“Before you say anything else,” he said finally, still standing too far away. “Do you remember that night on the beach when we almost kissed—when you told me I hated you more?”
The breath trembled in my chest. “You said the list of reasons would break my heart.”
“I’ve been adding to that list for a long time now.”
I let out an unsteady laugh, a tear escaping with it. “So youdohave anI hate Valerie Spellman checklist.”
He nodded once. “I do.”
The air between us changed. It felt heavier, somehow. He took a slow step forward, his eyes locked on me like he’d been memorizing the distance.
“It started simple,” he said quietly. “I hate that I think of kissing you every time your name drops into my inbox.”
My heart stalled. “That’s very… inconvenient.”
He moved another step. “You emailed me all day, every day.” A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. “I hate that I remember exactly what you were wearing at the luau. That I couldn’t take my eyes off you, even when I tried.”
“I hated your suit.”
He tsked softly, closing more of the distance between us. “No, Spells. This is my list.”
He was close enough now that I could see the tired smudge beneath his eyes, the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave. His voice dropped low and rough.
“I hate anything that warms you up that isn’t me. It’s a need I can’t shake, Spells.”
The office tilted. His confession wasn’t loud, but it filled every corner of the room—every part of me.
My fingers curled at my sides. “Grant…”
His hand lifted, slow enough that I could’ve stepped back.
I didn’t.
When his fingers brushed my skin, the world seemed to still. Heat rippled from his touch, gentle but unrelenting, sinking through me like sunlight after a long winter. Every muscle in my body trembled from the effort of standing still.
His thumb traced the edge of my jaw. “You feel that?”
I nodded, barely breathing. “I do.”
His forehead dipped closer until his words brushed my lips. “That’s what I get to do,” he said softly. “Warm you up. Keep you safe. It’s a privilege.”
And that’s when it hit.
Magic.
It hummed in my veins—his, mine,ours—recognizing something it had been searching for. It came rushing back all at once, the power I’d lost on that beach a year ago, pouring through me in a way it never had before. Stronger now. Steadier. Born not from his love, but from my faith in it.
I gasped, air burning bright in my lungs. Every nerve in me felt alive again.
Grant wasn’t finished. He swallowed, throat working as he went on, “I hate that I left yesterday without driving you home. I hate that I didn’t wake up next to you.” His hand cupped my cheek, tilting my face up to his. “And I hate—“ his voice cracked completely, ”—that I won’t get to spend Christmas with my wife.”
The room shimmered around us, the air thick with magic and the sound of my heartbeat trying to catch up.
“Who says?” I whispered, tears slipping down my cheeks. “I didn’t take the key. I turned it down.”
For a heartbeat, he didn’t move.
Then he laughed—soft and incredulous—his forehead dropping against mine.
