Page 94 of Mistletoe & Magic
“Come here,” he murmurs, and I nod because I don’t want to let him go. “I love you, Ivy Maren.”
He locks the door. The library is quiet and golden, the lamps casting pools of light across the stacks. He backs me toward the reading nook by the window, hands skimming mywaist, my hips, the curve of my back, remembering me again like he can’t help it. I tug him closer by the collar, greedy for more, and he laughs under his breath, that deep, pleased sound that makes heat bloom under my skin.
We find each other by touch and memory. I taste winter on his mouth and the hint of coffee, and he tastes like the only place I want to be. Here. With him. My sweater ends up on the arm of the chair. His shirt falls to the floor. He lifts me easily, settling me on the wide window seat, and the glass fogs with our breath. I hook my knees to bracket his hips. His palms span my thighs, warm and sure, and when he drags his mouth along my jaw to that spot beneath my ear, my head tips back on a sigh I cannot swallow.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispers, voice rough with it.
“You,” I breathe. “Just you.”
He gives me exactly that. No rush, no doubt, only the careful build of heat as his hands and his mouth follows, as my fingers map the breadth of his shoulders, the lines of his back, the steady thud of his heart under my palm. I pull him closer, and he comes, meeting me in every place I ask, giving and taking equal measures until I’m shaking with it.
The world outside goes on. In here the only sound is our breathing and the soft creak of the window seat as we move together, slow and then not slow, careful and then not careful at all. He holds my gaze when I unravel, eyes dark and tender, and I say his name on a gasp that feels like a prayer. He follows me, head bowed to my shoulder, a quiet curse against my skin that turns into my name said like a vow.
After, he kisses my forehead and my cheeks and the corner of my mouth like he has time to trace every place I am smiling. Cool winter air radiates off of the window, making our hot bodies feel cooler. I tuck into him, legs still tangled with his, and let my hand rest over his heart.
“This is what home feels like,” I say, and it is not a thought, it is a truth. It is the hard weight of his body and the warm glow of the lamps and the way he looks at me like I’m where I belong.
He presses his mouth to my hair. “I love you so much, Ivy,” he says, as if I ever could doubt it again.
“I love you, Remy,” I answer, and I mean it with all of me.
Chapter 28
Remy
Ican smell the salty sea air before I see the harbor. The whole town carries that scent tonight, mixed with wood smoke and cocoa and the cold bite of snow that has been threatening all afternoon. Lights lace the eaves of every shop and strand across Main like a net of stars. My favorite part about town is when it looks like this right at Christmas. Finn and Ivy joked that I hate Christmas, and it couldn’t be further from the truth.
Christmas has always felt magical to me. When I was little, sure I loved presents. But it was always my favorite time of year when my mom would make it so much fun for me and my brother. She would take us sledding for hours, bake our favorite cookies, and we’d eat pizza and watch Christmas movies several times a week. We’d get together with Pete and whoever else needed a place to go at Christmas and we’d make so many memories. Christmas is my favorite.
Willa’s bookstore looks like a snow globe that someone shook and forgot to set down. People are already drifting toward the gazebo with paper bag luminaries in their hands, the little flames breathinginside.
Junie swings between us, careful with the unlit candle she is determined to carry like a grownup. My heart feels so full. I try to tell myself it is only the cold.
“You look nervous,” Ivy says, soft enough that only I hear.
“I am.”
She tips her face up to study me. Snow freckles her dark lashes. “He is going to love this.”
“I hope so.” I tell her. But what I don’t say is that I am more afraid of loving her this much and knowing how fragile and short life can be. I have learned how to hold a family together with my own two hands. But what I’m going to have to learn is how to let go of a man who raised me to be the man that I am. I’m afraid of losing Pete. And it’s happening sometime, and I hate that I can’t fix this, or fix him.
My mom catches sight of us first. She is a red-lipped general in a winter coat, clipboard tucked under her arm like a medal. Pete is at her side, hat on and bundled up, already shaking his head like he cannot believe anyone would bother to throw a night like this in his name. He looks good. Smile lines dug deep, good that comes from being loved and celebrated.
“About time,” Mom calls. “My headliner arrives unfashionably on time.”
“I am not a headliner,” Pete mutters.
“You are the whole show,” Donna says, then turns to me and smooths my scarf like I am seven. “You. Smile. Tonight matters,” she says, making a joke, but I know it’s a reminder that she’s nervous, too. We want to celebrate Pete tonight and give him a night where we pour love into him.
Her eyes shine when she says it. I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
Willa waves us over to the cocoa booth. She looks like an advertisement for winter in her moss-green sweater and knitted cap, cheeks pink from the cold. Tate stands behind her, double-fisting marshmallow containers and pretending heis not having fun. He winks at Ivy. He narrows his eyes at me like he is deciding if I have earned the right to hold the woman I am holding. Then he grins and hands Junie a cup with a mountain of whipped cream.
“You two look disgustingly in love,” he says.
“We are,” Ivy says, not missing a beat. Her smile is small and private and aimed at me. It hits like a hand to the chest.
Finn and Rowan arrive in a swirl of cold air and mischief. Finn claps me on the shoulder hard enough that my teeth click.
