"I like this one," Beth said cheerfully despite the winter cold forcing redness on her nose and cheeks. She turned to look at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Not taking no for an answer, Daryl Dixon. This is the one, this is our tree."

"Don't like it," he grumbled, kicking at the snow piling around his feet.

The blonde rolled her eyes, smiling at him. "'Course you wouldn't, you like nothing but me."

"Don't get cocky, Greene."

"I prefer the term confident," she laughed, adjusting her beanie on her head. "Well, if you aren't going to help then atleast start chopping it down."

"Told ya, I don't like it."

She turned to fix him with a stare, furrowing her eyebrows at him. "Then which one do you want?"

"This one?" he said, pointing at small mound of green that sat limply, collecting snow.

"That's pathetic," Beth exclaimed, biting back a grin. "Atleast pick one we can actually decorate. It's not Christmas otherwise, Daryl."

"Fine, we'll get this one," he grunts, admitting defeat. "But you have to carry it to the car."

She beams at him, waiting for the swing of the axe to claim the tree as their own. "Oh, and while we're at that," she says softly, trying to fight off the grin that's consuming her face. "I'll have to cook extra Christmas food this year."

He turns to her, mid-swing. "What you talking 'bout? You invited your family?"

"I'm eating for two this year," she tells him, waiting for him to do something but he doesn't. "Daryl, I'm pregnant. Seven weeks."

"Are you kidding?" he asks her, eyebrows narrowed. "W-We're having a baby?"

"Yes!" she says excitedly, accepting the kiss his lips offer her. "So, hurry up, it's cold and we need to get this tree home."

"Guess you won't be carrying it to the car, then," he says quietly in hidden amusement but Beth doesn't miss his words.

She laughs at him. "Got chopping, Mr. Dixon. Better get started or this baby will pop out before you finally get this thing down."

"Yes, mam."