Page 140 of Secrets on Ice

He hands me mine, I hand him his, and we open them at the same time. Mine is a set of drawing pencils. Not just any set, it’s the ones that my favorite interior designer uses to sketch things out. It’s in a beautiful wooden case and tucked in with them is a small spiral sketchbook. I open it, and the first page isn’t blank. It’s a photocopy of a drawing. I stare at it for a moment as tears well in my eyes. I must have been thirteen when I drew it, it was the first house I ever drew.

“How?”

“I found it years ago in my childhood box of things. I only found it again when I moved into this apartment. I remember how proud you were when you told Cassidy about your idea and describing the rooms you drew. It lit up something in Cass and you two spent hours then talking about design as you moved on to more ideas.”

I can’t speak, my throat has completely closed over. I stand there holding a set of pencils and a photocopy of my dream, and I understand, all at once, that this man has been paying attention to me for my entire life. I try to stop the tears from falling.

“Open yours,” I manage with a sniffle.

He looks down and opens the box. And goes completely still.

It’s a card and puck signed by the man he idolized as a kid. The one whose poster was on his childhood wall, who he talked about like a god when we were young. A signed rookie card, mint, the real thing, and a championship puck.

“Ember.” His voice is strange. “This is … do you know what this is?”

“I know exactly what it is.”

“Where did you even …” He looks up at me, stunned. “These don’t just … Em, this is worth …”

“It was Kevin’s.”

He blinks. “What?”

“It was in Kevin’s collection, which I found at the back of the closet in a box. I gave it to him one Christmas for his stupid man cave he was building. He doesn’t even like hockey and never put it in the room. So I thought, fuck him, he didn’t deserve it, and I knew someone who would appreciate it. I remembered you had that guy’s poster on your wall when we were kids. You told me once you’d have given anything to have his rookie card.” I lift a shoulder. “So, I may have committed a small crime.”

Sully stares at me, and then he starts to laugh, this low, disbelieving, delighted laugh.

“You stole it.’

“I liberated it.”

“You stole your ex-husband’s hockey card to give to me.”

“That sounds horrible when you put it like that.” I wince.

He walks over and cups my face. “I fucking love it.”

“Really? I feel bad because I feel like I’ve given you a second-hand present, but …”

“Come here,” he commands.

And I do.

He sets the present down very carefully on the dresser, and then takes my face in both his hands again and kisses me, slow, deep, and it undoes me completely.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Nobody’s ever … just … thank you.”

“Merry Christmas,” I whisper.

He walks me backward toward the bed, his mouth never leaving mine. He lays me down like I’m something precious and follows me onto the mattress. His hands move slowly, pushing the pajama top up and over my head, kissing every new inch of skin he uncovers. When the fabric is gone, he sits back on his heels and just looks at me for a long moment, eyes dark and soft all at once.

“You’re so freakin’ beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

Then he leans down and takes his time. Mouth on my throat, my collarbone, the curve of my breast. He lingers everywhere, tasting, learning, making me restless under him. When he finally settles between my thighs and puts his mouth on me, it’s unhurried and thorough, like he’s got nowhere else in the world to be. I come with my fingers in his hair and his name soft on my lips.

He moves up my body, kissing me deeply so I taste myself on his tongue, and sinks into me in one long, slow thrust. We both go still for a second, forehead to forehead, just breathing. Then he starts to move, deep, steady strokes that make the bed move, and my breath catch. No dirty talk, just the quiet sounds of us and the city lights painting patterns across the ceiling.

When I come again it’s with my legs wrapped around him and my face buried in his neck. He follows a few moments later, burying himself deep and holding me tight as he falls apart. Afterward, he stays inside me, still half-hard, and rolls us so I’m draped across his chest. His fingers trace lazy circles on my bare back.