Her mother had sighed, disappointed but not surprised. “Call me Christmas morning. And send pictures of this boy’s nan. I want to see the woman who raised a racer.”
Now, Aria sat with her feet in the pool and watched Jax lean across the table to refill Nan’s glass with sparkling water, the way he did it without fanfare, without needing thanks. He caught Aria’s eye and gave her that small, private half-smile—the one that said he knew exactly what she was thinking. Her stomach fluttered, warm and liquid.
She liked it here.
She liked how the humidity turned her hair into soft curls she usually fought with straighteners. She liked the way Nan called Jax “Jaxon” when she was scolding and “love” when she was proud. She liked the casual way he touched her when no one was watching—fingers grazing the small of her back as he passed behind her chair, thumb brushing the inside of her wrist beneath the table. None of it felt rehearsed. None of it was for anyone else.
Later, after Nan had kissed them both goodnight and disappeared into her room with a paperback and a cup of tea, Jax and Aria stayed outside. The pool lights turned the water a deep, dreaming blue. He tugged her gently onto his lap; she went willingly, legs straddling his thighs, arms looping around his neck. His hands settled low on her hips, thumbs stroking slow,absent patterns over bare skin where her sundress had ridden up.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured, lips brushing the sensitive spot beneath her ear.
“Just thinking,” she said. She rested her forehead against his. “This doesn’t feel like Christmas. Not the way I’m used to.”
He waited, patient, giving her the space.
“In Seoul it was always… performance,” she continued softly. “Lights, cameras, business. Here it’s just… real. Warm. A little messy.”
His mouth found hers—once, soft; again, deeper—until she was kissing him back with quiet hunger, fingers threading through his hair. When they parted she was breathing unevenly, pulse loud in her ears.
“I’m glad you came,” he said, voice rough.
She smiled against his lips. “Me too.”
The cicadas kept singing. Somewhere down the street a dog barked once, joyful and sharp. Aria closed her eyes and let the moment stretch, filling every quiet, hollow place she had carried through the year.
For the first time in longer than she cared to admit, Christmas didn’t feel like something to endure. It felt like something she might want to remember.
???
Chapter Fourteen
Aria
The go-kart track smelled like hot rubber, burnt fuel, and the sharp metallic tang of overheated brakes. Aria stood on the pit lane in borrowed overalls that were slightly too big, sleeves rolled to her elbows, helmet tucked under her arm like she actually knew what she was doing. The Brisbane sun hammered down, turning the asphalt into a shimmering black mirror. She could feel sweat already gathering at the small of her back.
Jax looked infuriatingly comfortable—hair mussed from his own helmet, fireproof suit unzipped to the waist, revealing the dark T-shirt underneath clinging to his chest. He was grinning like this was the most normal thing in the world.
“You sure about this?” he asked for the third time, though the amusement in his eyes said he already knew the answer.
“No,” she said honestly. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
He laughed—that low, easy sound that always made something warm uncurl in her stomach—and took the helmet from herhands. He fitted it carefully, fingers brushing her jaw as he fastened the strap.
“Rule one,” he said, voice dropping to the tone he used when he was teaching her something. “Listen to the car. She’ll tell you what she wants.”
“She?”
“All the good ones are girls.” He winked. “Trust me.”
They started with the slowest kart—electric, quiet, meant for beginners. Jax climbed in first, showed her the pedals, the steering wheel, the kill switch she prayed she’d never need. Then he helped her settle in, leaning over the side to adjust the harness until it hugged her ribs snugly.
“Feet flat, back straight,” he said. “Throttle is your friend, but don’t punch it. Smooth. Like you’re coaxing her.”
She rolled her eyes behind the visor. “You talk about cars the way other men talk about women.”
“Exactly.” He tapped the top of her helmet. “Now go.”
The first lap was terrifying.
