Page 59 of A Match Made at Christmas

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he’s going to stick around for a few months,” Hayes said.

They began to sway again, and she relished the way it felt to be in his arms.

“And so am I.”

The words hung between them, but she didn’t dare move for fear of realizing she’d misunderstood.

“Did you hear me, Pru?”

The music swelled, and Hayes held her tighter, looking out past her as they danced. His face was next to hers, his arms firmly around her, and they moved like that for long moments, their breathing synchronized in the movement of the dance.

She nodded.

“I brought you here because I wanted to show you my new place. I signed a year lease on this house,” Hayes said. “I wanted to show you I’m ready. I’ll work my whole life to become the man you deserve.”

“But why? Why not just stay at your parents’ house?”

“That’s not a commitment,” Hayes said. “If I was living there, I could walk away anytime. Here, I’m contractually obligated. And I want you to know I’m not going anywhere. I’m done pretending.”

“Pretending about . . . ?”

“Me and you,” he said, still not looking at her. “I pretended the day I told you we could just be friends, and I’ve been pretending ever since.” He stopped moving and looked at her. “I don’t want to be your friend, Pru. And maybe I’ve always known that or maybe I just realized it this week—I don’t know. But now that I know it, there’s no way I can keep pretending. There’s no way I can go back to my life unless you’re in it.”

Her eyes clouded and she looked at him, beautiful and earnest and everything she ever wanted. They fit, she and Hayes, better than she ever could’ve imagined.

“I don’t know how you feel about me,” he said. “But I know one thing. I know I love you. And not just like a friend. I’m in love with you, Pru. I think I always have been. I think that’s why I’ve never really been serious with anyone else. Because none of the other girls were you.”

A tear slid down her cheek. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that?”

He wiped the tear away with his thumb. “So, what you’re saying is, we should’ve done this a long time ago?”

She laughed. “Maybe we should’ve.”

“Why didn’t we?” he asked. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Losing you.”

“Not possible,” Hayes said. “You’re stuck with me now. If that’s okay with you, I mean.”

“It’s more than okay.” She reached over and touched his face, the stubble on his chin slightly rough under her fingers.

They looked at each other for a beat, and then he grinned. “Did you hear the part where I said I love you?”

“I did hear that.” She couldn’t help it, she grinned right back. “And in case you’re wondering, I love you too.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “And not like a friend.”

His arms circled her waist and he pulled her body close to his. A breeze skittered over the backyard, and Michael Bublé crooned “The Christmas Song” from the phone in Hayes’s pocket. He ran a thumb over her bottom lip, then covered her mouth with his, kissing her slowly, deeply, purposefully, like a man intent on cherishing every last bit of her.

“We’re just going to go, Hayes,” Peggy called out from inside the house. “Howie and I have a date.”

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