He pulled back slightly, breath warm against my mouth, eyes searching mine.
I still didn't move. Barely breathed. I was scared of spooking him.
When he kissed me again, it was different. Certain. He leaned in harder, his hand gripping my shirt, and heat shot straight through me. I touched him—one hand cradling his jaw, feeling the contrast between smooth skin and stubble, the other resting against his waist, feeling how his breathing had turned shallow and quick.
Damn, he tasted good. Better than I'd imagined, and I'd spent way too many hours speculating.
When we finally broke apart, neither of us spoke. His forehead rested against mine, both of us trying to remember how breathing worked.
"Sorry," he said eventually. "I didn't—"
"Don't apologize." My thumb brushed along his jawline. "Unless you're sorry it happened."
"I'm not." He laughed. "I'm really not."
We stood there, not quite holding each other. His hand stayed pressed against my chest, feeling my heartbeat. Mine stayed at his waist, thumb pressing lightly through the fabric of his shirt.
Finally, he turned back to the sleigh, touching the carvings again. "Show me more?"
I understood he meant more than just the woodwork. "As much as you want."
I pulled out another piece from the storage shelf—a panel with carvings along its edge, almost hidden in the grain. "This one's interesting. See how it weaves through? Great-great-grandfather said the wood told him where each mark needed to go."
Alex ran his fingers along the pattern. "It looks natural. Like it grew there."
"He wrote that this one was for hope." I covered his hand with mine again, our fingers interlocking easily. "Said some children needed more than toys. He experimented a lot. Tried differentpatterns, different meanings. The tradition wasn't about getting it perfect the first time—just about taking time to let the meaning develop."
"Is that your way of telling me I overthink everything?"
"Maybe." I brought his hand to my lips and kissed his knuckles. "Or maybe I'm saying you're allowed to take your time. With this and with everything."
He leaned into me, head against my shoulder. "I don't even know what this is, but I think I want to find out."
"You were incredible with those kids."
He shook his head. "I nearly panicked when Tommy talked about what I said to Marcus. Then, when Sophie told me that I gave good hugs like her grandpa..." He paused. "How do you handle that kind of trust?"
"Same way you handle any precious material." I rubbed my thumb across his knuckles. "Carefully. Respectfully. Paying attention to what it could become."
The workshop settled around us. Outside, the sky was fully dark, and the only light came from my work lamp.
"I should go." He straightened but didn't step away. "Unless..."
"Unless?"
"Unless you've got more craftsman's marks to show me." His attempt at casual interest failed. "For research. About traditions."
"Research?" I couldn't help smiling. "That's what we're calling this?"
"I need to understand local customs." He moved closer, his hand sliding up my arm. "Being temporary Santa and all."
"Temporary?"
Instead of answering, he kissed me again—steadier now. More certain. "I'm not making promises," he whispered against my jaw. "About staying. About Santa. About..."
"About this?"
"Especially this. Everything's complicated enough without..."
