Page 149 of My Favorite Holidate

“Well, youaremy favorite sparring partner,” he says, grinning now.

“And you’re mine.” But I’m not done opening up. There’s so much more to tell him. “But it took me a while to say how I felt. I was so terrified that romance would never work out and I hate being vulnerable, and I somehow thought keeping all my feelings locked up would be safer. Then when everything blew up, I just shut down,” I say, and there’s no stopping the train of my emotions now. It’s hurtling down the tracks. “And I was so lonely without you last night, and I was so up in my feelings. But now I want to be up in my feelingswith youbecause I am so in love with you.” I loop my arms tighter around his neck. “Real love, big love, true love. The kind that lasts well beyond all this holiday magic.”

He gathers me even closer in his arms. “Good. Because that’s what you’re getting with me. You’re getting this year round.”

I could squeal. I could scream in happiness. He is too much. But he ismytoo much. I drop my mouth to his and kiss him hard, clasping his face, stroking his stubble.

Our kiss feels like coming home for the holidays. It feels like extravagant romance. And like true love, which sums up this man.

Only, I can’t rely simply on touch to communicate. I need to use words. More words. I break the kiss. “For so long I thought that if I let someone in they’d hurt me.That’s what I saw growing up. That people walk all over you when you let them in.” I draw a deep, comforting breath of him—the fading scent of snow and cedar. “But you proved the opposite. You showed me from the start what it’s like to be treated…” I pause, wanting to make sure the next thing doesn’t sound cocky, but instead self-assured. “The way I deserve.”

His smile is warm as he strokes my face. “You deserve the best, Fable.”

“And you give your best. All the time.” I play with the ends of his hair. “It took me a while to believe it was real. And not just you being your very excellent self.”

“I’m not always excellent,” he says.

Please.I shoot him a doubtful look. “Want to fight me on that?”

His smile is smug. “I’ll win. With my tongue.”

I like the sound of that, but I won’t let him distract me. “But I thought you were just being great at fake dating. Like when you said we’ll be the best fake daters ever.”

He laughs softly, and there’s a new note in it—a calm, a relaxation, a joy I’ve only ever seen with Wilder when he’s with his daughter. “Want me to let you in on a little secret?” he asks.

“Of course I do.”

He tilts his head, gazes at me like I’m precious. “I’ve had a crush on you for a very long time. When I told you I’d wanted you for more than a year, I meant it. I’ve been a little obsessed with you,” he says, then rolls his eyes. “That’s a lie. A lot obsessed. And when I finally had you, you were more incredible than I’d even imagined. And I’d imagined a lot.”

My heart goes up in flames. I feel like confetti and champagne. “You really did?”

“I really did.”

This man is above and beyond. He is extraordinary in so many ways, including one very important one. I set a hand on his heart. “I’m so proud of you and what you did with your father this morning. That took real guts. Real courage. I want you to know I’m behind you every step of the way.”

With a relieved sigh, he gently presses his forehead against mine, then pulls back and says, “When I was talking to him earlier, I thought of you. What you said to me the other morning. That gave me the courage to tell him I wanted him to go to rehab. So I think we make a pretty good team.”

My heart swells with hope. “Is he staying for Christmas and then going?”

Wilder shakes his head. “No. I found a program. It’s nearby. I’ll take him shortly.”

My eyes widen. “You already arranged for it?”

But as soon as those words come out, they sound ridiculous. This is Wilder. He arranges things immediately.

“Yes,” he answers.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“I would love that.”

And that’s how I meet his father—on the way to rehab. We take him to a facility a half hour away, drop him off, and wish him the happiest of holidays. And a second chance.

When we return to the cabin and head up the stepstogether, Wilder shoots me a filthy look, then says, “About that fight.”

“Fight me,” I taunt.

He scoops me up, tosses me over his shoulder, and carries me down the hall with long, purposeful strides. He kicks open the door to our suite and drops me on the bed. “Now, if my memory serves, you didn’t think I’d win this disagreement.”

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