Inside is a pair of Christmas pajamas. Red. Ridiculous. Soft flannel.
I look up, confused—and then she pulls out a matching pair.
She giggles.
“Let’s just be us tonight,” she says, suddenly softer. “I enjoy your company. I always did.”
My chest tightens.
“I want to eat Santa’s cookies and drink milk by the fire. Binge cheesy Christmas movies. Fall asleep. Wake up next to you.” She pauses, searching my face. “That’s all I want for Christmas, Leo.”
No expectations.
No angst.
“No making out,” she adds quickly. “No sex. Just… fun. Spending time with you.”
Something in me settles.
Not the part that wants her.
The part thatrespectsher.
“I can do that,” I say quietly. “I’d like that.”
She smiles—relieved, warm—and takes my hand.
Downstairs, the fire is still burning low. We change into our pajamas, awkward and laughing, stealing glances like teenagers again. We pile blankets on the floor, steal cookies from a plate meant for guests, argue over which terrible Christmas movie to start with.
She falls asleep halfway through the second one.
Her head ends up on my shoulder. Her breathing evens out. The fire crackles.
I don’t move.
I don’t touch her.
I just sit there, holding this moment like it’s fragile and holy and mine to protect.
For the first time, love doesn’t feel like a thing I have to chase.
It feels like something that chose to sit beside me and stay.
And I think—yeah.
This.
This is enough.
There’s a soft knock at the door not long after Jade falls asleep.
I tense instantly, like a guard dog, even though I know exactly who it is.
Susan cracks the door open, peeking in like she’s checking on a couple of teenagers after prom—which, I guess, isn’t far off. Her eyes flick to Jade curled under the blanket, then back to me.
“She okay?” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I say just as quietly. “Out cold.”
