Caspian’s eyes are fixed on the dancing lights, his face soft with wonder. “Do you believe that?”
“I…don’t,” I admit, leading him to the small booth where an elderly woman is bundled against the cold. “But I respect that others do.” I gesture to Mrs. Hamilton, who’s been staffing the Wishing Tree booth for as long as I can remember. “One wishing kit, please.”
Mrs. Hamilton’s eyes twinkle as she hands me a kit—a piece of paper, a pen, and a delicate decorative ball that splits in half to hold the written wish. “May your wishes be true to your heart,” she says, and while I admire her sentiment, I am living proof that wishing for something doesn’t make it happen.
Caspian’s fingers brush mine as he takes the paper and pen, and there’s a moment where neither of us moves, just standing in the gentle snowfall, surrounded by the quiet magic of the scene.
“So,” he says finally, his breath visible in the cold air, “do I say it aloud, or is this another ‘don’t tell or it won’t come true’ situation?”
I find myself stepping closer, drawn to him like a magnet. “That depends on what you’re wishing for.”
His eyes meet mine, and the intensity I find there makes my breath catch. “What if what I want to wish for goes against everything we agreed on?”
My heart is pounding so hard I wonder if he can hear it. The words I want to say—that being careful is killing me, that I want to throw our responsible agreement out the window—catch in my throat. Instead, I watch snowflakes catch in his dark lashes, aching with everything left unsaid.
He’s close enough now that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body, see the way his breath quickens. The piece of paper trembles slightly in his hand as he starts to write, angling his body so I can’t see the words. When he’s done, he folds it carefully and tucks it into the ornamental ball.
“Are you sure you don’t want to make a wish?” he asks softly, holding out the pen.
I shake my head, gently refusing. “I’m not much for wishes anymore. They don’t really work out for me.”
I watch as he hangs his wish on a lower branch of the tree, the sphere gently swaying in the winter breeze. In the twinkling lights, I can see Caspian’s cheeks are flushed, whether from the cold or something else, I’m not sure.
The tension between us crackles like the static in the winter air. For a moment, I’m tempted to reach up and grab the ornament and read what he wished for, even though I have a feeling I already know. Instead, I shove my hands deep into my pockets.
“We should get back to the truck,” I say, my voice hoarse. “It’s getting colder.”
Caspian nods, but he doesn’t move right away. He’s still staring at his wish, swaying gently among all the others. Finally, he turns to me with a soft smile that makes my chest ache.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” he says. “I’ve been so busy I’ve only looked at the tree from afar.”
We walk back to the truck in companionable silence, our shoulders brushing occasionally. The snow is falling harder now, creating a dreamlike atmosphere that makes everything feel slightly surreal. Once inside, I crank up the heat, watching as Caspian rubs his gloved hands together.
“Better?” I ask, and he nods, though I notice he’s shivering slightly.
The drive home seems both too long and too short. Caspian is quieter now, lost in thought, and I find myself stealing glances at his profile, illuminated by passing streetlights. When we pull up in the driveway, we climb out into the softly falling snow. Our footsteps crunch in sync as we walk up the path together, stopping in that familiar space between our front doors.
“Do you want to know what I wished for?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
I reach out, brushing a snowflake from his cheek with my thumb. “I thought that was against the rules?”
His smile is soft and a little dangerous. “Maybe some rules are meant to be broken.”
Before I can second-guess myself, I step closer, eliminating the careful distance we’ve been maintaining. “If you break the rules about the wish,” I murmur, letting my hand slide from his cheek to cup the back of his neck, “what other rules might we break?”
Caspian’s breath hitches, his eyes darkening as they drop to my lips. “I wished,” he says softly, leaning into my touch, “that you would stop being so damn responsible.”
A laugh bubbles in my chest, part relief and part anticipation. “Careful what you wish for,” I warn, but I’m already pulling him closer, my other hand finding his waist.
“I’m really not feeling careful right now,” he breathes, and then his mouth is on mine.
The first brush of his lips is gentle, almost hesitant, like he’s giving me a chance to pull away. But I’m done with hesitation, done with being responsible. I deepen the kiss, drawing a soft sound from him that makes my blood sing. His hands come up to fist in my jacket, pulling me closer as he parts his lips beneath mine.
Snow continues to fall around us, but I barely notice the cold. Caspian is warm and solid against me, his mouth hot and eager as he kisses me back with an intensity that makes my head spin. I slide my hand into his hair, reveling in its softness, using my grip to tilt his head for a better angle.
He makes another one of those intoxicating sounds, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, and I feel it reverberate through my entire body. His tongue traces my bottom lip, and any remaining thoughts of being careful evaporate like steam.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing heavily. Caspian’s lips are slightly swollen, his cheeks flushed, and snowflakes are caught in his dark hair. He looks thoroughly kissed and absolutely beautiful.
