Iwakeupwarm.
Not just from the thick quilt or the fire in the corner, but from the weight of a strong arm draped over my waist and the slow, steady breath warming the back of my neck.
Sebastian.
The feel of him grounds me. Solid. Steady. Familiar in a way that makes no sense after only a few days. But here we are, wrapped around each other like we’ve done this for years.
Through the crack in the curtain, I catch a glimpse of snow falling outside the window. Fat flakes drifting past the glow of the porch light. The world looks hushed, still.
I shift just enough to glance over my shoulder.
He’s still asleep. Brow smooth. Lips slightly parted. His hand sprawled across my stomach, fingers twitching like they’re not ready to let go, even in his dreams.
I smile and lean back into him. He makes a quiet sound, something like a sigh, and pulls me closer.
God.
This is what Christmas is supposed to feel like. Not the noise or the expectations or the pressure to smile through things that hurt. Just this. A quiet room. Warm skin. A heart that doesn’t ache so much anymore.
When I was little, Christmas morning meant cold floors and cheap cocoa and my mom doing her best. It wasn’t the kind of magic you saw in movies. But it was love. It was enough.
This... this might be more than enough.
Sebastian shifts behind me, his fingers trailing up my side, then down again.
"You’re awake," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
"Mhm." I smile into the pillow. "You snore."
He groans and flops onto his back. "Lies."
I roll to face him. "You don’t. But that was fun."
He reaches out and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, his hand lingering. "Merry Christmas, Willa."
A soft ache rises in my throat. "Merry Christmas."
We lie there a while longer, facing each other, letting the quiet wrap around us like a second blanket. No rush. No pressure. Just stillness.
Eventually, he stretches, the covers sliding down to his hips. I bite my lip, eyes tracing the line of his bare back, the way the morning light carves gold across his shoulders.
He catches me looking and raises a brow. "See something you like?"
"Yes," I say, not even trying to play coy. "A lot, actually."
He leans in and kisses me, slow and deep. The kind of kiss that says we’ve got time. The kind that settles into your bones. Reverent.
When he finally pulls away, he groans. "If I keep kissing you like that, we’re not getting out of this bed before dinner."
I press a hand to his chest, laughing. "Tempting. But I have a pie to finish for the inn's guests."
He sighs. "Right. That pie."
We get up slowly. I tug on one of his flannel shirts and button it over yesterday’s leggings. He watches me with a lazy smile, his eyes half-lidded.
"You look good in my clothes," he says.
"You look good out of yours."
