Page 25 of Unwrapped

“For a scientist, you’re damn good at breaking the laws of chemistry.”

Her eyes spark with amusement as she raises an eyebrow at my corny attempt at a joke. “What can I say? Sometimes, you have to defy the rules to make something truly spectacular.”

I lean in, my lips barely brushing hers again. “I think you might be the most intriguing person I’ve ever met, Ivy Calloway.”

“Careful, Asher,” she whispers, her breath mingling with mine, “you keep saying things like that, and I might start to believe you.”

I smile, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, my mind wondering if there’s something more behind that comment, like maybe she’s worried this is all I’m after—but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Maybe I want you to believe it.”

For a moment, we just stand there, holding each other beneath the mistletoe. The world could fall apart around us, and I don’t think I’d notice. All I feel is her warmth, the steady rhythm of her breath matching mine, and the quiet certainty that I don’t want to let this moment slip away.

It’s weird. We are strangers, there’s no way around it, even if we have a past. We didn’t know one another in high school and we still don’t truly know each other but there’s something between us that feels deeper than any connection I’ve ever had, like there’s always been something pulling us back to each other.

When she finally looks up at me, her smile is small, unsure. “So, what now? Do we just pretend this didn’t happen?”

I shake my head, my voice steady. “No. I don’t want to pretend. I don’t know what this is yet, but I know I don’t want it to be a one-time thing.”

Her expression softens, and I see the hope in her eyes. “I don’t know what this is either,” she admits, “but I think… I think I’d like to find out.”

I grin, kissing her forehead again before pulling back slightly, my hands still resting on her waist. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go just yet.”

She laughs, her breath warm against the cold. “You better not, Asher Mercer.” She clutches my coat in her gloved hands, her walls slowly coming down more and more, letting me see what’s really behind those dark, mysterious eyes. “Because if you do, I might just find a way to turn you into a cookie recipe.”

I laugh, leaning down to kiss her quickly. “She’s feisty. I like it.”

“You have no idea,” she teases, biting my lip gently.

“Just promise you won’t burn the edges.”

She looks at me, her eyes full of something soft, something real, like she sees past the false bravado I put on. Past the CEO, past the smile and charm. She sees me.

Ivy’s laugh is light and full of warmth, the kind that sinks into your chest and settles there, burrowing deep. “No promises,” she teases, her voice soft as she steps back, just enough to put some space between us, though her fingers linger against mine. The market has mostly emptied out, but neither of us seems eager to go back to wherever we were headed before this moment.

I let my thumb glide over the back of her hand, enjoying the quiet simplicity of just standing there with her. But there’s something else in the air now—a buzz, a tension that hasn’t quite left us since that kiss under the mistletoe. I feel like I should say something, anything to keep her close for a little longer. My place isn’t far, and the thought of going back to an empty apartment, when I could be with her instead, feels… wrong.

“Do you want to head back to my place?” I ask, the words coming out more casually than I expected, but there’s an edge of anticipation in my tone. “It’s not far, and I’ve got some hot chocolate… if that sounds like your kind of after-market drink.”

“Oh, the old ‘my place isn’t far’ cliché, huh?” She giggles.

I grin, stepping closer again, catching her scent, a mix of that sweet vanilla and something uniquely hers. “Yeah, but sometimes clichés are just… comfortable. Or maybe I’m just hoping to spend a little more time with you.” My tone drops lower, the flirtation obvious now, and I’m rewarded with the slight flush that spreads across her cheeks.

I lean in, close enough that our noses almost brush, my voice a low murmur. “I make it with real chocolate. No powder mix in sight. I think you’ll be impressed.”

She rolls her eyes playfully but laughs. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.”

With a lingering smile, I take her hand, threading my fingers through hers, and together, we walk out of the market. The snow falls more steadily now, blanketing the street in a quiet kind of calm as we head toward my place, our steps in sync.

My apartment is modest compared to most millionaires—wood floors, a couple of bookshelves, a fireplace in the corner that I rarely use. It’s not elaborate and it doesn’t really feel much like a home but right now, with her here, it feels like everything. I toss my keys onto the small table near the door and flick on a few lights, giving the space a soft glow.

“Wow.” She glances around. “Your place is so cozy, so—masculine.”

I give her a playful grin as I walk toward the kitchen. “Cozy, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment.” I pause, turning to catch her eye again. “So, you want that hot chocolate?”

“You weren’t kidding,” she says, leaning on the counter, watching me with an amused smile. “I’m starting to think you planned this.”

Her cheeks flush again, and I can’t help but let my gaze linger on her lips, remembering how they felt pressed against mine. The silence between us hums with tension. When I finish the drinks, I slide one over to her, letting my fingers brush hersdeliberately. The spark that flares between us isn’t just in my head; I know she feels it too.

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