No more hiding. No more being scared.
I get out of the car, and for a moment we just stand there looking at each other. He looks exactly like I remember, but also better somehow. His hair is slightly longer. There’s stubble on his jaw. Those hazel eyes are warm and bright and locked on me like I’m the only person in the world.
“Hi,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Hi,” he says back, and his voice is rough with emotion.
And then we’re both moving.
I don’t know who moves first. Maybe both of us at the same time. But suddenly, I’m running toward him, and he’s coming down the porch steps, and then his arms are around me and I’m home. He lifts me up, spinning me around, and I’m laughing andcrying at the same time, my face buried in his neck, breathing him in.
“You’re here,” he says against my hair. “You’re really here.”
“I’m here.”
“You came.”
“Of course I came. I love you.” The words come out easily now. Natural. Right.
He sets me down but doesn’t let go, his hands framing my face as he looks at me. “Say it again.”
“I love you, Jax Reid. I’m in love with you. I’m moving here. I bought a business with my sister and best friend, and I’m going to run it and live here and see you every day, and I’m terrified, but I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”
His eyes are bright with unshed tears. “I love you too. So, fucking much. I can’t believe you’re really here.”
“Believe it.” I reach up and touch his face, feeling the stubble under my palm. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good. Because I’m never letting you go.” And then he kisses me. Not gentle. Not tentative. This is claiming. This is relief. This is weeks of missing each other and holding back and finally, finally letting go. I kiss him back with everything I have, my hands fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“Merry Christmas,” I whisper.
“Best Christmas ever,” he says, and then he kisses me again.
We stand there on his driveway in the snow, kissing like we have all the time in the world. Because we do. We have all the time now.
“Come inside,” he says finally. “You must be freezing.”
“I’m warm.”
“That’s the adrenaline. Come on.” He takes my hand and leads me up the porch steps. “I should warn you, the house isa mess. I had this whole plan for how this would go, and now you’re here, and I can’t remember any of it.”
“What was the plan?”
“Something smooth. Romantic. Impressive.” He opens the door. “Instead, I’m babbling like an idiot.”
“I like it when you babble.” I step inside and immediately feel at home.
The farmhouse is exactly what I imagined. Wooden floors. Comfortable furniture. A stone fireplace with a fire burning. Christmas decorations that are clearly handmade. Photos on the mantle.
It’s warm and lived-in and perfect.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
“It’s old and needs work.”
“It’s perfect.”
