I scoop him up in my arms like I did on the night of our wedding. I whooshed him over the threshold of the honeymoon suite at the decadent beachside inn we were renting for the weekend.There we were greeted by a king bed covered in red rose petals; every flat surface was speckled with lit tea candles.
Before that night, I had had sex. But I don’t think I’d ever made love. With rings on our fingers, I suddenly understood the difference between the phrases.
Sex is about release.
Making love is about holding on.
Quinn koala-bears to my front. Kisses up and down the outside of my throat. I push our way into the bedroom, where a fire is already roaring.
I lay Quinn down on the king bed. I slip over him horizontally. I connect our lips again. My hands sink into the white fur-like texture of the throw blanket beneath us that both tickles and delights me.
“This isperfect,” Quinn whispers. He runs his tongue across the hot shell of my ear. A gasp escapes me as he shucks the last of his clothing.
Bathed in the flickering orange glow of the fire, naked Quinn is a Gehry-designed building at sunset. Ribbons of muscle and flesh fused together into something sculpturally breathtaking. You can’t help but lean back and admire it.
“What?” Quinn asks. I’ve remained motionless above him for too long.
“It’s just,” I say. All that practice with words, and they’re still escaping me. “You’re…you.”
He must know that byyouI mean beautiful, vivacious, tempting, sexy-beyond-belief. Because he pulls me into a deep, meaningful kiss that nearly knocks the wind out of me.
The proximity to the fire makes our skin slick and salty to the taste.
Love leaches out of every touch we share. Time taffy-stretches out in all directions as we become a mess of mouths and limbs. OfI love yous exchanged. They’re tagged onto the ends of moans that are even more delicious than the gumdrops I devoured on the stairs.
I wish I could capture this flawless moment. Stick it inside a snow globe. Come back to it when we’re old and gray and senile and I need to be reminded that we were once young and hot, wild and passionate.
But even with the magic of the North Pole, I know that’s not possible. So, I settle for staying as present as possible while we celebrate our year of love while making infinitely more of it until dawn breaks over the North Pole.
183 DAYS ’TIL CHRISTMAS
I barely register that it’s early morning. I’m sitting up in bed. Wide awake.
I’m replaying last night in my head. Quinn sleeps peacefully beside me. He’s got the sheet, the comforter, and the blanket all bunched up around him. My bare legs are exposed. But I don’t mind the chill that cuts across me. He looks too cozy and cute to care.
The scent of last night hangs heavy in the air. Sweat, cinnamon,us.
I know there’s no going back to sleep for me. Just as I know now that there’s no going back to New Jersey for me, either. This is where I want to settle.
Needing coffee, I try to get up gingerly so I don’t disturb Quinn. But the traitorous mattress undulates. He lets out a groggy little moan. “What time is it?”
“Too early to matter,” I say. “Go back to sleep.”
“Okay.” He rolls over toward me. His eyes are still closed. “Last night was amazing.”
“It was.” I smile at him even though he doesn’t know that. I’m admiring the way his features are all half-sleep scrunched. So adorable.
“I wish we could stay here forever and ever and ever.” His whisper trails off.
Hope sparks fresh inside me. “Maybe we can.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” he murmurs dreamily.
“So nice,” I say to Quinn, who has dozed off again already. “So, so nice.”
40REINDEER ARE BETTER THAN PEOPLEPATRICK
160 DAYS ’TIL CHRISTMAS
