“Are you okay?” Beck asks, staring at me with concerned eyes.
We are almost at the poppy field, and I have barely noticed the walk. “Yes.” I squeeze his hand. “It’s been a good day.”
“It’s been amazing and the best Christmas I’ve enjoyed since my mom died.”
“I’m glad. Christmas should be a happy time.”
“Every day with you is a happy time.” His eyes fill with unbridled emotion, and I don’t look away like I usually do.
“You make me happy too,” I quietly admit.
Beck stops at the entrance to the field and pulls me into his arms. Resting my head on his chest, I close my eyes and just breathe him in.
The only sound is the gentle sway of the trees in the breeze and the faint yapping of a dog in the background. Bright colors shine from the string of Christmas lights draped around the fences bordering the field, and the twinkling glow of the stars overhead is the only illumination in an otherwise pitch-black night. An earthy, slightly nutty smell tickles my nostrils as I stand enveloped in Beck’s body heat, savoring the tranquility of our environment and the moment.
“Sometimes, Nana’s farm reminds me of France,” Beck says in a gruff voice before pressing a lingering kiss to my hair.
“You took the words right out of my mouth.”
“We could be the only two people in the world right now.”
“Two people and a dog,” I quip as the distant sound of barking persists.
“That would make a great book title.”
I ease back and grin at him. “If you didn’t write gritty thrillers with tons of blood and gore.”
He tweaks my nose. “Maybe I’ll write a biography someday and I’ll document this moment.”
“Go for it. You can put a picture of us on the cover in front of the poppy field and show a restless dog hiding between the flowers.”
“This is why I keep you around,” he teases, grasping my hand and leading me toward our bench. “You’re full of good ideas.”
“You’re going to need me now, Mr. Full-time Author. In case you ever run out of ideas.”
“I don’t think that’s likely.” He taps his temple as we stride through the field. It’s mowed at this time of year, and the poppies won’t bloom until late February. “I have enough story ideas to last me a lifetime.” He pulls me down on the bench beside him.
Nana had it built over the summer. She said she wanted to give me a safe, quiet place to come if I ever needed to think, and I know she was trying to replicate the bench in the hospital garden, understanding how precious it was to me. Most Sundays, Beck and I come here after we’ve eaten dinner.
“But I’ll always need you, Stevie.” Beck pulls me back into the moment as he brushes a few wandering strands of hair out of my eyes. “Don’t ever doubt that.”
Electricity sparks in the tiny gap between us, and instead of shying away from it, I embrace it and how it makes me feel. On this Christmas night, I need to feel alive, and Beck makes me feel more alive than anyone or anything. I’m done denying how important he is to me. “I need you too.” My voice rings out clear and confident. “Don’t ever doubt how important you are to me because I care about you deeply.”
“Ditto, beautiful.” We stare at one another with so much unspoken sentiment hovering in the space between us.
“Open your gifts,” I say in a raspy voice, grabbing the bag and handing it to him.
I chew on the corner of my mouth as I watch him open his presents. Moonlight bathes him in an ethereal glow, highlighting his masculine beauty. Beck truly is the full package with his olive skin, dark hair, strong nose, full lips, and chiseled high cheekbones. But it’s his eyes—his gorgeous, big, warm brown eyes, framed by thick black lashes—that mesmerize me.
If eyes really are the window to the soul, Beck’s soul is beautiful.
Utterly beautiful.
Like every part of him.
I watch him uncover his gifts with a new appreciation. Deep down, I know it’s not new. It’s always been there, but I’ve been too afraid to acknowledge it.
I don’t think I can bury my head in the sand any longer.
