Page 93 of Mistlefoe
“Good. Guess what will make you happier?” I ask.
Conor’s expression turns pensive for a moment, eyes lost on a point somewhere above my head. “Oh, the hot chocolate I forgot to make this morning because I left in such a rush?”
“Something better,” I say, only growing his confusion. Ireach into the pocket of my vest and pluck out a small bundle. His eyes latch onto it as I lift it up between us. “How’s this?”
His warm brown eyes fall from the small bunch of mistletoe directly to my lips. “You’re right, this is exactly what I needed for the moment to be truly perfect.”
Conor holds the side of my face, tilting it with his thumb to get better access to my lips. I let my eyelids fall and abandon myself to the feeling of his hot, velvet-smooth lips caressing mine. Of his breath fanning my face and how he holds me so I don’t fall.
But I’ve fallen, I’ve fallen so hard for him that I’m never getting back up.
At some point, the mistletoe has slipped from my hand in favor of feeling his hair, his neck, his jaw. If it wasn’t getting harder to breathe, I’d be well on my way to feeling his skin under his sweatshirt. When we come up for air, I notice he did slide one of his hands under my shirt.
“Sneaky,” I say among gasping breaths.
“I’ll let you pay me back any time.” He grins against my mouth, and I guess that’s enough breathing for now.
I pull him in for another kiss, open mouthed and hot enough to melt the rink down, and I waste no time in getting my revenge. I slide my freezing hands against the taught skin of his back, enjoying how it makes him shiver just as much as I love the ridges of hard muscles up his spine, down his side, and the smattering of fuzz over his abs.
That’s where he pulls away, grabbing my wrists. “Any more of that and I’m going to disappoint Gramps.”
I mewl. “But…”
“Later.” His gaze is intense and hot enough that I don’t need any clothes to warm me up. “When we’re not in a place where slipping down could send us to the hospital.”
“Okay, fine.” I roll my eyes. “I guess you can give me another skating lesson, then.”
“I’m flattered by your disappointment.” Grinning, he lifts my hands and places a kiss on the big knuckle of one hand, the kind that would’ve made a Regency era lady melt into a puddle. I can confirm it does the same to me, especially when he does the same on the other hand. “There’s no need to rush, Sierra. We’re in this for the long haul.”
“We are.” My voice is a throaty mess and I clear it. “We’re sticking to the low key and chill date plan. High key and hot date to follow later.”
Conor’s laughter bounces back against the boards as he pulls me along toward the seats. That’s when he discovers the extent of Gramps’s and my planning, because the sweet old grump got me Conor’s skates out of his locker and set them by the door, ready for this moment. And on the nearest seat is the enormous flask with thick, homemade hot chocolate that Mom and Grammie helped me prepare this morning.
Once he’s done changing into his skates, Conor grabs my hand and slides onto the ice, and it feels like the beginning to the rest of our lives.
EPILOGUE
CONOR: CHRISTMAS ONE YEAR LATER
“Is it bittersweet?” Sierra asks, looking up at me even as she digs for the last kernels of popcorn in our bucket. She ate about one third of it by herself without realizing it.
What she did notice: that my stomach has been in knots. But it’s not for the reason she thinks.
“Nope,” I respond sincerely, looking into her eyes and not breaking the contact despite the two hockey players that smash into the glass right in front of our seats.
Sierra jumps so high that a few kernels escape the confines of the bucket. Her eyes are wide as saucers as the players grunt and push each other in their fight for the puck. “I have to say I’m kind of glad.” She swallows hard. “I’d hate to see you getting hit like that.”
That makes my lips stretch into a smile. “I looked pretty good when I was a little beat up, though.”
“I think you look plenty good without injuries, Mahoney.”
“And I think you look the best without any—” Abruptly sheshoves popcorn at my mouth and doesn’t let me finish the saucier words. That’s too bad because they were just about to make me forget what’s going to happen in a few minutes.
Now that I’m back to reality, I turn to the game right as Max finally wins the puck. While I was turned to Sierra, my left eye was the one on the side of the action and I hadn’t noticed that he was one of the players going at it. Before taking off, Max flashes me a quick thumb up that I return.
The player from the opposing team that he was duking it out with was none other than our friend Nate, because hockey is a small world that way. But also, the two of them knew that Sierra and I were coming to this game, and just like we did with Max, they helped me prepare my private event.
Sierra has no idea I’m about to propose to her right here.
