“Me?”
He nodded. “What were you gonna say?”
A kid splashed through a puddle somewhere behind us, water skimming across wet pavement, scattering reflections like shards of glass. My pulse kicked up. My stomach twisted into a mix of anticipation and fear.
“When you came to get me at Liv’s…” I swallowed, words suddenly stuck in my throat. “…you asked me to come home. What did you mean by that?”
We stopped. I could feel the chill creep through my gloves, but it didn’t matter. His gaze locked with mine, steady and unflinching. My heart thudded against my ribs in that slow, urgent rhythm, and my mouth went dry.
What if I’d misread everything? What if I’d overstepped, opening a door I wasn’t ready to walk through? Maybe I shouldn’t have said it. Maybe I should have kept things simple, light, let the holiday magic or whatever semblance of it we’d clawed together carry me instead of risking everything.
I could already feel my brain racing through every possible outcome, spiraling between hope and panic. What if he didn’t mean what I wanted him to mean? What if the distance I’d felt wasn’t just about missing this life but missing him, specifically? All of them?
Specifically.
But it was too late to take it back, and all I could do was hope.
Ethan’s fingers curled through mine, firm and insistent, and without another word he tugged me toward a line of evergreens dusted in snow. My boots scuffed against the slushy paths, but the world narrowed to the space between us, the murmur of the Common fading to a hush behind the twinkle of fairy lights overhead.
Before I had time to process anything, he pressed me against a tree, the bark rough through my coat, and his mouth met mine. I didn’t stall, didn’t question; the cold prickled on my cheeks, but heat radiated everywhere else as his hands anchored me to the moment. The press of his body, the curve of his jaw under my fingertips, the brush of his beard against my skin. A shiverthat wasn’t from the winter air coursed through me as his tongue dipped into my mouth. Every nerve in me sang, heightened, a symphony of anticipation and release.
His mouth moved over mine with an urgent rhythm, claiming and yielding in perfect tension. I responded wholeheartedly, tilting my head and parting my lips, letting my hands trace the planes of his shoulders and the nape of his neck. The cold bit at our cheeks, but it barely registered; all I could feel was him, the roll of his tongue, the heat of our breaths colliding. His fingers threaded through my hair, and I clung to him, deepening the kiss, matching his intensity as I drank in the faint tang of winter on his lips. Each motion pulled me further from everything else until the world had shrunk to the curve of his mouth against mine and the pulse of him beneath my palms.
Then, like magic, snow began to fall. Soft crystals swirled around us like suspended light. One landed on his lips and melted almost instantly, a fleeting jewel that vanished the moment we parted. I caught my breath and tried to steady myself against the electric pull to claim his mouth again. Snowflakes caught in his lashes, the faint sheen of moisture on his skin from the cold. I was dizzy, suspended in this impossible, perfect axis of him. And just when I thought he’d kiss me again, he leaned in close and said:
“What do you think I meant?”
25
Maren
“Come on, quick! You don’t want to be out in that mess,” Ethan called, ushering the last group of Lumen staff through the front door.
Snow swirled in gusts, whipped by a steady wind that rattled the brownstone’s windows. Guests laughed and shook off coats, scarves dangling, while Ethan ran ahead to grab towels and hand them around. He was animated, surprisingly in his element, his eyes bright and cheeks flushed, and I caught myself smiling before I even realized it. It was rare to see him like this, loose and joyful, and I wasn’t the only one noticing.
“Okay, everyone, shed the wet, grab a drink, and find your spot,” Miles called from near the tree, holding a tray with glasses of sparkling wine. He gave me a cheeky wink, and I resisted rolling my eyes at how effortlessly charming he could be, even amidst constant activity.
The kids, naturally, were already darting around, laughter bouncing off the walls as they weaved between the furniture and each other, leaving a blur of excitement in their wake.
Will groaned as I adjusted his bowtie for the fifth time. “I hate this thing,” he muttered, tugging at the knot like it was a live wire.
“It’s called looking festive,” I teased, sliding my hands into the pockets of my dress. “I believe in you, buddy. Power through.”
Emma twirled, letting her skirt flare, practically vibrating with energy. “I want to pin the nose first,” she announced, eyes sparkling as she scanned the setup for the game.
The kids migrated to the corner where Ethan had taped a giant paper reindeer to the wall, the kind with too-wide eyes that looked vaguely alarmed about its situation.
He handed out little paper noses like he was dealing cards. “Alright,” he said, steady and serious, as if this were a board meeting instead of a children’s game. “Who’s up first?”
“Me,” Emma snatched the blindfold from him.
Ethan shot me a look as he tied it around her head, and that faint quirk at the corner of his mouth made my stomach rearrange itself. He leaned in while the kids argued over the turn order.
His voice brushed my ear, and he said, “Before I forget… I like the dress. I’m curious about what’s under it.”
“Ethan, stop.” I flushed all over, and quickly turned to apparently check on the bowl of popcorn on the table beside us.
Miles wandered by with a tray of gingerbread cookies shaped like questionable Christmas trees. “Why do the kids get all the games? We should make an adult version.”
