Page 97 of Mad About Yule

“Not this one. This one will be for you.”

He hugs me closer. “You’re amazing.”

“And I’m going to put a tiny tractor in the corner.”

His chuckle rumbles through me. “You know what I like.”

The wind shifts, sending campfire smoke straight into our faces. I squeeze my eyes against the stinging smoke and try not to breathe it in.

“Does this always happen?” I say into the blankets.

“You really don’t camp, do you? You’re going to go home with your hair smelling like campfire and your eyes bloodshot from the smoke, and you’re going to love it.”

“I am, huh?”

“That’s the plan, anyway.”

“I’ve figured you out, you know,” I say after a while.

He gives my arms a playful squeeze. “I’m in trouble now.”

“Being in the woods is your Fortress of Solitude.”

“I’m Superman in this scenario? Nice.”

I twist to cut my eyes to him. “You’re actually more like Iron Man. Isn’t he the one who makes all the stuff? Am I thinking of Batman? Are they the same guy?”

“I can’t believe you asked me that question. Go on about the Fortress of Solitude.”

I settle back into his arms. “It’s where you go when you just want to be you, without anyone else’s expectations or pressures. It’s your safe space. The river. The woods. That’s your Fortress.”

His breath is soft on my ear. “Maybe. Is painting your Fortress?”

“Maybe. Yeah. When I’m painting, nobody else is judging it. It’s for me, even if I plan to give the painting away eventually. It’s just me and the canvas, and I can do whatever I want.”

“You can always do whatever you want. If people don’t like your art or your festival or whatever else, screw them.”

“Now you’re giving me Hulk vibes.”

His lips press against my temple. “I don’t want you to worry about any of that, is all I’m saying. There are people out there who will give you a hard time, no matter what you do. You can’t choose your happiness based on them. You need to make Hope happy.”

“Is that how you live your life?” I’m treading on delicate ice here. I know he’s not making himself happy, and he doesn’t want to admit or accept it, either.

His legs nudge tighter against mine. “I should be so lucky to live my life making Hope happy.”

My heart explodes like a little firework at that diversionary tactic. A romantic diversionary tactic, but still. “You know what I mean. Are you doing what makes you truly happy?”

He sighs softly. A whole minute creeps by, the only sound our crackling fire sending embers soaring into the night sky, and I think he’s not going to answer me. Finally, he offers up a quiet, “I don’t know.”

I turn in his arms until I’m straddling him. I tug the blankets up around us, rebuilding our warm cocoon. Aside from the chill on my nose, I don’t feel the cold. I can’t, with Griffin holding me like this.

“Why won’t you choose your own happiness?” My voice barely makes a sound.

He runs his hands under the edge of my coat to grip my hips. “Sweetheart, right now, that happiness isyou. And I absolutely choose you.”

My eyes have probably gone all hearty again, but I don’t care. I kiss him softly, carefully, like I’m going for the Guinness record for world’s slowest kiss. It’s torture, really, when I’m one strong breeze away from completely letting loose with him. But out here, we can’t get too wild. What are we going to do, risk frostbite on all our best bits?

Although I bet if I asked…

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