Page 90 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
My chest tightens in the best way. I squeeze his hand and let out a breath I’ve been holding. “So far, so good.”
I don’t want this break to end.
The house smellslike sugar and cinnamon and everything good. The market is a blur behind us now—lights, laughter, the soft weight of Max’s arm around my shoulders—and all that’s left is this warm hum in my chest that hasn’t faded since he saidI do.
Now we’re on the couch, a blanket thrown over our legs, the Christmas tree blinking in the corner of the room.The Santa Clause 2plays softly on the TV—Mom’s choice, because apparently “the sequel is the most romantic one.” Max doesn’t argue. He just sits there, relaxed, one arm along the back of the couch so his fingers brush my shoulder every time he shifts.
And I melt into it. Into him.
“Comfy?” he murmurs, his voice low enough to vibrate against my ear.
“Dangerously,” I whisper back. “You might have to carry me to bed later.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound brushing warm against my skin. “That a threat or a promise?”
I’m about to tease him back when Mom’s voice floats in from the kitchen. “You two want cocoa?”
Max starts to pull his arm back, but I catch his wrist. “Yeah,” I call, before he can answer, “extra whipped cream for him.”
Mom pokes her head around the corner with a knowing smile. “Already on it, sweetheart.”
When she disappears again, Max shakes his head, amusement tugging at his mouth. “You and your family are dangerous together.”
“Admit it—you love it.”
He opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, but before he can, Dad and Jules shuffle in from the hallway with bowls of popcorn and cookies. Jules plops down on the floor beside the couch, Dad takes the recliner, and suddenly, the living room is full.
I half expect Max to pull back, to retreat into that quiet shell he wears around people. But he doesn’t. He shifts closer instead, letting me lean into him while Jules starts heckling the movie, and Dad throws popcorn at her in mock outrage.
Mom comes in balancing mugs, handing one to each of us. “Careful, it’s hot,” she warns.
“Thanks,” Max says, taking his with both hands. His fingers brush hers, and I watch the small surprise on his face when she smiles at him like she’s known him for years.
By the time the credits roll, Jules is asleep in the corner of the couch, Mom’s dozing in Dad’s lap with her head on his shoulder, and Max’s fingers are tracing idle shapes over the back of my hand beneath the blanket.
I turn my head, resting my forehead against his jaw. “You okay?” I murmur.
He hums, the sound deep and steady. “Yeah. Better than okay.”
I grin into his neck. “See? Told you Christmas cheer was contagious.”
He laughs under his breath, presses a slow kiss to my hair. “Guess I caught it from you, Princess.”
And with the lights glowing soft and the sound of my family’s easy breathing filling the room, I let myself believe, just for tonight, that maybe this isn’t temporary.
Maybe this is whata real Christmas miraclefeels like.
THIRTY-FOUR
MAX
Morning creepsin soft through the blinds—gold light cutting across the pale blue walls of Eli’s room, catching the little dust motes drifting lazily in the air. The house is quiet, the kind of quiet that only exists right before everyone else starts to stir.
Eli’s still asleep, pressed against me.
He’s sprawled across my chest, his hair a mess, his mouth parted just slightly, breathing slow and even. One of his legs is thrown over mine like he decided sometime in the night I wasn’t going anywhere. And he’s right. I’m not.
My fingers trace slow, idle lines down his back, over the dip of his spine where the sheet’s slipped low. He shivers once, murmurs something that sounds like my name, and then blinks awake—eyes heavy and soft and unguarded in the morning light.
