“Graham, does it bother you that your wife refers to your unborn child as a baked good?” Grey asks with a smile.
“I’m just glad she’s carrying my child.” It’s the most Graham thing to say, and that’s why we love him.
Boston clears his throat and reaches for a gift, reading the tag and passing it to Sparrow. That’s when the real fun begins.
Tonight, it turns out, the rest of the gifts are somewhat hilarious and scarily specific items that we all picked for each other. Sparrow receives an oversized sweater with a whimsical croissant pattern from Grey (it’s adorable, and I love it). Rafe is pleasantly overwhelmed by a journal and a bag of guitar picks with French sayings on them from Lily, which is great, considering Sparrow still hides them from him as a nod to a game she started when they were fake dating. Written on the journal cover are the words The only pain I want while writing music is a pain au chocolat, which feels perfectly appropriate, considering the giver.
Grey receives a personalized library set from Graham. Lily is given an actual, miniature vending machine that dispenses wrapped chocolates from Rafe. Graham holds a leather-bound edition of Pride and Prejudice from Boston (he has access to rare books and clearly takes advantage of it). Jace is gifted a new sweatshirt with the Wicked Good Farms branding from Sparrow, which I know I’ll eventually steal. Finally, Boston is given a laptop cover that looks like an old paper checkout card from the library, the gift chosen by me.
With wrapping paper thrown about the living room and our hearts full, we chat for a few minutes. Then Lily yells, “Let’s eat!”while popping another chocolate in her mouth. The woman’s ability to consume chocolate is untouchable.
Collectively, we rise and fill our plates with delicious holiday food and desserts. Soon, we’re settling back in the living room in the casual and comfortable way that feels like a holiday with friends. Over the years, we’ve long abandoned the idea of trying to sit at the dining room table, which is still covered in enough dessert to feed the entire town at Sparrow’s Beret tomorrow. We settle into our respective places, White Christmas playing on the TV in the background, and I’m laughing so much my stomach hurts. The night is beautiful, full of everything I love about the holiday season. I’m with people I love, everything has a special glow to it, and our New England snow is the perfect excuse to curl up with a blanket.
It’s only later, when we’re walking home, my hand in Jace’s as he walks me back to my apartment, that I feel the truth of who we are together sinking in. Jace is my person. And I’m his. I don’t know how life works—if we missed our original connection or if it has all gone exactly according to plan—but I know now we were always meant to be something special to each other.
“Jace,” I say when we cross the bridge, the lights and garland wrapped around the antique streetlights casting a warm glow on the edges of his hair, which is flipped in all directions. He turns toward me.
“Starlight.” His voice is gritty and low in the cold, the timbre of it like a drink being poured over ice.
I let the nickname carry me home, the assurance of his presence enough to calm any fear. When we stand outside my apartment door, he lingers, and I bring him inside to make some candy cane tea. We haven’t spoken a word since we entered my home, and I find that we don’t need to. It’s a comfortable silence, the kind that can take years to cultivate, but when you find it, you sense its presence.
Instead, we fall into a rhythm, boiling water, getting mugs, preparing the tea bags, adding some honey, and soon the vanilla-scented candy cane fragrance rises around us from the counter, the delicate scent steaming between us. As the tea brews, I stare up at him, my chin tilted at the angle that’s just perfectly keyed to be able to study every detail of his face. During my life, movements have often been associated with ballet positions, but the feeling of standing close to him and lifting my face toward his just so will always be associated with only Jace.
“Your message on the snow globe . . .” I break the silence but let the words trail off.
He inhales, and the sound catches. I only register the swish of the bag holding our gifts before I’m wrapped in his arms, his cold nose buried in my neck, but the warmth of him makes up for the chill.
“I love you so much,” he confesses, outlining a constellation of kisses from my jaw to my cheekbone and then repeating it on the other side. He’s mapping the night sky with his love. “It’s always been you, Starlight.” Jace’s large hands frame my face, his palms moving from my cheeks to my neck and back again.
I lean back to study his face. His eyes are glistening, and his heart is open. The vulnerability in his gaze undoes me. He’s no longer the alternate version of the man I met once on a night long ago. He’s back. I pull him closer, my arms wrapping around his neck, my lips near the shell of his ear.
“And I already love Emmy, Jace . . . deeply.” My breath hitches. “I can’t wait to watch her grow up.” I choke the last words out with a smile, my emotions surging at the thought of the precious little girl who will be a permanent part of my life.
His shoulders relax. He lets out a soft sound, nuzzling back into my neck. Tears stream down my face, his hair brushing my skin as his shoulders shake silently.
“You’ve done a good job with her, Jace. She’s okay.” My hands play with the ends of his hair, my fingers caressing the nape of his neck. And then in a quick motion, I’m lifted into his arms and carried to the couch, where he sits with me on his lap, my chest turned into him. Emotion still plays across his face.
“I’m here now, Jace. Wrap your arms around me. I’m here.”
He holds me, my hands tucked with one placed over his heart, the sound of our breathing and the feeling of his heartbeat the only measure of passing time. At some point, I feel his warm tears against the side of my neck and patiently wait until his breathing evens out.
Eventually, he leans back and lifts my chin, the amber eyes I love so much staring back at me with a level of clarity that I haven’t seen from them since he returned.
“Thank you, Ivy,” he murmurs.
“For what, love?”
“For being you.” Before we can get emotional again, Jace continues with a smirk, “Speaking of honey, I think our tea is cold . . .” he trails off, a brow lifting toward the kitchen. His eyes are still reddened and his cheeks a bit swollen, but he looks at peace.
I realize I couldn’t love this man any more than I do now. And yet, somehow, I know I will. “We’ll reheat it. We’ve got time.”
Jace’s handsome face turns to mine once more. “Yeah, we do. We’ve got time, Starlight.”
Chapter Thirty
Jace
The night of the performance has finally arrived. My hands and legs are tingling because this is it. This is my moment to make sure both of my girls shine.
