Page 64 of The Kiss Class

He says, “No, you won’t because I want to be boyfriend material. I want men like your father to look at me and thinkClaus.”

This time, I do giggle. “Minus the big round belly.”

He squeezes me. “Of course, though, cookies for breakfast or lunch on Christmas isn’t the worst idea.”

“Part of our new tradition.”

“Kissing you that first time woke something up inside me. Reminded me of who I am and who I could be. Then, after finding out you’re my coach’s daughter, I told myself to avoid you. That proved a challenge. You’re irresistible.”

“I’ve never been that.”

“Other than Richard, I don’t know what kinds of guys you’ve come across, but they’re missing out.”

“I’ve come across a Ricky and a Richy. There won’t be anyone else with a variation of that name.” I want to add,Only you.

“Definitely not. The last thing I’d ever want to think about is someone else’s lips on yours.”

“It was an amazing first kiss. The second one, too. And the third.” Now, I’ve lost count.

Pierre taps his lips to mine and lingers there for a longmoment until I remember to breathe. Until I feel his heavy arms wrapped around me, holding me secure, keeping me from floating away into the snowy night sky.

“I didn’t realize it, but for a long time, I’d been fighting a little war inside against who I was when I left home and who I’d let myself become—the story I bought about how I’m not the type to settle down.”

“And now?”

“You are who I’d been missing in my life.”

“But the battle isn’t over. There’s the issue of my big bad dad.”

“Maybe his teeth aren’t as sharp as we think.”

They’re probably sharper. But for now, I settle into Pierre’s arms as we lounge in front of the crackling fire as “Let it Snow!” trills in the background.

As I get dozy, Pierre kisses me softly on the forehead.

My thoughts drift. I have one last lucid moment where I finally understand the line inThe Night Before Christmasabout dancing sugarplums.

Pierre’s voice floats to me. “I’ve never felt this way before. You’re my dream girl. I love you, Cara.”

The words echo when I wake up the next morning, curled up on the couch, alone and snug under a chenille blanket knit with snowflakes.

The fire died, and the scene out the window is pure, bright white light. Fuzzy from sleep, I blink a few times, wondering if spending Christmas with Pierre and falling asleep in his arms was just a dream.

I turn on my phone and find atext.

Professor Frenchman: Good morning! I didn’t want to root through your father’s junk drawer, trying to find a piece of paper. If you’re reading this, I’m likely en route to Denver.

Me: Good luck with the game. I’ll be watching!

So it wasn’t a dream. With an irrepressible smile, I rush upstairs, dig into my clean laundry, and find Pierre’s jersey that I accidentally wore when I went to the Fish Bowl the night we first kissed.

After pulling it on, I snap a photo and then another of me blowing him a kiss. A little squeal escapes, and I do a happy dance as our conversations from last night filter back.

He was entirely respectful of my dating rules.

He wants to be boyfriend material.

He said he loves me.

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