“Well, uh . . . I’m not sure anyone can make us feel anything, considering that it’s our own responses that make the difference. But if I’ve felt anything, it wasn’t because of anything he did. I’m drawn more so to just who he is.” I stumble through thewords while Jace’s hand gently presses into my knee, the tips of his fingers tracing circles around the front of it. I close my eyes, enjoying every moment of contact.
“I guess that’s an acceptable answer,” Gram says. At last, she seems ready to table the interrogation and focuses on the centerpieces, commenting on their colors being more vibrant than last year. Conversation starts to pick up again around us, and I see Jace resume eating when my gut clenches. I didn’t say anything wrong. My words were nice. But it spoke of him more as a person and not who he is to me.
“Wait!” I clink my fork on the glass in front of me and wince. Everyone at the table stops moving. Jace pauses with his mouth open, another forkful of food hovering over his plate.
“That’s more like it.” Gram’s eyebrow lifts, a smirk positively engraved upon her face.
“I need to run it again.”
Freddie gives me a nod, and I give him a grateful smile. Jace looks around the table, then his eyes settle on me, concern etched between his brows. I reach up to smooth it out, and he inhales sharply, his eyes widening.
I begin with a rush. “I said he didn’t make me feel anything, but that’s not true. He makes me feel everything.” Jace’s face is all I see, though my cheeks are hot with the attention I know is directed to me. Why can I dance on a stage in front of thousands of people without shaking, but being seen by Jace leaves me with the sensation of free-falling?
“Jace,” I whisper, “you make me feel everything.”
His jaw tightens, his chiseled cheekbones shifting with the movement.
“You asked me how he makes me feel.” I look at Gram and lift my chin. I’m well aware that this is my own rite of passage with her, owning my emotions and declaring it in front of my family. I can appreciate her intention. And Jace deserves the attention.I shift to look back at him and reach up to touch the side of his face. He leans into my hand with the slightest bit of pressure, and I smile. “You make me feel like everything ever missing or stolen from me has been returned.”
Jace closes his eyes. He turns his chest toward me, his hands rising to cradle the sides of my face. The tip of his nose traces from the bridge of my own to my hairline before his warm lips brush against my forehead, and he kisses my skin. I swallow and register the sound of my mother sniffling and Gram clapping. My dad does some sort of grunt in a sound of approval, and my brother is probably taking notes. He should. There’s no one like Jace.
“Well, Arms McGee is still a good nickname, despite how mushy the two of you are.” Gram takes another bite of pot roast and gives a disinterested shake of her head.
“Don’t be offended, Gram. You can call me that instead,” Freddie says with a wink, clearly just trying to get a rise out of her.
“Okay!” My mother stands and starts clearing dishes. “I’m just going to go grab the dessert. Ivy girl, can you come and help?”
I nod and stand, moving toward my mom when Jace rises so suddenly that the table shakes.
“I’ll help her with the dessert,” he says.
Freddie laughs into his hand and tries to cover it with a cough. “Smooth, man,” he mutters, and Mom lightly and lovingly pushes him on the shoulder.
Walking away, I feel Jace’s strong frame behind me. When we’re in the kitchen, he follows me until I’m against the counter. I face him, immediately finding his arms lowering to effectively cage me in. His amber eyes drop to my lips, the pine-infused scent of him engulfing me. Just his proximity is exhilarating.The clock on the stove lets out a little chime, breaking the spell of the moment as Jace smiles.
“What do you think all these clocks are trying to tell us?” I say softly, my breath hitching as Jace leans down slightly.
“That we’d better choose each other before time runs out.”
I hum. “Like The Nutcracker.”
“What?”
“The Nutcracker. He comes to life and then returns to the form of a nutcracker—at least, in some versions. It always made me so sad.”
“I hate Florida,” Jace confesses rapidly.
My brows crinkle in confusion as my eyes search his. “You . . . what?”
“I hate it,” he repeats hastily. “Why would I spend Christmas there? You’re not there.”
“But you said . . .” I begin.
“I changed my tickets. I know what I said, but not being near you for Christmas and thinking that distance from me was what you needed was the excuse I made to keep my heart from galloping away from me.”
“Galloping?” I question with a smile.
“Yes, like a noble steed.”
