Page 160 of On Cloud Nine

“The newspaper?”

I smile.“Check the crossword.”

He flips to the page I’ve watched him go to dozens of times. His curiosity melts into awe.

“H-how?” His voice cracks.

I wrap my fingers around his palm. “I have elves atThe New York Times.”

He reads the clues:

Nervously, I watch him scan the newspaper and piece together the puzzle I had designed for him.

“When did you…? How did you make this happen?” He looks up at me, setting the paper down in the space between us.

“I took care of it a couple of weeks ago. The new puzzlemaster is an acquaintance of mine.” TheTimeshired an old Cornell peer earlier this year. In exchange for this particular favor, I gave her my Metallic Chèvre Birkin 25.

Writing the clues took the longest time. Avery and Lily helped me piece together a few of the hints, but I’ve been tinkering with the idea for a while.

The grin that splits his face is priceless. I melt beneath the way he takes my hand and kisses each of my knuckles with care.

“Nothing will top this gift,” he says. “I have to be honest; when we first arrived at On Cloud Nine, I started putting together a bucket list of all the new things I got to experience because of you. You’ve made my life so full, Molly.”

“Stick with me, Hudson. I have a whole world of experiences I want to share with you.”

My words seem to have an effect on him. Matthew’s blue gaze glides over every one of my features.

Today can’t possibly get any better.

He shifts, reaching beneath the bed for a box wrapped in gold foil.

“I have something for you too.” He hands it over. I trace my thumb over the small dragons printed on the paper.

“This is lovely.”

I like that we’re exchanging presents alone. It’s special. Maybe it could be our own little Christmas tradition. I carefully unwrap my gift.

Inside the thick cardboard box is the first book inThe Stone Court. It’s an edition I recognize almost immediately because it was a limited run, and there are only fifty prints of the full set in the world. I own the series collection, but he must’ve searched tirelessly for this copy.

I run my hand over the foil cover. It ripples beneath my palm.

“Flip it open.” He smiles, and I do as he says.

On the inside, written on cardstock, is a note.

To my brave warrior, Merry Christmas. Love, yours forever and always, Matthew.

Tears well in my eyes like heavy droplets of rain. When I flip to the first chapter, they fall.

Matthew’s handwriting is in the margins, along with scribbles and highlights along the text.

“You annotated it?” I sob.

“There’s more.” He nudges his head toward the box. Inside sits a small, velvet pouch. I pick it up, undo the button, and peek inside.

My heart stops; the air drains out of the room. His blue eyes ogle me.

We didn’t have time to discuss my impromptu plan to spend our life together yesterday at the snowman contest. Part of me thought that he may have been caught up in the moment when he said he wanted to spend the rest of his days with me.

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