"Thank you." I manage to get the words out, despite how tight my throat feels. The knife is solid in my hands as I curl my fingers around it. "Thank you, Celeste."
"You like it?" It's the first hint of hesitation I've heard from her, and I want nothing more than to offer the reassurance she needs.
"I love it." I don't hide the emotion in my voice. I don't even try.
That admission stops her constant motion, and she freezes in place. It almost seems like she forgets to breathe.
"I can't think of any time I've had a good Christmas. There's not one in my life that I remember." She opens her mouth as if to stop me, but I need to get the words out so she can understand. "I was bounced around a lot as a kid. Distant family, sometimes staying with friends, and they'd try to include me, but I always felt on the outside. Would you believe this is the first time I've ever had a stocking with my name on it? One with a gift inside that seemed like it was actually meant for me, instead of something grabbed at the gas station last minute? I'm grateful to every single one of the people who gave me a place for the holidays, but at this point, it's just felt better to be on my ownthan watch everyone tear into packages that have gifts from people who know and love them."
I can see the tears in her beautiful eyes and wish I could wipe them away for her. "Then I meet you, and it's only been a couple of hours, and you give me a gift like this. Like you know me. Like you care."
"I do care," she whispers, and the pain in my chest eases a little.
"The last thing my grandmother gave me before she died was a knife like this. And she told me to be happy. That's it. No big pieces of wisdom to share or an inheritance of any kind. Just an old knife my grandpa carried around in his pocket. And somewhere along the way, growing up, moving around, I lost it. The only gift I'd ever really been given, and I lost it. Now you turn up and give me that moment back. So, thank you."
"You're welcome." She tucks a strand of long wavy hair behind her ear, and I memorize that gesture. I'll remember it forever. Even if I never see her again.
"What about you?" I ask the question with a grin, and it feels good. To smile with her. "What did Santa give you?"
I go to the fireplace and lift her stocking up, carrying it over to her. It's not as heavy as the one she handed to me, but there's a crinkling sound I hear when she takes it.
She digs her fingers into the sock, and pulls out three packets of hot chocolate mix, and I laugh. "You found my secret."
"I did," she says, grinning at me. "Best hot chocolate I've ever had."
"A good memory, then?" There's no disguising the hope in my voice as I ask.
"The best." She tips her head to the side and examines me. "I think those are the best gifts, you know. The ones that help remind you of something special."
I nod. "Like hot chocolate."
"Not just any hot chocolate, though. Only the best."
Maybe it's the fire, maybe it's this small circle of magic she's created, but whatever it is pulls me forward. Pushes me to wrap my arms around her and almost kiss her. She stares up at me, eyes half lidded and I'm frozen, afraid to ask her for what I want. Just one kiss. A memory to take with me when she's gone.
But I can't.
Then she parts her pretty lips, and whispers.
"Please."
11
CELESTE
Leo's not the kind of man to take anything without permission. So I'm not begging him to kiss me, not really. This is simply the opening I recognize he needs. My consent. My approval.
And I'm happy to give it.
And when his mouth lands on mine, gentle at first, it's everything I hoped for and exactly what I'm afraid I'll never have again.
Leo gives a growl when I kiss him back, and the restraint holding him in check shreds. The kiss shifts, passion taking us both over, and I love every moment. The way he nips at my lips, and his tongue explores me. The way his fingers flex against my back, holding me as close as possible while I explore him in return. The way I shiver involuntarily when his fingers trail up under the sweatshirt, skating over the edge of my spine, and making my knees almost buckle at the sensation.
"You can tell me to stop, anytime, sweetheart. Anytime."
His words are guttural, almost painful, but it aligns with everything I've seen about him.
"Understood. And please, please, please, don't stop."
