They all turn to look. I see the exact moment they understand. She's beautiful, but more than that, she looks like she belongs in my world. She’s real and warm and completely out of place among tourist decorations and artificial cheer.
"Damn," Micah says quietly. "She's not what I expected."
"What were you expecting?"
"Someone harder. Someone who could handle your antisocial tendencies without taking it personally."
"She handles me just fine." The possessiveness in my voice makes them all grin.
"She's perfect for you," Dex observes. "She's standing there like she's waiting for someone to claim her but doesn't want to admit it."
"Go get her," Cade says. His voice carries the weight of experience. "Whatever happened, fix it. We'll catch up later."
"At the New Year's party," Micah adds. "Bring her. Time we met the woman who cracked the code on Jax."
I'm already moving toward her, the crowd parting around me. Behind me, I hear Dex say something about "another one bites the dust," and the others' responding laughter.
But I'm not listening anymore. All I can see is Claire, standing there like she's lost something precious and doesn't know how to get it back.
She looks up as I approach. The relief that floods her expression nearly brings me to my knees. Like she's been hoping I'd find her but was afraid to believe it would happen.
"Claire."
Her eyes are red. The sight of her crying because of me makes something crack in my chest.
"Jax." She swipes at her cheeks. "I was just…"
"Don't." I close the distance between us, hands aching to touch her but not sure if I'm allowed. "Don't leave. Please."
"I saw the note." Her voice breaks. "From the woman who stayed with you. Who thanked you for 'everything.' Who'll 'never forget this place or you.'"
"That wasn't—"
"You said you'd never brought anyone to your cabin. You said I was the first. But that note, Jax. It was from someone who meant something to you, and—"
"It belongs to another wilderness guide." The words come out rough. "The note was Cal's, not mine."
She blinks. "It’s not yours?"
"Five years ago, Cal had a friend named Mina. She was running from an abusive ex. Needed somewhere safe, somewhere quiet. I was away getting my advanced certification, so Cal let her stay at my cabin for a weekend." I step closer. "They never touched. It was just safety, just space. But when she left, she wrote that note. Cal saved it, tucked it away. It meantsomething to him, what he did for her. But it's his story, not mine."
"Cal's…" Understanding floods her face, followed immediately by mortification. "Oh my God."
"You are the only woman I've ever brought to that cabin." I frame her face with both hands, make her look at me. "The only woman I've ever wanted there. The only woman I've ever wanted, period."
"I'm sorry. I just… I saw it and I thought…" Tears spill over. "My whole life, nobody chose me. I was always the extra kid, the one shuffled around, the one who didn't quite fit. And when I saw that note, I thought maybe I was reading too much into this. Into us. That maybe you were just being kind and I was being pathetic and—"
"Stop." I pull her against my chest, one hand in her hair, the other pressed to her back. "You're not pathetic. You're not reading too much into anything. You're mine, Claire. That's not kindness. That's not pity. That's me claiming you because I can't fucking breathe without you."
She shudders against me. "Jax…"
"I love you." The words come without planning, but they're true. They’ve been true since I carried her out of that storm. "I love you and I'm keeping you, and if you ever scare me like that again, I'm going to…"
The air between us is charged, electric, like the moment before a storm breaks. The Christmas market hums around us, carolers singing, children laughing, the scent of roasted chestnuts and pine, but all I can focus on is her. The way her chest rises and falls, the way her lips part just slightly, like she’s already imagining the taste of me. I brush her cheek with my fingers, and she leans into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed for just a second. When they open again, they’re dark with hunger, with need.
And then she kisses me.
It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s a collision, a crash, a reclaiming. Her hands fist in my coat, yanking me closer, and I groan against her mouth, my arms banding around her like I’ll never let go. She kisses me as if she’s been drowning and I’m her first breath, as if she’s been lost and I’m the only way home. Her lips are soft but insistent, her tongue sweeping against mine with a desperation that makes my cock throb. I taste cinnamon on her lips, but mostly I taste her, the familiar, intoxicating flavor of the woman I’ve spent long years aching for, even though I didn’t know it.
