Page 91 of Booked for the Holidays
“Are you really sure about this?” she asks, voice low. “Staying here. Me.”
I slide my hand up her thigh and squeeze. “Pretty sure the wine bar lease says I’m stuck with you.”
She huffs a laugh against my jaw, pressing a quick kiss there. “Terrible business plan.”
“Best plan I’ve ever had.” I tip my head back, watching her like I can’t believe she’s mine to look at.
“You’re not worried you’ll get bored with small-town life?”
I raise a brow. “Small-town life, no. You?” I lean in closer, brushing my mouth against her cheek. “Never. I’ll be too busy stealing all your romance books when you’re not looking.”
She laughs, warm and teasing. “You know I’ll just steal them back.”
Juniper’s concern is expected. From her perspective, I’m changing my whole life to be here with her. What she doesn’t realize is, my whole life changed the moment she kissed me. Since that moment, I’ve been working toward this life with her.
I brush my thumb over the curve of her hip, let myself look at her like maybe it’ll help her see it from my side. She’s it for me. “You know you’re the only thing that makes any of this make sense, right?”
She bites her lip like she’s trying not to smile too wide. “Well, when you say it like that...I guess it’s fine if you stay.”
I grin, tugging her closer until her laugh is muffled against my mouth. “Good,” I murmur. “Because I am not going anywhere.”
THIRTY
JUNIPER
By the timewe make it to my parents’ house, it’s snowing again. Soft, fat flakes that cling to the porch lights and turn the yard into a winter wonderland.
Inside, it’s a riot of cinnamon and pine and too many people talking over each other. Stella’s at the kitchen counter with my mom, trying to keep her from making a third piejust in case. Jasper is by the fireplace, arms crossed, watching Liam like he’s debating whether to tackle him or hug him. Beck’s already found the cookie tray and is stealth-eating sugar cookies behind the tree, thinking no one notices.
And Liam? He’s at my side the whole time. His fingers brush mine when I pass him a mug of cider, his palm warm at the small of my back when Jasper corners him for a brotherly talk that I pretend not to overhear. Every time I look up, he’s there.Mine.
It shouldn’t feel this simple. But it does.
When my mom drags everyone into the living room for presents and polite chaos, Liam catches my wrist. His palm slides against mine, our fingers threading easy as breathing. He leans in, warm breath against my hair.
“Come here, Firefly.” His voice is low, rough like he’s been laughing too much today. Like he’s not quite ready to share every part of this with everyone else just yet.
He tugs me down the hallway, past the old photos and the creaky floorboard we always tried to avoid when we were sneaking out at sixteen. We slip into my childhood bedroom where my aunt and uncle are staying. It’s a little too pink, a little too small, and for a second, it’s like time folds over on itself. Last year, it was this room and my heart in Liam’s hands.
I turn to find him already close, so close. His eyes soft and a little sharp at the same time. It’s a look that makes my knees wobble.
“I didn’t say it earlier,” he murmurs, voice so gentle my chest squeezes. “Not like this. Not the way I wanted to.”
He cups my jaw, thumb brushing under my chin. His other hand slips around my waist, pulling me closer like he can’t stand even an inch between us.
“I love you, Juniper,” he says. Simple as that. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you for every smart mouth thing you say, for every risk you take, for putting your heart out there and making me braver than I deserved to be. I love you. All of you. Always.”
It hits me, soft but sharp, like the first breath after stepping inside from the cold. I feel it in every part of me.
“Say it back,” he whispers, and he’s smiling but his eyes are pleading. Like he’s still the guy from last year, terrified and trying anyway.
I lift my hands to his face, brushing my thumbs over his obnoxiously perfect cheekbones, the scruff I love so much.
“I love you,” I say, and it’s so easy, so true I almost laugh. “You and your possessive streak, and your over-the-top grand gestures. Your half-finished mugs of coffee all over the place and the way you argue with podcasts in the shower.”
“So you’ve been listening to me in the shower?”
“It’s hard not to.”
