I froze for half a heartbeat, and then my arms came around her automatically to pull her close, like my body had been waiting for permission.Her forehead pressed against my chest, and I rested my chin in her hair, breathing her in.
“I missed you,” she murmured.
I closed my eyes.“Yeah.Me too.”
She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at me.“I’m coming to Christmas.”
Relief surged through me so hard it almost made my knees weak.“Good,” I said, my voice rough.“Because my mom would’ve hunted me down if you didn’t.”
Belle smiled then, real and bright.“She told me it would ruin Christmas.”
I chuckled.“She wasn’t bluffing.”
She lifted the box between us.“I brought something.”
I glanced down at it, curiosity flickering.“What’s in the box?”
Her eyes sparkled.“Gingerbread,” she said.“But I gave them a twist.”
“Of course you did,” I said, amused.
“Open it,” she urged.
I took the box carefully and lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled in parchment paper, were gingerbread men.
Only… they weren’t standing.
They were riding motorcycles.
Little iced bikes beneath them, with helmets piped on with black frosting, tiny handlebars, and wheels.Each one was detailed, ridiculous, and perfect.
I stared.
Then I laughed.The sound burst out of me before I could stop it.
“You’re kidding me,” I said.
“It’s a mix of me and you.”Belle beamed.“Gingerbread and gears.”
Something warm and fierce flooded my chest.
“That’s brilliant,” I said honestly.
I turned and saw Mom opening the front door.
“Well?”she called.“You found her, so are you going to bring her inside or are you just standing out there freezing?”
I grinned.“We’re coming in.”
Mom’s gaze dropped to the box.“What’s that?”
“Belle made gingerbread men riding motorcycles,” I said, pride thick in my voice.
Mom’s face lit up.“Oh, Ilovethat,” she declared.“That’s perfect.It combines your two worlds.”
She waved us inside.“Get in here before the food gets cold.”
