His eyes searched mine, and for a breathless beat, I thought I might drown in them.
I lifted my hand slowly—so slowly—and touched his cheek. Rough stubble rasped against my fingertips, grounding me even as the rest of me felt like it might lift from the earth. “Cavil,” I whispered, though I didn’t know what I meant to say. Just his name. That was enough.
When I rose on my toes and leaned in, I didn’t kiss him—not at first. I paused, my lips a breath away from his. I wanted him to feel it. The ache. The want. The choice.
Then I closed the distance.
The kiss was nothing like I’d imagined.
It wasn’t rushed or reckless—it was reverent. His lips brushed mine gently, almost questioningly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed this, and I answered by pressing closer, by deepening the kiss with a hunger I hadn’t realized I carried. A hunger not for passion, but forhim. For this.
His hands came up to cradle my face, slow and careful, and I melted into his touch. Time slowed. The world shrank to the space between his breath and mine.
When we finally parted, the cold returned like a gasp, and I blinked up at him, heart trembling.
“I don’t care anymore,” I said, voice soft but steady. “Not about Leo. Or what this is supposed to look like. I just wantyou.”
His forehead touched mine, and I closed my eyes, breathing him in. His scent—cedar and snow and something purelyhim—wrapped around me like safety.
“You make me feel safe,” I said, barely above a whisper. “That’s not something I ever thought I’d find again.”
He pulled me into his arms, holding me like he meant it—like he wouldn’t let go this time.
“I won’t let you down,” he murmured into my hair.
And I believed him.
There in the quiet, with the snow falling like blessings from the sky and the soft hum of carols drifting from the square, we stood wrapped in something tender and new.
Something worth fighting for.
The drive home felt like stepping through a snow globe—soft, shimmering, and entirely unreal. The town faded behind us, its lights dimmed by distance and the hush of fresh snowfall. My gloved hand brushed his once, then again, until our fingers tangled like it was inevitable. His thumb swept over mine, slow and deliberate, and every nerve in my body lit up like the string lights lining my porch.
By the time we reached the front door, I was breathless—not from the cold, but from the weight of everything unspoken between us. The door creaked open, the warm scent of cinnamon and pine rushing to greet us. My little home glowed with quiet intimacy: fairy lights draped over bookshelves, garlands crooked from where I’d half-heartedly decorated, a blanket tossed over the arm of the couch. Everything familiar suddenly felt new—with him standing in it.
I barely got the door shut before I reached for him.
My fingers curled into the lapels of his coat, tugging him down into another kiss—slower this time, but no less intense. My back hit the wall, and he pressed into me with a quiet groan that melted straight through every layer I wore. His hands found my waist, anchoring me as I slid my arms around his neck and held on like he was the only solid thing in a spinning world.
His lips were warm and searching, not rushed but deliberate. He kissed me like he was learning something—memorizing me—and I let him.
“Callie,” he murmured against my skin, his voice rough as his lips brushed along my jaw.
I tipped my head back, surrendering to the feeling. “Don’t stop.”
We stumbled through the living room, knocking into furniture and tangling in garlands, laughing in hushed whispers as we fumbled toward the bedroom. The soft light from the tree flickered in and out of view, casting him in gold and shadow. It felt surreal—magical, like we’d stepped into some quiet corner of the world meant only for us.
Then I tripped—my heel catching on the edge of a throw rug—and we collapsed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter. I ended up beneath him, the weight of him grounding me, thrilling me. The way he looked down at me—like I was something fragile and precious—made my breath catch.
He brushed a strand of hair from my cheek, his fingers gentle, reverent.
“You sure?” he asked, voice low and raw.
I nodded, my heart so full it ached. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
His mouth found mine again, slower this time, deeper. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise, an unraveling, a quiet confession of everything we hadn’t dared to say.
As his hands slid under my sweater, as my fingers threaded through his hair, as we lost ourselves in the soft hush of snow outside and the glow of twinkling lights within—something inside me cracked open.
