“A very unplanned Christmas present.”
He pulls the tissue paper aside and finds the wool hat I picked up in town yesterday—dark green, soft, hand-knitted. I’d bought it on impulse, and now it makes perfect sense.
He turns it over in his hands, the rough pads of his fingers catching on the yarn. “First Christmas present I’ve ever had.”
“You serious?”
He shrugs. “My family never celebrated.”
“Try it.”
“Never wore a hat before, either.” He tugs it on. “Kinda cozy.”
“And it suits you.” It does—somehow it focuses attention on those lush lips of his. Impulsively, I lean in and kiss him, long and deep.
A groan breaks from him, then he tears himself away. “Wait?—”
He crosses to the mantel, reaches behind the holly wreath, and pulls out a small, paper-wrapped package.
“Happy Christmas, Baby.”
I gasp, then laugh. “How did that get there?”
He shrugs, a little sheepish. “Might’ve brought it yesterday. I would’ve put it under the tree, but I figured the dogs would eat it.”
“They would,” I say, grinning as I start to peel off the tape.
Inside the wrapping is a small velvet pouch. I tip it into my hand and a gold pendant slides out, a single stone gleaming at its center. Aquamarine. The pale blue color catches the light.
“It’s a perfect match with your eyes,” he says softly.
My breath hitches. “Holt… it’s beautiful.”
He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “It belonged to my grandmother. She told me it was meant for my mate one day. Said the stone would tell me when I’d found her.”
I look up at him, heart pounding. “And it did?”
He nods, slow and sure. “Perfectly. I saw it the moment I looked at you. I just couldn’t believe it then. But I knew.” He lays his hand on his massive chest, right where his heart is.
Then he leans closer, brushing his thumb over the pendant before lifting it from my palm. “Let me.”
When he fastens it around my neck, his fingers graze my skin. The pendant settles against my collarbone, light as breath, but it feels like the world has shifted into place.
He draws me closer until my head rests against his chest. The heartbeat under my ear is strong and fast.
“I love you, Lila,” he murmurs into my hair—quiet, certain, like truth finally spoken aloud.
A soft sound escapes me, half-laugh, half-sob. I curl my hands into his shirt. “I love you too, Holt. I always have.”
He exhales — a slow, shaken release — and holds me tighter.
“Merry Christmas, Lila,” he whispers.
I smile against his skin, fingers curling around the pendant.
“Merry Christmas, my bear.”
13
