Page 83 of The Crush of Christmas Past
Thekiss. Our first.
Along the back, her looping silver script spells out three words that bury themselves deep under my ribs.
Isla’s Best Kiss.
And right beneath that?
The date I stopped pretending I didn’t give a damn.
Isla watches me examine the ornament like she’s bracing for a life-altering verdict. “It’s silly. I know, but—”
“I love it.” The declaration rips out of me on instinct. Its rapid speed matches the wild, crashing rhythm of my heart. “So much.”
I set the ornament on my nightstand, double-checking that it won’t roll, then reach for the final gift box.
“Guess it’s only fair I show you mine,” I say, holding it out to her.
She takes it from my hand, fingertips skimming the lid. “I can’t believe there’s more.”
Every muscle in my body tightens in anticipation as she lifts the top.
“Theo! Is this—” Her eyes fly up to mine. “Really?!”
A miniature forest glows from within the snow globe–style ornament. Resin trees, tiny storybook animals, and swirling fake snow that brings the piece to life.
And right in the center—locked in the best kiss of my life—are the two of us.
It’s just an object, but it contains a whole damn confession.
Mine.
Isla gasps, nearly dropping the ornament, when she spots the engraving.
Theo’s Best Kiss.
“How—” she begins, but the words collapse under the weight of her laughter.
Unable to help myself,I join in.
What else is a man to do when fate gift-wraps his feelings and presents them in matching glass globes?
“Did you know what I was making?” she asks.
“Not a clue. You?”
“Nope.”
Neither of us moves as we stare at the ornament in her hand.
“Considering our first kiss was an out-of-body experience, it kind of tracks that we both gave it a Best Kiss award.” She purses her lips and turns the globe, watching the glitter drift through the trees. “The only difference? Yours looks light years better. You could sell it. In a real store. For real money.Goodmoney.”
“My feelings aren’t for mass production. And truthfully? I like yours more.” It’s not a compliment. It’s a fact.
She shoots me a skeptical glare. “Now you’re just lying.”
“I’m not.” My hand slides up to her face. “You publicly declaring I’m your best kiss?” I lean in, close enough to taste the warmth pulsing between us. “It does things to me. Wonderful, hopeful things.”
Her gaze falls to my mouth, but she remains still.
