“Callum thought it was a compass to locate my better judgment, but whenever I looked at the compass, it reminded me of you. You’re my center.”
That line hit me harder than I expected.
We sat for a while, not talking, just listening to the soft rhythm of the fire. Her fingers traced idle circles on my forearm, brushing the ink, and the rest of the world folded itself small and far away.
Finally, she stirred. “You ever think about next year?”
I tilted my head. “Next Christmas?”
“Next everything,” she said. “Where we’ll be. What we’ll be doing.” Her eyes flicked up to mine, curious but careful, like she wasn’t sure if she was stepping over some invisible line.
“Yeah,” I said, after a moment. “More than I used to.”
“And?”
“And I picture us,” I said simply. “Same mess. Same music. Maybe fewer burnt cookies.”
“Don’t insult my baking. It’s a Christmas miracle you even got cookies.”
“I like miracles,” I said. “Especially loud ones who steal my flannel shirts.”
She nudged my knee with hers. “You love my chaos.”
“I do,” I said, and I meant it more than I could ever make sound casual. “I love the way you fill up a room. The way you complain about the playlist and then hum along anyway.”
Her smile softened. “That’s my charm.”
“It’s working.”
She looked at me for a long moment, eyes shining from the tree lights, and said, “I think I want more of this.”
“Of what?”
“Us. The quiet parts. The stupid parts. The way your hand fits behind my neck when you kiss me.” Her voice dropped. “The way you make this feel like home.”
I swallowed hard, trying for a joke but finding none. “Then we’ll make more of it.”
“Deal?”
“Deal.”
The wind brushed the windows, the kind of soft whistle that sounds like a sigh. Melanie shifted again, curling up so her head rested against my chest. I could feel the steady weight of her, the calm I never saw coming, and something deep in me just… settled.
She murmured, “Sally’s going to wake up and tell everyone we were cuddling on the floor like teenagers.”
“Then we’ll deny everything.”
“Bold strategy. There’s photographic evidence from her phone in three… two…”
We both glanced up. Sally hadn’t moved, but her phone was tilted our way, the camera light winking faintly.
“False alarm,” I whispered. “She’s out cold.”
Melanie giggled into my shirt. “You’re paranoid.”
“I’ve met your mother.”
“She likes you.”
