She leaned into him with a nod, letting him lift his palm. Tiny icicles and snowflakes began to form on each branch,catching the light from the window and reflecting it like scattered stars. Then, a delicate ice star appeared at the very top, glowing faintly in the soft morning light.
Isla’s breath caught. “It’s beautiful.”
“It certainly is. But not as beautiful as you are, Isla.” He spun her gently to face him. “Dance with me?”
She placed one hand on his shoulder, the other in his hand, and together they swayed to the soft music. The shimmering ice decorations cast a gentle glow, turning the room into a tiny winter wonderland. Being with Andrew felt like coming home for Christmas.
She gazed into his eyes, astonished that she hadn’t seen him this way all along. His own gaze flicked between her eyes, and it felt as if he could read her thoughts.
They slowed, the music wrapping around them, until he leaned closer, pressing his lips to hers. She parted her lips, inviting him to deepen the kiss. She felt his emotions—his love, his longing for her in his kiss—and she realized how completely she trusted him. She trusted him to be there for her.
She felt herself lift slightly off the floor and gasped, breaking the kiss to glance down. Beneath them shimmered an ice platform, glittering in the soft glow of the decorations. With a laugh, she threw her arms around his neck as Andrew spun them gracefully around the room. Their laughter mingled, light and unrestrained.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
December 25th
The clock struck twelve, ushering in Christmas Day. After trimming the tree, they’d passed the hours in peaceful company—strolling in the winter air, playing cards, and stealing the occasional kiss beneath the mistletoe. Andrew felt utterly content.
The fire now crackled softly, casting a golden glow across the little room. He felt at peace as Isla sat by his side on the worn sofa, a blanket tucked over their knees.
Andrew cleared his throat and handed her a parcel. “I have something for you.”
He placed the small gift in her lap, carefully wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. Isla blinked, her fingers tracing the neat knot. She looked up at him, her amber eyes wide.
“Andrew ... you didn’t have to—”
“Of course I did,” he interrupted gently, a crooked smile on his lips. “Go on, open it.”
Unwrapping it slowly, she revealed a leather notebook. Flicking through it, she saw it was filled with Andrew’s handwriting, its cover embossed with a delicate ivy pattern. Inside, the first page bore an inscription in his tidy hand:My thoughts, my memories, my dreams.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, running her palm over the smooth leather. “But ... is this your diary?”
He nodded.
“And you want me to read it?”
“I do.”
“But isn’t that ... well, personal? Are you sure you want me to know all this?”
“I am.”
Isla went to open the first page, but he placed his hand over hers, stopping her.
“Andrew,” she laughed, “I thought you told me to read it.”
“There are rules.”
“Rules?”
“Yes. Rules. You must read one passage a day, starting from the end of the book, making your way back to the beginning.”
She looked at him, baffled.
“You have to promise me, Isla, or I’ll take the gift back.”
“You can’t take a gift back!”
