“I still can’t believe all this,” I whisper, my voice barely louder than the crackle of the fireplace. “You. Me. That our story ended in mistletoe and not heartbreak.”
Eb shifts, just enough to press a kiss to the crown of my head, his lips lingering there like a promise.
Then he pulls the fuzzy blanket higher around us, his strong arms cocooning me like I’m the most precious thing in the world.
“You didn’t think I’d let you go that easily, did you?”
A soft laugh escapes me, shaky and full of wonder.
“Honestly? I thought I’d imagined the whole thing. That something this perfect couldn’t possibly be real.”
I tilt my face up to him, heart thundering at the look in his eyes—deep green, intense, and full of so much love I can barely breathe.
“But it was,” I murmur. “It is.”
“It’s the realest thing I’ve ever had,” he says, his gaze locked on mine. “You’re my mate, Marigold. My home. My holiday Honey. My own little miracle.”
I smile then, slow and full, like I’m finally catching up to everything my soul already knows.
My heart swells so much it almost hurts. I reach for his hand and tangle my fingers with his, pressing our palms together like some kind of sacred vow.
“So what do we do next?” I ask.
“We build our life,” he replies simply.
No hesitation. No doubt. Just truth.
“One batch of gingerbread at a time,” I whisper, and we both laugh.
Then he leans in, brushing his nose against mine, voice dropping to that deep, dangerous rumble that always turns my insides to sugar.
“Speaking of the future, my brother’s plane is landing in about five hours,” he says with a wicked grin. “And I was thinking maybe we can get started on building that family for next year?”
My jaw drops, and I giggle despite the blush rising to my cheeks. “Ebenezer Rogers, are you seriously trying to seduce me with the words next year’s baby bump?”
His grin widens. “Is it working?”
I kiss him on the mouth, quick and teasing, then pinch his side and scramble up from the couch.
“Catch me and find out!”
He doesn’t even hesitate.
“You’re so getting caught, Honey.”
I take off with a shriek and a laugh, my socked feet sliding across the hardwood as I sprint for the stairs—but I barely make it halfway before his arms wrap around me from behind.
Gotcha.
“Always, mate,” he growls against my ear, hoisting me into his arms like I weigh nothing at all. “I will always catch you.”
And then he’s kissing me.
Deep. Hot. Possessive.
By the time he carries me up the stairs to our bedroom, I’m breathless and dizzy and so, so in love. I think I was always meant to be his.
The girl with the second sight.
