Page 37 of Mr. Mistletoe
The room isquiet except for the hum of the radiator, working overtime on the cold night. Jess is curled against me, her cheek pressed to my chest, fingers tracing lazy shapes across my skin. It’s the kind of silence I didn’t know I needed—soft, easy.
No noise. Just us.
We’ve talked about everything tonight—favorite cereal, first heartbreaks, best travel destinations. She told me how she fell in love with fashion one summer in Paris, how her grandmother insists on using Gen Z slang even though she’s eighty.
I admitted I’ve never been farther than Vancouver for hockey tournaments. I’ve spent my life chasing a puck. Talking like this… it feels bigger than a single night.
I glance at my phone, making sure Ingrid doesn’t need me. No more Rocky Road emergencies. No other kind either.
“Sorry,” I mutter, putting my phone back on the nightstand. “Ingrid’s due in less than a month. I’m paranoid.”
She yawns, snuggling back into my arms. “You’re such a good brother. Matt wouldn’t even notice if I were pregnant.”
I inhale sharply, saying the thing I don’t often voice. “She’s having the baby on her own.”
Jess tilts her head. “On her own? What do you mean?”
“She used a service—BundleUp. Picked a donor. Decided she wouldn’t wait for the right guy. She’s always been brave.”
Jess softens. “That’s not just brave. That’s incredible. I love that for her.”
Something inside me eases. No awkwardness. No judgment. Just quiet admiration. I run my fingers through her hair, and she sighs, like we’ve found a safe harbor in the middle of a snowstorm.
Eventually, her breathing slows, syncing with mine. Her hand rests over my heart. I don’t even fight sleep.
Then a shrill sound shatters the quiet. My phone flashes red with a weather alert.
Jess blinks awake, hair mussed, voice raspy. “What’s happening?”
“Blizzard warning,” I mutter. “It’s worse than expected.”
She grabs her phone, expression sharpening from sleepy to panicked. She swings her legs out of bed, pacing. “The roads are closing. Oh God—they’re actually closing. I should’ve left last night—”
Guilt hits me like a punch. I stumble over discarded clothes. “I’m so sorry, Jess.”
She freezes, blank expression. “It’s okay.”
But it’s not. “We’ll fix this. I promise.”
Her voice cracks. “This is so unfair. I should be on the road already. Halfway down the mountain. But I wanted to be here. I wanted last night.”
Hearing it out loud eases some of the weight, but the guilt remains.
I step closer, touching her arm gently. “We’ll figure it out. I swear, Jess, I’m not letting a storm ruin this for you.”
She looks up, eyes bright and wet. Sniffing, she steadies herself.
“How? How are we supposed to get off this mountain?”
“I’ll find a way.” My voice is firm, steadier than I feel. “I promise.”
She loops her arms around my neck. “I’m not sorry. I’m glad I stayed. Glad I found you.”
I wrap my arms around her waist. “We’ll get you down safely.”
She nuzzles my neck. “But if we can’t, that’s okay. It’s not on you.”
Her face lifts to mine. I press my lips to hers. Kissing her reinforces how badly I want to make this right. Her body melts against mine. I drag my lips from hers and stalk to the window.
