“They sure do. A real one, that actually crackles and smells smoky.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It is.” I take a bite of the mashed potatoes, then swallow and say, “My family would always make the most of Christmas, even when my parents didn’t have much money.”
“Well, money can’t buy a good Christmas,” he points out.
“Definitely.” I nod, gesturing around at the decorations. “They made it special. That was what inspired me to do this tonight.”
He takes a sip of wine, then smiles. “I hope I get to see their decorations next year.”
“See them?” I tease. “You’re gonna be the one putting them up!”
He pulls a face. “Really?”
“You bet. Outside and inside.”
“Only if there’s hot chocolate in it for me.”
“Of course there’s hot chocolate in it for you.” I flash him a conspiratorial wink. “My mother puts peppermint schnapps in it. Best thing ever to warm up after being out in the cold.”
We finish our dinner, talking and laughing, and after packing up the leftovers, we adjourn to the couch, each with our third glass of wine.
The two of us curl on the couch, next to the silently flickering flames in the electric fireplace. He wraps his arms around me, and I lean back against his chest, enjoying the warmth of his body.
Outside, the flurries from earlier have turned into a full-blown blizzard. It’s dark, but New York City is never truly dark; the snowflakes are illuminated by streetlights and the glow from the buildings. They’re falling thick and fast. It’s going to be a white Christmas.
I turn to look at Reed, who is watching the fire. The Christmas tree lights are shining in his eyes as he meets my gaze.
“This is everything I ever need,” he murmurs.
“Really?”
He nods, breathing out quietly in contentment. “Yes. Really.”
I press my head against his chest, closing my eyes for a moment and listening to the sound of his heartbeat. Then I get to my feet.
“I still have one more surprise for you,” I tell him, glancing over my shoulder.
He sits up, one eyebrow raised. “Do you, now?”
“I do. I know it’s not traditional to give gifts before Christmas day, but…”
“Color me intrigued,” he says, his tone teasing.
“Wait there.”
I slip down the hallway, vanishing into my bedroom and closing the door behind myself, just in case he gets too curious and decides to take a peek.
On my bed, tied with a ribbon, is the box I ordered online a few days ago—a holiday lingerie set, red and silky and lined with white fur. I slip the pieces on, my fingers a little clumsy with anticipation, then turn to study myself in the mirror.
It fits perfectly. The red lace molds to my curves, and the little white fur trim is somehow both ridiculous and exactly what I was going for. I run my fingers through my hair and watch a small smirk creep across my reflection’s lips.
I take a slow breath. Tonight, I’m pushing every insecurity I have right out of my head. I want this day to feel special for him, for both of us. He deserves a Christmas that means more than another date on a calendar, and I’m going to give him one if it kills me.
My pulse is pounding. I drain the last of the wine in my glass for a little extra courage, switch off the bedroom light, and pad back down the hallway.
I clear my throat as I step into the living room.
