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He gave her a look. “You say that like I’m not going to love it.”

She didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because suddenly this felt like more than just exchanging gifts.

He unwrapped it slowly, and she watched his face instead of the paper—watched the moment his expression shifted when he saw what was inside.

A framed photo of the two of them from the night of the Festival of Lights.

For a second, he didn’t say anything, didn’t move.

And her stomach twisted because maybe this had been too much. Or maybe not enough. She’d remembered all the framed photos at his house and how he said they made him smile because they were good memories. So that’s what she wanted for him when he thought of her. But maybe…

“You remembered.” His voice was quiet, almost surprised.

Relief washed over her. She shrugged, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile. “I pay attention.”

His thumb brushed along the edge of the wooden frame, slow and deliberate. She had actually purchased the frame and the photo secretly when they were here last. It felt like the perfect gift to commemorate their time together.

“I don’t have anything like this from here yet,” he said.

Her lips curved slightly. “Well… now you do.”

A quiet settled between them again, heavier this time, as he carefully placed the frame on the mantle above the electric fireplace.

“Merry Christmas,” she said softly.

He stepped closer, lifting a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered just long enough to make her breath catch.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured.

And then he kissed her.

It started slowly but immediately turned into something deeper. Her hands slid to his chest, gripping his shirt as she leaned into him. He pulled her closer, his hand settling at her waist, firm and steady and possessive.

The kiss deepened, warmth and anticipation building fast enough to make it hard to think. His thumb brushed along her side, and the slight movement sent a sharp awareness through her—of him, of the necklace resting against her skin, of how easily she fit against him.

Too easily.

This wasn’t supposed to be anything permanent, she reminded herself.

But as she leaned into him and everything about him completely wrapped around her, she couldn’t quite convince herself it was temporary anymore.

Kissing Alesha was addictive—it had been from the very first one. But now, as her lips parted against his and she hummed softly, it unraveled something in him. His grip tightened, pulling her flush against him, and for a moment, everything else fell away.

No timelines. No expiration date. No goodbyes waiting on the horizon. Just this.

Her fingers curled in his shirt, and the truth hit him hard.

This wasn’t simple anymore.

There was no way he could keep his feelings to himself—not when every kiss, every touch, every conversation left him wanting more.

Not just more time.

More of her.