“Fine. My kids can do that on me. Other kids can do that on someone else.”

I smile. Hearing Jonah talk about kids and being a parent doesn’t spark the same tension it used to, back when we were charging headfirst into this relationship without pause. In fact, it no longer fazes me. Sometimes I find myself wondering how many we’ll end up having, what they’ll be, and who they’ll take after more. Will they have my hair? Jonah’s eyes?

Will Jonah’s son inherit those same adorable dimples that used to hide behind that unruly beard of his?

His stubbornness?

His love of flying?

Jonah catches me staring at him. A curious look flickers across his face. “What?”

“Nothing.” The truth is, if we had a repeat of this past summer and the pregnancy test turned out positive rather than a scare, I don’t think I’d be so fearful of the idea. At the same time, I’m not ready to share Jonah’s undivided attention just yet. “What happened here? Besides the epic disaster in the kitchen.”

“Not much. Came home around one, moved them over, we hung out, ate dinner.”

“No more fighting with Björn?”

“He had a four-hour nap, woke up in time for my mom to serve him his dinner, and then he went back to bed an hour ago. I barely saw him.” Jonah smirks. “Let’s hope jet lag messes with him until he leaves.”

Not likely, but a sleepy Björn might make for a more pleasant Christmas under this roof.

Jonah peels off my sock and wraps his large hands around my foot so I don’t feel the chill. “My mom brought up the wedding. Asked if we’ve thought about a date yet.”

“Yeah, she mentioned it this morning, too.” “With her health the way it is, I don’t want her flying back and forth for our wedding.”

I knew that was coming. “What did she say about it?”

“It doesn’t matter what she says. She’ll still fly, even if she shouldn’t. But I’m not good with it.”

“I know.” And, as much as Jonah jokes about running off and eloping, I know he would want his mother there. “What do you want to do, then?” I feel like I already know where this conversation is heading, and a tiny, selfish part of me wants to resist.

Jonah bites his lip in thought, watching me carefully. “I was thinking—”

“You are not wearing lederhosen,” I blurt.

He frowns. “What? Why would I wear those?”

“Are you about to suggest we get married in Oslo?”

“Fuck. No.” He shakes his head to emphasize that. “I was gonna ask if you’d consider getting married now, while they’re here.”

I groan. “Not you, too.”

His frown deepens. “What do you mean?”

“Toby and I were talking about your mom and her health issues, and he said we should do it now and Teddy could officiate.”

“Teddy?”

“Yeah. Apparently, he’s certified to officiate over weddings.”

Jonah snorts with disbelief, but then his brow furrows in serious thought.

I know that look taking over his face. It’s one of determination.

“No.” I shake my head.

Jonah grasps my calves, drags my body over, and pulls me up to straddle his lap. His arms curl around my body. “Why not?” His blue eyes twinkle with earnestness.

I laugh. “Because it’s too rushed, and because Diana’s not here, and because … it’s too rushed!” All the obstacles that have cycled through my mind spill out. “I don’t want to just sign a paper and be married! That’s not a memorable day for us!”

“So, then, we make it memorable.” There’s a hint of challenge in his voice.

“Oh, come on! In a week? How? Things take forever up here on a regular day, and it’s the Christmas holidays, and there’s a massive winter storm coming that’s probably going to knock out power for days. And, I mean, good luck getting any flowers or a decent dress or a caterer. And what about a honeymoon—”

“Okay. Whoa. Relax. It was just an idea.” Jonah lifts his hands in the air in a sign of surrender. “I’m not gonna pressure you to marry me.”

“I am marrying you. Remember?” I wave my hand to show off my diamond ring.

He sighs, and I can tell something is weighing on him.

“What is it?”

“Honestly? You’ve had that ring for four months now. I guess I figured you’d be itching to make some plans, but you don’t seem to be in any rush.” His jaw tenses. “I’m beginning to wonder if you have doubts.”

“Um … we’ve been kind of busy. Remember, there was that thing about you crashing your plane and almost dying, and then we were renovating the cabin, and I was neck-deep in Winter Carnival planning and getting ready for Christmas.”

“I know, I just—”

I collect his face in my palms, forcing his gaze to mine. “I have never been more sure of anything than I am of wanting to marry you,” I say slowly, clearly, to ensure he hears it.

“Then why does it seem like you keep avoiding making any decisions?” he asks softly, but there’s the slightest touch of something in his voice. Accusation, maybe. Hurt, possibly.

“I’m not. I …” My voice drifts. Does it really seem like that? If I am avoiding setting a date, it’s not for any doubts I have about Jonah. “Maybe I’m just having a hard time deciding where it should be. I mean, you know my mom is hell-bent on Toronto. And my whole life was back there until this year, and now so much of it is here, but that’s still my past. My family, my friends. None of those people are going to fly all the way here to see me get married.”

Maybe that’s what I’m having a hard time with. Not sharing one of the biggest days of my life with the people who know me best. “It’s just … I don’t know how I could pull it off in a meaningful way. Believe me, I thought about it.” All afternoon, I dwelled on it, weighing the pros and cons. “And don’t get me started on dealing with my mother.”

“Susan’s had two weddings of her own,” Jonah says dryly.

“I know. And I don’t know why I’m putting so much stock into her opinion here.” Other than that she’s my mother and I feel like I’ve already taken something away from her by moving across the continent.

“You know that none of that stuff—the flowers, the cake, whatever else there is—none of it matters to me.” He scoops my palm and brings it to his mouth for a kiss, his beard tickling my skin. “But I know it matters to you.”

“We’ll figure something out that works for everyone,” I promise. I just don’t know what that looks like yet.

Reaching behind, he pulls me forward, flush against his body. “You have to admit, it would have been perfect, though.”

“How so?”

“Christmas wedding in Alaska.” He dips his face into the crook of my neck. I close my eyes and revel in his lips against my throat and the feel of him growing hard against the apex of my thighs. “Me, marrying Frosty the Elf with Santa officiating.”

I snort.

“You wouldn’t even need a dress when you’ve got this.”