Page 124 of The Crush of Christmas Past
Theo lifts the lid, eyes narrowing on the key glinting against red tissue paper.
He stares at it, thumb tracing the jagged grooves. His brow creases and his jaw moves like he’s about to speak, but nothing comes out.
I rush to downplay the gesture. “It’s no town key.”
“No,” he says, his eyes flicking between me and the object. “It’s the key to your place.”
“I thought—well, since you spend so much time here…” Sounding casual with a pulse on overdrive is impossible. “You’re here a lot, right? I mean…” I clear my throat as the ramble kicks in. “Your toothbrush has taken up permanent residence next to mine, you’ve turned my drawers into your own special fabric filing system, and you’ve rearranged the kitchen cupboards using a complicated aesthetic formula I can’t crack and will gladly leave in your capable hands.” I shift on my feet. “It’s just…practical, you know? And Evangeline gave me a key to your childhood home years ago, so it’s only fair. I want you to feel like you belong and—”
“I don’t need a key to know I belong with you.” While his tone stays light, the look he gives me is the exact opposite. “Still…thank you. For letting me in.” The weight of the statement makes it obvious he’s not talking about literal doors.
“You let yourself in all the time.” A laugh cuts through a rushedwhooshof air leaving my lungs. “This just makes it legal.”
“Legal is good.” He tucks the key into his pocket, then reaches for me, warm hands cupping my face.
The kiss that follows is a paradox of falling and being caught.
I steady myself with the strength of his biceps and lean into it, letting him feel everything I haven’t said out loud yet.
When we break apart, he smiles down at me. “Isla?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“You already said that,” I remind him.
“Did I tell you I loved it?”
I shake my head.
His lips press to the hollow of my throat, right next to where my pendant rests.
“I love that, once again, both of our gifts were on the same wavelength.”
“Let’s see if we can keep the serendipity going,” I offer.
My fingers tremble when I reach for the second box.
The middle one. But actually?
The Big One.
Stalling, I don’t hand it to him right away. Instead, I turn the container over in my hands, listening to the shifting contents, and try to breathe through the sudden tightness forming under my ribs.
I sit down on the edge of the comforter.
Then immediately stand.
Stride two steps.
Stop.
Turn.
Walk back.
Theo watches my spiral with amused patience. He’s holding strong to the quiet confidence he wears whenever he knows I’m working something out. He never pushes—though I could probably benefit from a little shove right now.
