“Like I’ve never been so hungry for something in my entire life.”
“Jace,” Ivy says into the space between us, the lights that shimmer like stars surrounding us. “Don’t go hungry. Not when I’m right here.”
She rises on her toes, and I focus on the smoothness of her skin, the flush in her cheeks, and her eyes trained on my lips expectantly. I don’t want to keep waiting. I’m tired of waiting. For the first time in a long time, my desire to show affection silences the lies I’ve believed. So, I close the distance between us, and suddenly, her soft, warm lips are pressed against mine. And my heart thinks: This, I remember.
She hums. A sigh escapes from the back of my throat, the controlled humming in my palms the only indication that I haven’t actually left my body. It feels too good to be real. Ivy’s mouth moves over mine, as gracefully and elegantly as she moved earlier, dancing over the doubts I’ve carried with me since we last saw each other. All I know is that I haven’t felt this level of peace since we last kissed.
The calming sensation pulsing through my system brings emotions to the surface that I’ve never before felt. It’s all the tears I never allowed myself to shed. It’s the understanding that all the heartbreak was worth it if Ivy is the one to mend it. The anger and the disappointment melt in the electrical shock of herdesire for me. It’s like being near the fire while a storm rattles the windows. It’s the exquisite quietness of freshly fallen snow. It’s the miracle of recognizing that we’re so small in this world, and yet, somehow, we each matter deeply.
I reach up to nestle my hands in her hair, the softness of her skin and the silkiness of the wispy bits of her ribbon-tied hair twirling around my fingers. Ivy shifts in my arms, and I let her take the lead, losing myself in the release of the tension that’s been building since we reconnected. The feeling of wanting to be even closer to her is overwhelming. I have an urge to immortalize the moment and forget the cold that hovers on the edges of my consciousness and the sadness that’s been weighing on my heart for ages. I feel her hands move into my hair too, and I hum in response, enjoying the pressure of her touch now cradling my jaw. Those soft hands move to my neck, her slight but strong frame complementing my sturdy one, both of us steady in our own strengths. Her kisses flow like the beloved river in this town, dancing rapidly on the surface but running smoothly as it’s pulled by the current. I’m filled to the brim with peace, and yet, I feel as though I already miss her. We’re only brought back to reality by the sound of a clock chiming at Town Hall.
I break the kiss, my lungs heaving. I’m nearly out of breath, but my eyes diligently scan every detail of her face, searching for answers. “Did you—Was that . . .?” I start to ask, barely getting the words out.
The furrow in her brow and the uncertainty in her expression cause a slight shiver to run down my spine. This woman. If she needs reassurance, I’m happy to give it to her. Not only because she should have it, but also because I respect her. And I make a vow in that moment, no matter what happens, no matter her response to our kiss, that I’ll never be the one to leave her wondering about her worth.
“Was that even better than I ever could’ve imagined? Do I already wish we were still kissing?” She grins, and in the soft golden glow of the twinkle lights, I see when she feels the way my hands are shaking, still wrapped around the curve of her waist. She covers my hands with her own. “You’d better believe it.” Relief overwhelms me as I lean down to gently tap my forehead against hers.
“Was it everything you’ve dreamed?” she asks quietly.
“Ivy,” I plead, releasing my hands from her waist to cradle her face. I begin leaving a soft trail of kisses—one on her forehead, one near the height of her cheekbone, and one at the corner of her mouth—before placing a searing kiss on her lips. Like we’ve done this a thousand times before, but with a change of choreography and location, it all feels new again.
Ivy holds me close and then turns back to face the mirror. Her lips are slightly swollen, the lip gloss she had on now slightly blended along the edges. She reaches back toward me, focused on our reflection, and I extend my hand to reach hers. With that, she reaches for my other hand and then slowly, almost painfully, places them on the sides of her waist. My fingers are on fire as I swallow. I’m water with a current. I’m a radio that found a frequency. I’m a lost ship that’s sighted a lighthouse.
“Do you still want to learn my kind of dance?” she says softly, her voice taking on a dreamlike quality, hazy at the edges.
I nod and am riveted as Ivy’s smile softens and widens slightly. Her hands cover my own before she drops them, her arms smoothly moving to a position arched above her head.
“Okay, Jace, I’ll teach you.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ivy
The clock strikes nine.
“C’mon, Starlight,” Jace rasps out, the embers of his tone like a flint striker catching a spark in the crisp night air. “Let’s find you a Christmas tree.”
The grin on his face alone is enough to make me follow him through the snow in the forested Christmas tree lot, the warmth of the expression overriding the numbness in my feet and the tingling in my hands. Essentially, Jace’s presence could persuade me to disregard frostbite, as would the memory of our kiss. I won’t be able to look in the mirror again without recalling the image of his hands wrapped around my waist in the studio.
“You know that it’s way past my bedtime, right?” I tease. “I think you’re single-handedly changing my circadian rhythm.”
Jace chuckles, the sound catching on my ribs. I want to breathe more of it into my lungs. Due to the busyness of the holiday season and the wild chaos of daily rehearsals on top of teaching my regular classes, plus investing my time and energy into the holiday performance, I haven’t had a chance to get my own tree. My parents offered to help me, knowing how much I love the tradition, but I wanted to be the one to pick it. But the weeks passed, and now we’re less than a week from Christmas,and I still don’t have a tree. I would just forget it, but it’s what I do every year.
Jace extends a gloved hand behind his back, clearly an open invitation to connect more deeply with him, and I take it. It strikes me just how many times I’ve been offered a hand like this. In every pas de deux, in every partnering exercise, a man’s hand was extended, and I took it. But the gesture never meant anything more than a move to get to the next part of the choreography. The extended hands represented safety, a promise that the other person wouldn’t let me fall. But off the stage, the offer means even more. It’s more than a routine. It’s an act of trust, an act of surrender, and I hope it’s also a chance for us to move on and move forward . . . which is what I need to focus on if I’m going to move through this snow.
The drifts of snow are high and require effort to trudge through, but this is the weather in which I feel most at home. Whenever I’ve considered leaving Birch Borough—apart from my time in The SoHo Ballet—I can’t bring myself to imagine being anywhere that doesn’t have snow. Each year, I long for the moment when the iconic birch trees framing our town stand out even more prominently against the winter white and when the tall fir trees are coated in a layer of ice, glistening in the winter sun.
During a Birch Borough winter, everything looks like it sparkles, no holiday required, no special occasion necessary. It’s just the world showing us that even after the coldest night, there are stunning possibilities. And I’m so glad I live in a world where there’s snow.
“Jace,” I speak into the quiet landscape surrounding us, “where are you taking us?” As we’ve wandered together this evening, talking and laughing, we passed the usual spot where my family has found our tree for the past thirty years. But hissteps don’t slow, and there’s a steadiness in their rhythm that doesn’t frighten me in the least.
The scent of pine wraps around us, and it melds so perfectly with Jace’s natural scent that I hope it will stay in my lungs for a bit so I can hold on to this feeling a little longer. A subtle glow flickers between the trees, and we see a clearing overhead. Wicked Good Farms hosts seasonal activities throughout the year, and I remember they put on one on the outskirts of their property around Christmastime that I’ve never been to. But it’s renowned in our area for being one of the most romantic events in this region. Of course, there was no one in my life to ever bother to take me to it, even though I’ve always wanted to go. The sound of a horse neighing confirms what I’ve dreamed. We’re going on a sleigh ride.
In the excitement, I switch places, taking the lead and directing us toward the clearing. Now, it’s my hand extended behind me, never losing hold of Jace. When I step fully into the glow of the lights, the sight of two horses strapped to a sleigh with flannel jackets bright against their white coats sends a thrill up and down my limbs. A giggle escapes me, and then a laugh follows before I feel Jace step behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He doesn’t once let go of my hand.
Instead, he leans down, and I feel his warmth seep through my own jacket. The man is a furnace, even in these temperatures. I lean my head back, feeling the softness of his lips brush against my temple, causing both a shiver and a hum to escape.
“Do you wanna take a sleigh ride?” he says against my skin.
