“No, because of you.” He smiled up at me, eyes bright, the tip of his nose pink. Then he put his hand to his heart. “I think that little Cupid got me good.”
“Oh.”
“Maybe just because it’s Christmas and how incredible and romantic this night was,” he said. “But I want you to know that I think you’re amazing, and I’m so happy you came into my life. I’m falling in love with you. Maybe I’ve already fallen, I don’t know.”
It seemed today was a day for declarations...
A lot of overwhelming declarations.
I wasn’t sure what to say. I wanted to tell him how I was feeling. This overpowering, too-big-heart feeling. “Winter, I...”
His smile faltered. “It’s okay. I don’t expect you to say anything back. I’m just a big old sap, and tonight was perfect. And you should know how incredible you are.”
I tried to speak but couldn’t.
I tried to breathe and couldn’t . . .
I considered turning and hurrying away. I couldn’t do that either. My legs, lungs, brain couldn’t catch up. So, for the second time today, bursting with too much emotion, I panicked and pulled Winter in for a hug.
Just for a second. A long, perfect, overwhelming second.
Then I let him go, just as abruptly.
“Oh,” he squeaked, flustered, fixing his beanie. “Wow, okay, so that just happened.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I keep doing that. That’s twice today.” I held up two fingers. “Twice in my life, actually. It’s just that my insides get too much.” That didn’t sound right. “My heart...”
He held onto a button on my coat, maybe so I couldn’t turn and hurry away, his smile becoming a grin. “My heart too, Deacon.”
I laughed and put my hands to my face to stop myself from grinning too hard. “I’m sorry.”
He laughed again, his eyes shining. “Don’t be. It was... perfect.”
A big old logging truck pulled up on the street and the window rolled down. Gunter stuck his head out, grinning, and waved. “Merry Christmas, boys.”
We both laughed and it served as a good distraction, a break in the intensity.
I had rational thought back, at least. My truck wasn’t far, so I nodded to it. “We should go. It’s cold out.”
“We should.”
The drive out of town was slow as long lines of traffic made their way home. Winter pulled the two crocheted cats out of his pocket. “I can’t believe I found these tonight. Even their markings are similar.”
He held them in his hands as if they were the real things. When we pulled up at his house, he turned in his seat and held out one of them to me. “I want you to have him. Put him in your little tray of collectibles as a reminder of tonight.”
I blinked in surprise but took the little cat. “Thank you. Though I don’t need a reminder, because I won’t ever forget tonight.”
“Me either,” he said. He put his hand on the door handle but stopped. “Thank you, Deacon. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll wait for your text at eight.” Then he laughed. “No pressure.”
Yes. No pressure at all.
He climbed out and held the door open and looked back at me. “Merry Christmas, Deacon,” he whispered.
I nodded, my heart hammering. “Merry Christmas, Winter.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WINTER
