all around me, massaging her inside.
I manage one more slow action before I feel her quiver again and that tips me over the fucking edge. I grip her hips and start pounding into her; the headboard is banging so hard, I think it’s going to go through the fucking wall. Again, I’m surprised when she comes really quickly: normally we have better timing than that. Not that I care, because feeling her clenching around me just brings me on faster. Fuck, that woman can milk me!
I wonder, briefly, if it’s possible to run out of cum. Yeah, well, not so far.
She clenches around me again and I spill into her, pressing her body into the mattress. I pull out carefully and roll onto my back, breathing hard.
Fuck, that felt good!
I didn’t know Christmas Eve could be so much fun—it never has been before; although some of the Christmases I spent with Ches, or Shirley and Mitch were pretty good. Nothing like this, though, obviously.
And I fucking love the fact that we’ve given up condoms. No matter what anyone says, the sensation just isn’t the same. And as for being spontaneous, forget that. I mean, have you ever tried to have shower sex when you’re using condoms? Yeah, well, see what I mean?
But more than that, I love that Caro has given up taking the Pill. It’s like there are no barriers between us. I know she’s worried about being an older mom, but she’ll be so fucking amazing at it. Hell, she’s so fucking patient with me, and I know I’ve given her a really shitty time since I got back from Afghan. But things feel like they’re really on track now.
And she’s promised she’ll give up the war reporting stuff. I know I should feel guilty about that, but I just can’t. I’m relieved that she’s not going to put herself in danger like that anymore. And after what happened to Liz Ashton, I’d fucking burn Caro’s passport and chain her to the bed before I let her get anywhere near an airplane.
But she’s had another offer, one I’m much happier about. She wrote a piece about us biking through Italy. I didn’t even know she’d done it, but one day she came in with this travel magazine and a photograph of me next to my Kawasaki ZZ-R1400 somewhere above Amalfi. That was a great bike. Might have to get another of those.
Turns out the travel mag people have offered her a couple of features, including some motorcycle rides in the US. I’m definitely up for that. But they’re talking about Spain, too. Yeah, I’ll carry her bags on that job. Yes, ma’am!
I’m still not sure what I want to do, but sorting out Atash’s immigration shit has been really interesting. Caro thinks I could make a good attorney but I’m not sure I’d have the patience for that. I’d have to do a degree then a Master’s degree. And even if I could take all that studying, which would be enough dry words to choke a camel, I’d probably end up mouthing off to the judge and getting thrown in jail for contempt of court or some shit. I’ve had some work doing interpreting, but until I get my reading of Arabic and Persian up to speed, it’ll remain limited. Guess I’m just kinda looking around.
But one thing that does interest me is doing fitness training with people who have disabilities. I’ve worked with some great therapists who helped me get my shit together—and some fucking useless ones who shouldn’t be let near a real live human being. I’d always thought I might do something along the lines of a personal trainer—I can’t imagine being stuck in some rabbit hutch of an office all day—but this kind of appeals. At least I’d know what the fuck I’m talking about.
Alice got me a pass to use the NYU cardio room and weight room. One day, there was this British woman doing one of those motivational talks. I was going to skip it but I heard her say that she’d broken her back paragliding and the doctors told her she probably wouldn’t walk again. So she told them all to shove it, ignored all medical advice and, three months later, took her first steps. Now she runs those ultra long-distance marathons*.
I’m not interested in that, but I really like the idea that the doctors didn’t know everything. They’ve told me I’ll always have a limp and I’ll never get my full fitness back. Well, fuck that. They don’t know me. Caro told me she doesn’t care if I’ve got a limp, so long as I haven’t got a limp dick. No way, baby! No chance of that with her. Fuck! She’s so sexy and she really doesn’t know it.
Shit! I can’t keep my mind off sex for two fucking minutes.
I also heard that the Wounded Warriors Project takes vets on surfing vacations. Although I’m not sure about getting involved with anything military again … being on the outside now. But I’ll find out about that—maybe I could teach or something. Not that I’ve been back on a board since … but next year, definitely. We’ll both go. That would be cool.
It’s been weird getting used to doing stuff together. I don’t mean all the relationship stuff, because I fucking love that. But all the day-to-day stuff that I never thought about: joint bank accounts, for one. I really love that we have a checking account that says ‘Mr. and Mrs. Hunter’ but I hate using it because most of the money is hers. Well, given to her by Liz Ashton. I’ve got quite a lot of savings from the Marines because I only ever spent my money on drinking and fucking around, oh, and a couple of motorcycles, but it’s not like I ever had a home to pay for before, so it’s a chunk of cash.
I talked to Ches about it and he kinda put things in perspective for me. He said I should stop thinking about my money and her money and try and think about it as our money. I get what he’s saying, but it’s not easy. Caro says we’ll get used to it, and she’s not really wrong about this shit. I guess I’m the one who’s fucked in the head about it.
It was fucking amazing seeing Ches and the kids when Caro and I got married. I really love those little bugs: they’re so fucking honest and open—you know, not afraid to love. I don’t ever remember being like that when I was a kid, but when you’ve had assholes for parents, you learn that if you’re going to cry, you do it alone in your room. I think I stopped crying when I was about six. The only person who can make me cry now is Caro. I think she knows that, but it’s not something we talk about.
She hasn’t mentioned the kids thing since she stopped taking the Pill and I’m not going to push it. I meant what I said: if it happens that would be fucking awesome, but if it doesn’t, our lives are really rich already. I just don’t want her to miss out on anything because of me.
“Hey, where did you go just now, Sebastian?” she says, her eyes all soft and full of love.
The way she looks at me just cracks my heart wide open. It’s like I’ve answered all her questions, just by being alive—I can’t get enough of that look.
“Been right here, baby. Just thinking how cute you’re going to look in your Christmas stockings.”
She twines her hand through mine.
“Sebastian, you do realize that it’s a stocking as in noun: singular—and that you’re supposed to hang it up by the chimney for Santa to fill if you’ve been a good boy—which, of course, you haven’t.”
“Yeah, well, I think we should start a new tradition. Caro in stockings for Christmas. Hey, that alliterates, too.”
“Gosh, you do know some big words, Sebastian,” she says, laughing.
“You taught me everything I know, baby,” and I fasten my teeth around her nipple and tug gently.
She gasps. “Although I never had to teach you that move, did I?”
“Mmm,” I say, in agreement, “guess I’m a natural.”
I tug slightly harder and my right hand moves down to her thighs.
“Again?” she says, in amazement.
“Yeah, it’s Christmas, baby, and I want my presents early.”
Waking up next to Caro is my favorite fucking thing in the world. I mean, yeah, I fucking love being buried inside her and I love seeing her face when she comes, but the absolute best thing is that moment when I watch her wake up. She’s soft and sweet when she’s asleep and then her eyelids blink open and there’s that wicked gleam in the depths of her dark brown eyes. She stretches out and I feel her arms and legs and body brushing my skin. And I know she’s all mine—forever.
And I really fucking love wake-up sex. Since she told me that trick about her orgasm being more intense if she hasn’t been to the bathroom, I always try and get a quickie in before breakfast. It’s a great way to start the day. She comes like a fucking train—yeah.
“Merry Christmas, Sebastian,” she says softly.
God, I love hearing those words. This is the best fucking Christmas ever—and it’s still only 7AM.
“Merry Christmas, Caro. I love you so much, baby.”
She leans over to kiss me, sighing into my mouth. And Christmas Day starts really, really well.
Two hours later, she starts to get up.
“Uh-uh, baby. I’m going to make you breakfast in bed.”
She smiles, that lovely sexy, sleepy smile.
“You can’t cook, Sebastian, despite my best efforts to teach you.”
Wow, that hurts. I’m a really good cook: I can make coffee and … espresso.
“You want coffee in bed, baby?”
She laughs and nods.
My real reason for getting up is to go fetch her present. I found a really cool hiding place at the back of the closet in the spare bedroom. It’s high up and, being such a shrimp, she’d need to stand on a chair to find it. I’m pretty fucking pleased with myself.
And I remember to make the coffee. Yeah, she’s got me tamed—and I fucking love it.
I carry the coffee in two mugs, with the parcel under my left arm. The coffee is in danger of slopping over the sides because I’ve overfilled again, but also because my fucking leg is so damn useless first thing in the morning and my limp is a lot worse. Caro never says anything, but she knows it bothers me.
I put the coffee down and toss her the gift.
“Yeah, kind of.”
She raises her eyebrows and then pulls on the ribbon holding it together. A riot of colorful silk spills out onto the bed. She gazes up, a slow smile spreading across her face.
She’s teasing me: my entire wardrobe consists of white, gray, black, and blue jeans. Oh, and a pair of crazily-bright boardshorts that I bought in Italy.
She holds up one of the pieces of flimsy silk and lace.
“Yes, ma’am. A different color for every day of the week.”
“What color would you like me to wear today?”
“Red: it’s Christmas.”
She laughs. “Ok, I’ll wear the red. Are we saving black for Saturday nights?”
Fuck! That sounds hot.
“Whatever you like, baby.”
She knows I’m lying and she smirks at me.
“Your present is under the bed, Sebastian.”
What? I go to all that trouble to hide her gift properly, and mine is under the fucking bed?
She laughs at my expression.
“I learned being sneaky from this hot Marine I used to know…”
She stops mid-sentence.
“It’s okay, baby,” I say, quietly.
Her hands are on her mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that, Sebastian.”
And her eyes fill with tears.
“I know, baby. Don’t cry, Caro. It’s okay. I’m not … it’s okay.”
Fuck. Will I ever get used to this? Being a ‘former’ Marine? Sometimes it just hits me like a fucking sledgehammer.
“Where’s that damn present that you’ve hidden so stealthily?”
She smiles, wiping a tear away, and I feel so fucking bad that I made her cry—on Christmas.
I hang off the bed and look underneath.
That is a fucking big present!
I pull it out and even though I know exactly what it is—because she couldn’t exactly hide it—she’s gift-wrapped it in Christmas paper.
“I hope you like it,” she says, nervously.
“Baby, I love it already.”
She’s bought me a surfboard. It’s a thruster in style, pointed at the nose, but I can see that it’s slightly longer and wider than someone of my height and weight would usually have. The extra width and length will give it more buoyancy—it’s going to make it easier for me to surf on, because my balance is still fucked.
But when I unwrap it…
“Do you like it?” she says, chewing on her lip.
The design is clean and simple: a single blue-green stripe trimming the edge, and across the middle are the words, ‘Semper Fidelis’.
“Baby, I love it.”
And I do. I really do.
She looks relieved.
I kiss her, showing her without words how much she means to me.
She kisses me back, weaving her magic around me, and the world disappears.
When she pulls away from me, I’m hard again, and I try to tug her back, but she laughs and shakes her head.
“Our guests will be here in 45 minutes and neither of us are showered, let alone dressed. And unless you want Nic, Alice and Jenna to see you in your shorts—which I suspect they’d be thrilled at, by the way—I think you should put some pants on.
Ah, crap. The three witches.
Okay, they’re not that bad, but they can be really fucking patronizing. Sometimes I just feel like a piece of meat, the way they look at me when they think I’m not watching. I mean, fuck! They’re my wife’s friends. That’s so fucking uncool.
Caro just laughs and reminds me I’m the one who married an older woman with older friends, so I should just suck it up.
The other day we were in a store buying groceries and were lining up to pay. Caro realized she’d forgotten some weird cheese she wanted, so she went off to find it. Then this woman in a pant-suit who was standing behind us in the line starts chatting to me. I’d like to believe she was just being friendly, but then she reached over and laid her hand on my chest in this flirty little move. I mean, she’d just seen me with my wife, for fuck’s sake! What is with these women? Caro thought it was pretty damn funny.
I haven’t told Caro the real reason it pisses me off, because it would upset her; but they’re exactly the kind of women I used to hit on when I was single—tough, career women who told themselves they’d never fall for me—older women who reminded me of Caro.
I push the thought away because this is our first Christmas together and I don’t want to spoil it.
Caro won’t let me shower with her: she knows me too well. So I make the bed while she’s in the bathroom and tidy up the kitchen where I spilt the coffee when I was making it. She never says anything when I clear up, but I know she loves it, because she gets this look on her face like she can’t believe I do stuff around the house. She just doesn’t get that I want to take care of her in whatever way I can. Because I fucking love her.
When I go back into the bedroom, she’s just slipping her cute, black cocktail dress over the red, silk underwear I bought her.
Fuck! I was too late.
“Rain check, Hunter,” she says, in a firm voice.
Ah hell. I’ll just have to walk around with a boner all day, knowing she’s wearing that fucking sexy bra and panties under her dress.
I take a shower—a cold one.
I’m just pulling on a t-shirt when a car pulls up outside. I open the front door for Caro’s friends, and she runs out and takes the lion share of the hugging and kissing, thank fuck. I’m relieved when I see Atash’s family walking up the street.
They come in, looking a little nervous, but soon everyone is sitting on cushions on the floor—because we don’t have enough chairs—and chatting away. Atash and his brother Kambiz are the only ones in their family who speak any English but it all works out pretty well.
And, I’m not going to tell Caro, but Kambiz knows where to get the best hash. I don’t do it very often, but sometimes I just need to chill a bit.
Caro’s food is fucking amazing, which is a real ice-breaker. She’s made Italian dishes: some weird salted cod stuff, baked pasta, capon, fish salad and a whole bunch of stuff I can’t even pronounce, let alone recognize.
Kambiz’s eyes are popping out of his head when he sees the Afghan food that she’s made, as well: Qabli Pulao of rice, raisins and carrot with lamb; Mantu dumplings with minced beef and onions; spicy vegetables; and two chalow rice dishes.
Atash just smiles because he’s had Caro’s cooking before.
I feel so fucking proud of her. She did most of it herself: okay, well, all of it. I tried to help but she nearly fucking lynched me when I managed to let the rice burn dry … um … the first lot of rice. I’ll do my bit later—all the fucking washing up. Thank fuck she insisted on getting paper plates to eat off of.
And during the day, I have a revelation. I fucking love Christmas!
It was a nightmare when I was a kid: lots of drunken arguments, and most of the time I’d try and hide in my room. It got a bit better when Ches and his folks moved to San Diego because they’d invite me over and I’d spend as much time as I could with them. Yeah, those were pretty good. Got to surf on Christmas Day a few times, although Shirley tore a strip off Mitch if he got us back late for the food.
I’ve had four Christmas’s overseas: one in Iraq with my unit, which was kind of okay, although a lot of the guys were going on about missing their families, and I never had anyone to miss; one in Afghanistan, where we got the fuck shelled out of us on Christmas Day, which kind of put a damper on things; and one where it was just the chaplain going on about some shit or other. Last Christmas I was in Switzerland and I spent it screwing some rich German woman in a fucking amazing hotel in Klosters. Something else I haven’t mentioned to Caro. Did some snowboarding, too.
Caro knows I’ve done this shit, but she never asks and she never uses it as a weapon when we’re fighting, which is pretty fucking cool of her.
I could have flown back to spend Christmas with Ches last year, but since I’d fucked Amy’s friend and her friend’s friend, she’s been kinda pissed at me. Not that I cared about that, but I didn’t want to screw things up for Ches, so I stayed away.
Amy was kind of okay with me when Caro and I got married; it really helped that they got on so well. I think Amy was in a state of shock that I was ‘settling down’ as she put it (several times, for fuck’s sake).
But I wasn’t surprised that she got on with Caro: everyone loves Caro. She’s just so positive, energetic, kind, generous, and no one is capable of hating her for it; she’s so beautiful but she’s even lovelier on the inside. She doesn’t see it—but everyone else does. And she’s so fucking sexy.
This Christmas was—perfect. So full of fun and love and laughter. I am a lucky bastard. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such … such happiness.
I’ve got one more gift for her, but I’ll wait until everyone has gone home.
Finally, finally, we get the place to ourselves. Caro made everyone take food home with them so at least we don’t have to wrap up a load of leftovers. Atash’s family were really pleased with that. Probably got enough to last them a few days.
“I’m just glad to see it gone,” says Caro, groaning. “I can’t eat another thing. Never, never show me another mince pie.”
“You did amazing, Caro. Now sit down and let me do the dishes.”
Of course, she doesn’t.
“Don’t be silly, Sebastian. I can tell your leg is hurting you. Just let me take care of it.”
“Damn it, woman!” I half-yell at her. “Aren’t you ever going to take a fucking order?”
“Sure,” she says, laughing at me, “when you tell me to get my ass in your bed.”
I groan. How the hell am I going to be able to concentrate on anything else now?
We clear up together and when we’re done, we collapse onto the couch and she snuggles up on my chest.
“Today was fun,” she sighs. “It felt … right.”
“I know what you mean, baby.”
“Let’s go to bed, Sebastian. I’m beat.”
“Yeah, okay, baby … I’ve got another gift for you first.”
“Does it involve getting naked in a variety of new and interesting positions?”
Fuck! She’s a mind-reader!
“Well, yeah, that, too, but … um … there’s something else. I don’t know … you might think it’s lame.”
She sits up and looks at me.
“Sebastian, I’d never think anything you gave me was lame. Not ever.”
“Yeah, well … you might when you’ve heard it.”
“I … um … I … I wrote a song for you, Caro.”
She looks stunned.
I’ve been trying to learn guitar. It’s really fucking hard—my left hand won’t do shit since I got shot in the shoulder, but it turns out that most songs only have about four chords anyway. I don’t think I’ll ever play a diminished seventh. Fuck it.
And I stand up to go get the guitar before I lose my nerve.
I’ve been practicing while Caro has been out. Sometimes it sounds okay; sometimes it sounds like crap.
I walk back into the living room, but I can’t meet her eyes.
I position my fingers over the strings and take a deep breath. Fuck. My mouth has gone dry.
Just when I’d seen it all
Just when I’d heard it all
And the road got weary
I heard you call.
I thought I knew it all
I thought I called the shots
No colors in my life
So far to fall.
Filled with sunshine
That’s in your smile
I’ll walk that extra mile.
No place to call my home
No woman of my own
But then you rescued me
And your love is the key.
Filled with sunshine
That’s in your smile
We’ll go that extra mile.
The last note dies away and I still can’t look up.
The silence hangs in the air.
She stands up and takes the guitar from me, and lays it carefully on the table. Then she sits on my knee and my arms automatically curl around her waist.
“You made me cry,” she says, softly.
“Oh no, baby. Was it that bad?”
“Idiot!” she sniffs, between her tears. “It was beautiful. Oh, Sebastian, it was just wonderful. I love it. And I love you. So much, tesoro.”
Relief floods through me and all the tension drains away. She loved it.
I stand up with her still in my arms.
“Good, let’s go to bed.”
She snuggles into my chest, and lets me carry her into the bedroom.
I’m really looking forward to unwrapping my next present and seeing her in all that fucking sexy red underwear.
I put her down on the bed and yank my t-shirt over my head.
Oh, crap! I think I heard the seam rip again.
“Wait!” she says, loudly.
I stare at her, puzzled.
“I’ve got another present for you yet, Sebastian.”
“I know, baby, and I’m looking forward to unwrapping it.”
She rolls her eyes.
“A different present.”
“You got me something else?”
I can’t help smiling.
Fuck. I love getting presents—I’ve never had that many before. I kinda get why people like Christmas now.
She opens the drawer of her bedside cabinet and pulls out a small envelope, and hands it to me.
“What is it?”
“Sebastian, the whole point is that you open it,” she says, with a smile twitching at her lips.
I toss the pillows behind me and sit propped up against the headboard.
I tear open the envelope and pull out a small photograph. I have no fucking idea what I’m looking at. It’s a weird black and white, swirly picture. For all I know it could be a Klingon vessel attacking the Starship Enterprise.
“Yes,” she says. “We’re going to have a baby—you’ll be a father. Merry Christmas, Sebastian.”
My wife is the only person in the whole fucking world who can make me cry. And tonight, for the first time in my miserable fucking existence, I cry tears of joy.
* Wanda Summers http://www.wandasummers.co.uk
Missed any other snippets?
Day 1: Kate Canterbary
Day 2: Rochelle Paige
Day 3: MN Forgy
Day 4: Nina Levine