No response.
I slide out of bed, tiptoeing down the hallway, hugging myarms against a chill that catches me now that I’ve left my blanket behind. “Hall?” I ask again, tentatively.
Has he...?
He can’t have.
The den, sitting room, and kitchen are empty. When I find him in the living room, my knees go loose and watery with relief and I clutch the arm of a chair. He’s standing in the golden starburst of light surrounding the Christmas tree, watching the snowy world beyond the glass patio doors with a tilted head, absently toying with a Popsicle stick ornament. When he spots my reflection drifting up behind him, he turns.
“Hey.” My voice is shaky. “What are you doing down here? Don’t tell me you’re snooping through presents.”
His expression transforms with that crackling-fire smile, twin flames in the depths of his eyes. “And if I was?”
I poke him in the chest. “That’s cheating.” But I’m a hypocrite, so I start snooping, too.
“I’m still working on your gift.” He waves a hand, within which a shiny, book-shaped package appears. “Not finished yet, but I hope you’ll like it.”
The grandfather clock gongs midnight, and I bite my lip. “IsupposeI can let you take a peek at what I got for you, now that it’s officially Christmas.”
He hits me with that solar flare of a smile. “Yeah?”
My hand slides up his wrist, tracing his forearm. “Yeah. I think you should have the honor of opening the first present. You’ve done so much for all of us.”
My gift to Hall lacks presentation. I went overboard with the tape, and it’s lumpy, but you’d never guess I did a bad job by his reaction. “Oh my.” Hand over his heart.“Bettie.”
“What do you think?”
I already know the answer. He’s so easy to please. He smooths the new sweater against his chest and tucks his chin down to appreciate it. The sweater sayshall i want for christmas is you(Bettie Hughes, in collaboration with Madeline Watson-Hughes, $29.99 plus supplies).
“Something else, too,” I add, a little shy. I go fetch his other present from the laundry room, where I’d stashed it earlier, fiddling nervously with my hair when he accepts it without a word: a bouquet of mixed flowers in crinkly wrapping. It comes with a note:From your secret admirer.
“You mentioned that you’ve always wanted one,” I rush to explain. “The flowers and the, uh, secret admirer. I know it’s not the same as a proper Valentine’s Day secret admirer, but—”
“It’s the best present in the world,” he replies, voice rough. He clears his throat, blinking rapidly, distraught and pleased in equal measure. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I couldn’t help myself.”
He turns the bouquet in his hand, memorizing every blossom: carnations and Gerbera daisies, tiger lilies and sunflowers. The friendliest, happiest flowers I could rush-order. In a faint breath, he adds, “I wish you had.”
He places the bouquet carefully on the sofa, then twists toward me. “These are generous gifts, and I adore them. But there’s something else I really want.” His gaze drops to my mouth. When he finds his voice again, it’s low and jagged. “It’sallI want. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
My heart somersaults with a heavy, clumsythump, then accelerates so fast that I get light-headed. “Yeah?”
A slow nod as he steps forward, attention lifting to the space above me. I look up, too, watching as a small plant blooms in midair: a cluster of green teardrop-shaped leaves, tied together with a red bow.
Mistletoe.
“It keeps appearing above your head,” he confesses. “Whenever I think about how much I want to kiss you, mistletoe manifests, and I have to hurry up and get rid of it before you notice. Sometimes I get rid of it and it immediately grows right back, even bigger than before.”
I smile. “That explains a few things.”
“You’re a powerful woman, Bettie Hughes.” His lips twist. “When you kissed me, I legitimately think it rewrote my DNA. And ever since, I’ve been dying to kiss you again.”
I tip my head up slightly. “Me, too.”
We look at each other for a long moment, letting that settle.
Then his hands spear the ends of my hair, admiring how the strands slip between his like silk, dark gaze lingering on me in question. We both exhale, no need to hide emotions anymore, to suppress. This is it.
