We finish eating and wander through more of the market.Alexander stops at a stall selling handmade candles, picking up one that smells like nutmeg.He buys it without comment, tucking it into his coat pocket.
“For your mother,” he explains when he catches me watching.My heart does a stupid, little flip.
We pass a hot chocolate stand, and I get us both cups—peppermint for me, dark chocolate for him.The cups are warm in my hands, steam rising in the cold air.The market is getting more crowded now, families spilling out from the race to explore the vendors.Silver bells chime from somewhere nearby, the sound clear and musical against the backdrop of conversation and laughter.A group of carolers has set up near the town square, their voices lifting in harmony as they sing about silent nights and holy nights.
Alexander’s arm tightens around me, pulling me closer against his side as we walk.I can feel the solid warmth of him through our ridiculous sweaters, and something in my chest loosens.
This feels real.
Too real.
But I push that thought away and let myself enjoy the moment—the smell of sausages being grilled at the bratwurst stations, the twinkling lights reflecting off the snow, and the feel of Alexander’s arm around my shoulders.
* * *
That night,I’m still thinking about it.
About how natural it felt to have his arm around me.How right it felt to lean into him, to let myself be held.How much I wanted to stay there, wrapped in his warmth, pretending this wasn’t temporary.
The bathroom mirror is fogged from my bath, and I wipe it clear with one hand while using the other to towel-dry my hair.My robe, a soft terry cloth that’s seen better days, hangs loose around me, tied at the waist with a simple sash.
I left my clothes in the room.Damn it.
I should go back and get them.My parents are out for dinner with some friends, and Sophie’s at a sleepover..It’s ten at night, and the house is empty except for Alexander and me.
And it’s not like he hasn’t seen me naked.
So I pad down the hallway in just the robe, the fabric brushing against my bare skin with each step.I rub the towel through my hair, still attempting to dry it.
When I push open my bedroom door, Alexander is sitting on the edge of my bed.
Shirtless.
His back is to me, shoulders broad and defined, muscles shifting under skin as he reaches for something on the nightstand.The lamp casts golden light across him, highlighting every plane and angle, and my mouth goes dry.
“You’re still awake?”I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.
He turns, and those gray eyes sweep over me—taking in the robe, my damp hair, my bare feet.Something hot flares in his expression before he banks it.
“I was waiting for you.”He takes off his watch, setting it on the nightstand.There’s something very deliberate about it that makes my heart skip a beat.
“I’ll be a minute.I forgot my clothes.”I move to the wardrobe.
“Come here.”
The command is soft but absolute.I meet his gaze in the mirror and see the hunger there, barely controlled.My pulse kicks up, and I turn around slowly to face him.
He crooks one finger, beckoning me closer.
I should say no.Should grab pajamas and change in the bathroom.Should put distance between us before I do something stupid like crawl into his lap and?—
My feet carry me forward anyway.
When I’m close enough to touch, his hands settle on my hips.The warmth of his palms seeps through the thin fabric, and I suck in a breath.He doesn’t do anything, though.My fingers reach for his hair, pushing the few strands that are spilling into his eyes back.
“Are you disappointed?”The question comes out quieter than I intended.“About losing today?”
His hold on me tightens.“I was.”
