He mimics exactly what I expected, his thumbs rubbing a pattern into the worn ribbon. “It was a way to remember that I once wished to see you.” He clears his throat. “If it happened once, it could’ve happened again, right?”
“You’ve nearly rubbed a hole through it.”
“I really wanted my wish to come true.” His voice is quiet and soft, like the folds of a blanket.
The words spark my emotions, and a tear trails down the side of my face. I feel the coolness of the satin against my cheek as his strong hand wipes the tear away, his voice hesitant.
“Maybe we decide to enjoy this Christmas season and stop trying to talk ourselves out of the good things because we’re so scared of what could happen if we do.” I know he’s speaking to my fears and his own. The unanswered questions we have. The messiness of life that still needs to be worked through.
At a sudden gust of wind, we grip each other, and I notice flakes of snow circling above us. All at once, we’re in a snow globe, and the town I’ve called home most of my life becomes a winter wonderland. There’s something, though . . . a gentle hum beneath the surface that’s kept me from feeling relaxed.
When I first met Jace, I caught a glimpse of the life I didn’t want to miss. But thinking it was long gone, I’ve destructively sought out other ways to fill the void: failed dating experiments, tolerating toxic almost-relationships, and losing myself in workwhen no one ever seemed to stick. But it was no use. The void remained. Jace was always meant to be in my arms. And with hope finally spoken between us, I let myself bend. I allow myself to stretch into the feeling of being grounded.
Maybe a home isn’t really a physical place. Maybe home has always been how we feel instead of where we are. And maybe home is actually a person.
As if confirming my thoughts, one of the horses attached to the sleigh nickers, and I laugh.
“I think they’re waiting for us.” Jace offers me an enchanting smile, bringing memories of mugs of peppermint hot chocolate and ice skates.
“Let’s not keep them waiting, then!” I hop toward the sleigh with Jace right behind me. He offers a hand to help me step up, and I tilt as his weight shifts the carriage beside me.
“Hello, Moses,” I greet the man dressed in Dickens-era fashion. He works at Wicked Good Farm and Orchards, bouncing between the two, depending on the season.
“Evening, Miss Jones. Nice to see you again.”
“You as well. How’s Lucy?” His daughter works at the Train Car Diner that we’ve been going to for years.
“Oh, just fine and dandy. Now, where are you two headed?”
I look from Jace to the back of Moses’ top hat. “Surprise us.”
Moses laughs and sets the horse in motion when I get an idea.
“Say, Moses”—I glance slyly at the man sitting next to me—“do you think the horses are okay with Jace being in this thing with me? He is quite large after all.”
Jace’s mouth drops open.
“I wouldn’t worry, miss. They’re used to hauling large loads.”
I stifle a laugh.
“Hey, now.” Jace lifts a faux stern eyebrow. “I’m not that big. If horses could once transport Vikings, they can transport me.”
“Just make yourselves comfortable and enjoy the snow. It’s romantic, isn’t it?” Moses quips.
“It sure is,” I whisper, turning to Jace, knowing exactly how I’d like to spend the rest of the ride. “To be safe and for the sake of these gorgeous horses, I think it might be better for them if we combine efforts to distribute our weight. Perhaps we should have you sit in the middle.”
“And where would you go?” he says.
I’m pretending to look around the sleigh when Jace catches on. Within seconds, his hands find my waist, and I’m sitting on his lap, his arms wrapped around me. The sound of my laughter rings through the night air as I nuzzle into Jace’s neck. When the steady clop of the horses’ hooves, muted by the snow, becomes the soundtrack of our experience, I turn to Jace and find him grinning at me.
“Hello,” he says sweetly.
“Hi, love,” I answer, using the term again, and he closes his eyes briefly. I’m choosing to care for him even if he’s still learning to believe he’s worth it. There’s a part of me that needs to know what happened, but I must learn to wait.
Jace reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bunch of greenery. It takes me a second to realize it’s mistletoe. He doesn’t break eye contact as he holds it over our heads. I look up at it, delighted as it swishes through the air with the movement of the sleigh.
Reaching up for his hand, I grab the sprig and toss it into the snow. Before he has a chance to register my action, I press my lips to his. The pure bliss of the sensation causes a laugh to escape me. I lean back and give him my brightest smile, noting the wonder etched across his face.
