How could she be with someone who thought she wasless than him? Who saw her joy as tasteless, her love as excessive? Who thought glue guns and glitter were beneath him?
"Tom—"
"I know you don't believe me yet." He took half a step closer, and Lauren's back pressed against the door. "I know I have to earn it."
Tom's gaze moved over her face like he was memorizing it—her eyes, her mouth. His hand came up slowly, giving her time to pull away. He brushed her cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Lauren should step away. Should go inside and lock the door between them.
She didn’t move.
His thumb traced along her cheekbone, and Lauren shivered—though not from the temperature.
His other hand came up, cupping her face with both palms now. Lauren realized with a jolt that she'd closed her eyes. When had she done that?
"Lauren." Just her name, but the way he said it—rough and aching—made her sigh.
"I miss you," he whispered. "God, I miss you so much."
She opened her eyes at that. He was watching her with an expression that made her catch her breath. Want and regret, all tangled together.
Lauren's hands came up of their own accord, fisting in the front of his jacket. Holding him there or holding herself steady—she wasn't sure which.
"I'm right here." But she knew that was a lie.
"No, you're not." His forehead dropped to rest against hers, and Lauren felt his breath warm against her lips.
The honesty of it cracked something in her chest. Her fingers tightened in his jacket.
"Tom—"
His nose brushed against hers.
"Tell me to leave." His voice was barely more than a breath. "Tell me you don't want this. I'll wait as long as you need. I'll?—"
She kissed him.
She didn't decide to do it. Her body simply moved—rising up on her toes, closing that last impossible distance, pressing her lips to his.
For one heartbeat, she forgot everything except how right it felt, all the reasons not to drowned out by the pull of habit and love and longing.
Tom made a sound—broken, relieved—and kissed her back. His mouth moved against hers with a gentleness that made her want to cry, and when his thumb stroked along her jaw, she did make a sound—something between a sob and a sigh.
His hands slid from cradling her face into her hair, and Lauren felt herself melting against him. She lost herself for a long moment, kissing her husband, kissing the man who had taken her to an empty café and poured her hot chocolate from a thermos.
Tom pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers again. Both of them were breathing hard, creating little clouds of warmth in the frozen air between them.
"I don’t want to lose you,” he said quietly.
And for one fragile, dangerous second, she wanted to believe that was enough.
But love was a luxury. Respect was the thing she couldn’t live without.
She felt the prickle of the wreath press into her spine. “Goodnight, Tom.”
His hands fell. The warmth vanished.
Lauren turned her key in the lock, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.
