“Then, what is it?” Quinn asks.
“I’m just trying to find the words to tell you that I think we should go to the North Pole,” I say finally.
“Those words were pretty clear,” he says.
“Okay. So, I think it’s a good idea,” I say. “We had fun last night, didn’t we?”
“The most fun, but we can’t just leave. You heard your dad. What about the house?” Quinn asks.
“The council says they take care of that.”
He bites his lip. “My class?”
“I assume they arrange for someone else to take it over.”
Quinn’s eyes ping downward. “That might be for the best.” He doesn’t expand on that. We lapse into momentary silence. “I just wonder if maybe you should go by yourself.”
My hope falters. “I don’t want to go by myself.”
“I don’t want you to go by yourself, either, but maybe that’s what we both need.” Quinn seems to be puzzling this out in real time. His expression shifts too quickly for me to put a name to any of his emotions. “What if we need time apart?”
“Like a separation?” I don’t know why I keep asking questions I won’t like the answers to. I failed at being a junior architect. I refuse to fail at being a husband, too.
Quinn visibly shivers. “Separationis too strong of a word.”
“What other word would you use for us living a million miles apart?” I ask. I set my mug down on a coaster on the coffee table and shuffle over to Quinn on my knees. I’m not above begging. “Quinn, I know I messed up by not telling you I got fired, and I know I should’ve asked you before agreeing to host Christmas, and I know there are a million other injustices I should be apologizing for right now, but instead of telling you poorly, let me show you how sorry I am.”
“Pat, I don’t want you to be sorry,” he says, setting his own mug aside. “I want things—us—to be different.” His eyes scan the room. He’s clearly documenting the places where, even beneath stunning, elf-done decorations, the decay of this house can be seen.
“It will be different.” I grab his knees. “I’ll learn how to cook so you don’t have to. We’ll leave this house you hate. Let’s get away from all of this. Let’s fall in love again.”
Quinn’s frazzled expression gradually cracks into a wide, toothy smile. “And you say you aren’t good at words.”
“Maybe I’m good at them when I have to be.” I beam back at him. A compliment seems like a good sign. “It’s only one year, and then we’re back. One year is nothing in the scheme of a lifetime.”But it could mean everything in the lifetime of our relationship,I think. I could pass out from the nervousness bouncing inside me. Quinn must feel how sweaty my palms are through the fabric of his slacks. “Quinn, let’s do this.”
Quinn’s nod grows slowly bigger. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Okay.”
We connect over a chocolate-flavored kiss that steals my breath away. I press into it, extending it. Needing to be close to him.
“Shouldn’t we start packing?” he asks. Without completely realizing what I was doing, I’ve straddled him on the couch. I run my hands luxuriously through his curls. “We move across the world in a few short hours.”
“That’s a problem for twenty minutes from now.” I breathe into Quinn’s neck. I trail kisses up his soft skin and around his cute, winged-out earlobe. “I still haven’t given you your Christmas gift yet.”
Quinn melts like a marshmallow against me. “Oh, in that case, what should I unwrap first?” he whispers back. His willingness and growing excitement are straight-up shots of relief.
I’m about to kiss him once more before removing my shirt when we’re interrupted by a thud on the roof, an onslaught of gold glitter raining down from the ceiling, and a scandalized elf standing at the foot of our fireplace.
“Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” Hobart shields his eyes with his hand. He turns away with hyper speed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. We knew you made a decision so I arrived as quickly as I could.”
I jostle up to standing. I clear my throat and smooth down my hair. “It’s okay, Hobart. I guess we’ll start getting our stuff together?” Quinn looks at me from the couch. His swollen, plum-colored lips tip into a smile as he places a pillow over his crotch.
“No need,” Hobart says. “Like the council told you, everything—and I do meaneverything—will be provided for you. All you need to bring is yourselves. The sleigh is up on the roof whenever you’re ready.”
“Are we ready?” I ask Quinn when he’s decent enough to stand without embarrassment.
