(The Day of Christmas)
December—season of warmth, of giving, of celebrating love and miracles wrapped in paper and pine.
Magic sparkles on trees, secrets hover in the air, and the world glows with hope.
Neva, a devoted Christmas romantic, has anticipated this day for weeks.
And now it's here—made perfect by Rhett's safe return, her prayers answered.
They spent the past week lost in the spirit—stringing lights, choosing ornaments, picking out the lushest Yule tree from the lot, fingers entwined in the cold.
The most awaited day of the year is here.
The day of honouring the birth of the Saviour. The night—the Divine stepped into human dust and dwelt among sinners.
The crack of dawn unravels in the children the most innocent euphoria.
Happy smiles and giggles delights the homes—on being gifted such beautiful life.
Today, Neva's home radiates more comfort than usual too.
Sweetness curls through the air—chocolate, cinnamon, and a faithful bond of sacredness.
Soft fairy lights gleam across the walls, casting a warm golden hue. In the center of the drawing room stands a glorious Christmas tree, dressed in shimmering colors and tender memories.
Neva hums quietly as she flips pancakes on a pan, barefoot in oversized socks, cheeks brushed pink from the stove's warmth.
Her heart full. The night before, she'd convinced Rhett to join her for mass at a nearby church. This evening, Emma and Zedd are coming over for a feast. Rhett has been tidying up all morning—cleaning pine needles and wiping smudged windows.
She hears him before she sees him—the familiar creak of the hallway floorboard.
He appears at the kitchen door—first his nose, then the rest of him, barefoot, freshly showered, hair still damp and curling slightly at the ends.
He breathes in the delicious aroma.
"Angel," he says, approaching her.
"Hmm?" Neva responds, focused on the pancakes.
He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her gently into his chest.
"I have a present for you," he murmurs, lips brushing her hair.
She tilts her head slightly to face him, smiling.
"Me too."
He smiles and kisses her lips before resting his face in the crook of her neck.
"I'm not done, Rhett," she mutters, placing a fresh, golden brown pancake onto the plate and reaching for another batter.
His fingers slip past her to switch off the stove. The sizzle dies.
He gently turns her around. Her spatula hovers midair, brow quirked.
"Will you be mine?" he asks quietly.
"All mine? And let me be the happiest man alive."
His thumb brushes a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, and then he lifts her hand and presses it to his chest. His heartbeat pounds beneath her palm.
"This heart—it's not mine anymore. Nothing is."
Neva blinks, awe and wonder swirling in her wide eyes.
Something in his voice stills the air.
He leans in, pressing his lips to her soft ones—kissing her tender, slow.
She wraps her arms around his neck—mirroring back his passion.
They pull back, their breath warm and heavy between them.
"I love you, Neva."
Her breath catches, her breath caught between words.
Their eyes are tangled—deep, melting into each other.
He chuckles, though his voice trembles.
"I know I've always rushed things with you… but I can't help it. I've never been able to slow down when it comes to you."
"I know how sacred marriage is to you.
And I want that with you. I want to live something holy, something secure. A home we can grow in. Together."
Neva swallows.
Her lips part, but nothing comes. She isn't sure if she's standing in her kitchen anymore, or floating somewhere above the earth.
Her heart races. Her body shivering slightly.
He cups her face—flushed and burning.
"I love you," he says again, softer. "Wilder. Purer. More than words know how to be."
"I want forever with you. Please… tell me you feel the same."
The words hang between them, like snowflakes suspended in a breathless hush.
"I'm scared," he whispers. "Say something, Neva."
And then it spills from her lips—shaky and stunned, but real.
"I love you."
Rhett's eyes shine. He laughs in disbelief, his forehead falling to hers.
He exhales a shaky breath, drinking her in.
"You said it," he whispers. "For the first time."
She blushes so deeply it warms her neck. She fists his shirt and hides her face in his chest.
A shiver runs through him.
She loves him.
She loves him!
"Wait here," he says suddenly, reluctantly pulling away from her. As he steps back, his fingers linger on hers for a beat too long.
Then he disappears down the hallway, heart pounding.
Neva stands frozen. Dazed.
He returns moments later—but to her, it feels as though an hour has passed. She hears his footsteps first, then sees him.
Neva gasps as Rhett drops to one knee before her, holding a small velvet box in his hand.
He opens it.
Inside, a ring gleams—diamond petals arranged in the shape of a delicate bloom, soft and breathtaking.
"Marry me, Neva."
She bites her lip.
Heart pounding in her ears.
Emotion rises, thick and fast.
He meets her eyes, vulnerable in a way she's never seen. Unshielded. Bare.
Her chest tightens.
He is her home. She knows it.
But—
She's eighteen.
It's only been two months.
Her mind races. Her heart pleads.
And for a second, the sparkle in her eyes dims.
Rhett's smile falters.
He looks down. The box wavers in his grip.
Of course.
Of course she doesn't want him the way he wants her.
He swallows the lump in his throat. His voice is low.
"I bought the ring after one week," he confesses. "Because I just knew. You're the only thing I've ever been sure of."
"Rhett…" she whispers, kneeling before him.
She reaches for his chin, lifting his face gently.
"I'm eighteen," she says softly.
"We've known each other for less than three months."
He doesn't speak. His eyes search hers, broken.
Then—barely a whisper—he says:
"Isn't it enough?"
She sees it—the ache in his gaze, the trembling hope.
And she feels her heart breaking.
She cups his face in both hands.
"I'll marry you," she breathes, feverish, voice trembling.
His brows twitch in disbelief.
"…When I turn nineteen."
For a moment, silence settles.
Then Rhett lets out a shaky laugh—a sound of unspeakable relief.
He takes her hand, pressing his forehead to it—eyes closed, breathing in this blessed reality.
And there, in the golden light of Christmas morning, with the scent of pancakes curling in the air and the hum of holy joy outside their window—two hearts kneel before each other, quietly promising forever.