Page 46 of A Christmas Mystery

“I don’t want to, but I think maybe we should. This has been fast. Less than a week. And I’d like to be sure...” He works his jaw and glances away from me. “I’d like to be sure this is really what you want—and that you’re ready for it—before we have sex.”

I understand what he’s saying, and from a certain perspective, it makes sense. But my whole body is pulsing with desire for him, and I want him now. “It feels like I’m ready. I know it’s fast, but sometimes you just... just know.”

“I hope so.” He gives me a little smile. “You’re a spontaneous, passionate person, and I love that about you. But I’m... I’m not. I’ve been living with this for a long time, and I’d rather give us a little breathing room to... to settle into being together. The last thing I want is for you to have sex with me impulsively and then regret it. I don’t think I can live with that.”

I understand exactly what he’s saying and why he’s saying it. He’s right. Not that I can imagine regretting sex with him—I can’t remember ever being so sure about anything—but I have had moments in the past where I jumped in headfirst and then had to live with the consequences.

He wants to be careful, and that’s not wrong.

He might even be right.

So I nod and start to sit up. “Okay. That’s probably a good idea.”

“Where are you going?” he demands, grabbing me so I can’t pull away from him.

Confused, I hold myself halfway up and frown down at him. “You said you wanted to stop for now.”

“I wanted to wait to have sex. I didn’t want you to go away.”

“But you’re all turned on now.”

“What does that have to do with anything? You think just because I’m hard I’m unable to control myself?”

I giggle at his dry tone and let him pull me back down so I’m lying on top of him, more relaxed now like the way we were before we started kissing. “Well, some guys act like they are.”

“Then they’re either liars or weaklings.”

I laugh even more at this, rubbing my face against his shoulder. I’m still aroused, but the momentum has been halted so it’s more like a warm buzzing than a torturous compulsion. Maybe he feels the same way.

He starts stroking my hair and back again, slow and tender. “I’ve waited a long time to hold you like this,” he murmurs. “So I’m not ready to let you go yet.”

***

FOR THE NEXT FIVE DAYS, I get together with Theo every single evening.

Sometimes we go out to eat, and sometimes we eat at either his place or mine. On Saturday evening we go to the big local craft fair and then attend a Christmas chorale performed by the town choir. On Sunday, we go to Mass with Tee and Daniela and eat lunch with them afterward. We text throughout the days, and we usually end each evening with an increasingly hot make-out session and cuddle on my couch or his.

But we don’t have sex.

And it’s getting harder and harder to resist.

I know he feels the same way. He’s hard so often around me—sometimes even in completely inappropriate contexts like when we’re in public—that I’m honestly not sure how he’s managing it. But he’s committed to waiting until neither one of us has any doubts about being together.

I don’t. I’m even more certain than I was the morning I said goodbye to my pen pal. And pretty soon Theo is going to understand that.

He’s got to or I might simply combust from an overload of lust.

On Monday evening, there’s a holiday festivity downtown that’s held annually called Christmas on Main. They’ve closed the central blocks to cars as a lot of the local businesses have put out stalls on the sidewalks and musicians and entertainers have set up stations throughout. The streets are full of people wandering through the attractions, and Theo invites me to join him in making the rounds.

Of course I say yes. I’ve said yes to everything he’s asked me for the past week, and nothing has ever felt better than being able to say yes to him.

I’m not sure exactly how to describe it, but saying yes to him feels like my most natural state.

It’s colder tonight than it’s been all season, so I’m wearing a long fleece skirt, thick turtleneck sweater that’s warm enough to not need a coat, and tall boots. My outfit is as far from formfitting as is possible to be, but Theo says I look beautifully touchable. He seems to mean it.

He’s looking quite touchable too in jeans, a dark red sweater, and an old brown leather jacket. He holds my hand as we wander the streets, and it feels like we’re a real couple.

Maybe we are.

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