Page 107 of Merry Me
Beside me, Natalie ran without question. Bags flapping against her thigh, hair flying, boots pounding against the tile. I couldn’t tell if she was about to laugh or scream.
Maybe both.
Then I saw it. The Holy Grail of retail salvation.
Tucked behind a pretzel stand, half obscured by a display of scented candles and a snowman in a top hat, was a family restroom. The door was slightly ajar, and I didn’t hesitate.
“In here,” I barked, yanking her toward it. We slipped inside, and I slammed the door shut behind us, twisting the lock hard enough to make it rattle.
The silence was immediate. Jarring.
The only sound was our ragged breathing and the faint buzz of the overhead light. The space was small—white tile, pale walls, a sink and mirror, and a folded changing table—and itsmelled faintly like lemon disinfectant and whatever scent they thought would calm a crying baby.
It wasn’t the romantic setting of my dreams, but it was safe, and there were no fans trying to rip my shirt off.
So that was a plus.
I leaned against the door, my hair sticking to my forehead as I looked at Natalie, my eyes drinking her in.
She was panting, her cheeks flushed from the run, her blonde hair a wild mess around her shoulders. Her blue eyes were blazing, a fire in them that made my pulse race, and I felt a jolt of heat shoot through me at the sight of her.
“For the record,” I panted, my eyes locked on hers. “This isnothow I pictured our Christmas shopping going.”
Her laugh was short, breathless, a little hysterical. “You think?”
She dropped the shopping bags to the floor with a thud, her shoulders heaving beneath her open coat. The tight red sweater she wore underneath hugged her body in a way that made my mouth go dry. She looked like a fever dream dressed in winter colors…and the way she was looking at me now, like she wanted to tear something apart, had every nerve in my body lighting up like the damn Christmas tree in the atrium.
“Girlfriend?” she purred, her voice lower now, dangerous, taunting. The word dripped with challenge, like she was daring me to take it back. Or daring me to back it up.
She stepped toward me, slow and deliberate, every inch of her radiating fire. My back pressed harder into the door, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t. She had me locked in place without even touching me.
“You told them I’m your girlfriend, Maddox,” she said, soft but lethal.
I swallowed, hard, my throat dry. Her scent—sweet, sharp, familiar—slipped beneath my skin like ink bleeding through paper.
“I know,” I said roughly. A slow smile curved across my mouth, dark and certain.
I stayed exactly where I was, frozen. There was no moving. Not with her pinning me there like she was carved from every second chance I never thought I’d get. So I let my words do the chasing, my gaze locked on hers like I was daring her to flinch. “Youaremine, Nat. You said it last night. And girlfriend?” I gave a soft, humorless laugh. “That word’s not even strong enough for what this is.”
My fingers grazed her hip, possessive and unapologetic. “There’s no take-backs. Not now. Not ever.”
Her breath hitched, quick, involuntary, the kind of reaction that betrayed everything her mouth hadn’t said yet. Her eyes widened for the briefest second, surprise flickering like a spark before that familiar fire surged back in, defiant and unyielding.
That last thread of resistance was still there, taut and fraying. She’d told me she was mine last night, but part of her was still fighting to believe this was just nostalgia. Just heat. Just a memory slipping through her fingers.
But I knew better.
I saw it in the way her eyes burned into mine. Like she was done running, done pretending this didn’t mean everything. The way her breathing stuttered again, sharp and shallow, like she knew the fall was coming and had already stopped trying to catch herself.
She didn’t need to say a word.
This was her answer.
This was her, charging forward. Raw. Unfiltered. Mine.
She grabbed the front of my coat and yanked me into her, her mouth crashing against mine with a heat that stole every last breath I had left—like she wasn’t just kissing me.
She was claiming me.
