Page 78 of The Crush of Christmas Past
I was too busy being a selfish, cowardly dick.
“ButIhaven’t.” Regret turns my words jagged. “I want to—”
“I know. But you can’t. I need to do this on my own terms.”
Her forehead rests against mine, and her soft bangs brush my skin, carrying the faint scent of cinnamon.
“I refuse to let them take this from me, Theo. I’m starting my own business with the insurance money Graham helped me invest. I have to focus on my future. I don’t need to prove myself to anyone but me.” She pulls back, wide eyes searching mine. “Do you get that?”
“Yes.” I nod. “You’ve got this.” Ever so gently, I cup her face with one hand. The other hand threads through her hair. “I know you don’t need me to be your knight nor your armor, but will you let me stand beside you while you set the world on fire with your talent?”
“That sounds a hell of a lot like strings, Theo. An entire web of them, in fact.”
There’s a weighted warning in her voice. One I decide to take as a challenge.
“Not a web.” My thumb brushes her cheekbone. “A lifeline. Yours to call onorto cut.” A heartbeat elapses between us before I add, “No conditions. I promise.”
Twenty-Five
Theo
Myvowfloatsbetweenus, unclaimed.
It triggers Isla’s retreat.
She withdraws in stages, starting with her shoulders and their slow, imperceptible pull inward. Then her fingers knot together, tight enough her knuckles turn white.
Her smile—so sunny, so veryher—wavers. Fades. The darkness it leaves behind hits like a fucking eclipse.
This is where I step back. Give her space. Let her go.
But I don’t. Ican’t.
Not when we’re on the precipice of something more. Something real.
So…I recalibrate.
Thesame way I’d alter a pitch seconds before it crashes.
“Hey,” I murmur, nudging her knee. “Stay with me.”
She startles, blinking like I’ve broken some unspoken rule by entering her fortress.
“Time for your gift.”
Her brows crash inward as she glances toward the tree that’s now stripped bare. “Christmas is over.”
“Ours is just getting started.” I push to my feet, holding out my hand. “Come on.”
She studies my palm, probably searching for hidden strings.
I stay still. This next move has to be entirely hers.
A beat passes. Then another. One more.
She exhales. Soft fingers brush my skin. Tentative at first, but the touch quickly turns firmer. Finally, her hand slides into mine with quiet resolve.
My chest tightens—with relief, this time.
