Page 67 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas

“This is beautiful.” I trace a fingertip along the Icarus tattoo that covers most of his thigh. “But doesn’t he die in his story?”

He makes a rumbly, thoughtful noise. “Don’t we all? Eventually?” Jake stacks his hands behind his head.

“Obviously. But isn’t Icarus’s death his own fault? It’s a cautionary tale about hubris, right?”

“Mm. I see it differently.” He doesn’t elaborate.

His reluctance to talk about this in detail makes me tread carefully. Softly, I say, “Will you tell me more?”

Jake takes a big breath that expands his cheeks. He blows it out and sits up, facing me on the bed. I sit up, too, crossing my legs under me.

“Icarus wouldn’t have died if he hadn’t been caught up in his father’s ambitions,” he says.

I’ve come to recognize this tension in his posture, and the tiny lines around his eyes. There’s some kind of internal struggle happening here. Quietly, I sit and wait.

“Icarus was innocent,” Jake finally says. “Young. His father’s choices are what landed him in prison. Then when they broke free, his father may have been the one to give him wings, but Icarus himself decided what he’d do with them. On his own terms.”

“You didn’t—” I look down at my hands. “Ah … go to prison, did you?”

Jake surprises me by laughing hard. As it fades, he looks at me, genuinely puzzled. “Wait—really? No, love, I haven’t been in prison.” Some of the mirth fades fast, and his expression falters. “My father is just a nasty piece of work.”

Gently, I say, “I’m sorry, Jake.” I want to say more. I want to ask more. But as close as we’ve grown, we’re still not at a point where I feel like I can delve into his personal life for more than he’s willing to offer. I’m surprised I had the guts to prompt him for more a moment ago. I’m even more surprised that he gave it to me.

He takes a big breath and blinks a few times. It’s a reset. “Right. Well.” He leans towards me to press a kiss to my temple. “Enough of that.”

In the next breath, Jake rolls me sideways and pins me underneath him. He’s levered up with his hands pressed into the mattress next to my shoulders, eyes locked in on mine. His hips rock to nudge my thighs apart. His hair hangs around his face as he looks down at me.

We’re in pajamas now—him in a pair of festive cotton boxers printed with red and green “HO HO HO” all over, me in snug boyshort panties and one of Jake’s soft white V-neck tees. I feel him get hard the moment he settles between my legs.

“Well, well, well.” I lock my ankles around his back. “Someone’s awake again.”

His low laugh rumbles through me. “That chap has always had a hard time settling down in the evenings.” His tone is playful, but I watch in divine fascination as his pupils burst wide-open with desire. He bears down against the knot of nerves beneath the thin fabric of my panties. I know he’s doing this to distract me away from going too deep into the Icarus story. And it’s working.

The moment is ruined when my stomach growls. Loudly.

Jake’s eyes widen. He raises to his knees and scoots backwards, then he bends to press his ear to my belly like he’s speaking into a vintage telephone. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

I throw my head back against my pillow and laugh, threading my fingers through his hair.

When my stomach growls again, he whips upright and looks at me in mock horror.

“Jesus Christ. I need to get some food in you before that thing breaks loose and terrorizes the countryside.” He hops up from our nest to pad over to the kitchen. His erection hangs heavy in the “HO HO HO” boxers, swaying a bit as he walks. It’s absurd and unbearably sexy at the same time.

I wrap a quilt around me and join him in the tiny kitchen. Jake hesitates before he opens the refrigerator. “I’ve just realized—I have no idea if there’s any food here.”

My stomach rumbles again. This time, it’s so long and loud, it sounds like the words of some cryptic, undiscovered language.

Jake stands motionless, glancing down to my belly and back to my eyes. “Am I in danger?”

“Only if you ask nicely.” Swooping the quilt outwards like wings, I lunge forward to wrap my arms around him.

Jake laughs and lifts me off my feet to plunk me down in one of the chairs at the table near the window. “Moment of truth.” He glances back at me. “Let’s hope there’s something in here.”

Fortunately, there’s plenty. Helena stocked the refrigerator and cupboards, but most of it is breakfast food. Jake attempts to make something for us. He scorches the toast and burns the eggs when he tries to do both at once. Together, we manage to make a nice breakfast for dinner, and as is our habit, we curl up in our fireside nest to enjoy it.

“Do you think we’ll ever sleep in an actual bedroom together?” Jake says. “Or eat at an actual table?”

“Well,” I say around a mouthful of toast, “we’ve got about five days to find out.” I meant it to be funny, but the bread is suddenly dry in my mouth, and I struggle to swallow.