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“Henry.” It’s a question. A plea. It’s two syllables of pure wanting.
“I think I love you,” he says.
“You think you do?” My heart skips a tiny beat. I want him toknowbecause I do. I know I love him, and it makes it okay that he’s still figuring it out. I’ll help him.
“But this is going to take science.”
“Wh-what?”
He points above me, and I realize he’s backed me beneath fresh mistletoe. “Science. I feel it here.” He touches his chest. “And here.” He touches his temple. “But there’s a final piece of evidence I need.”
I reach up for his shirt and pull him down to me.
This is not an exploration like Monday night. This is a reunion of lips that were made for each other.
It’s a slow kiss, one that takes its time until it doesn’t. One that turns deep and delicious and makes the door propping me up totally necessary.
After countless minutes of the best kiss of my life, I lean back. “Henry, I’ve got some data.”
He gives me a serious nod. “Let’s hear it.”
“Your kisses make me weak in the knees.”
“I’ve got a diagnosis,” he says. “Paige Redmond, you’re madly in love with me.”
“Are you sure, Henry? You’re so cranky. And you have too many V-neck sweaters. Those are not the qualities that a Christmas-loving, rule-breaking neighbor would fall for. How can you know?”
He punishes me with another long, melting kiss before he rests his forehead against mine. “Because, you difficult woman. I’ve come down with a case of the same thing.”
“Wow,” I say as hot prickles of joy sweep through my chest. “It’s as contagious as the flu.”
“Incurable too,” he says. “It’s chronic.” Then he reaches up to brush my hair from my face, his eyes suddenly serious as he looks into mine. “I definitely love you, Paige Redmond.”
I sigh. “I hate to admit it when you’re right, Henry. But I might probably definitely love you madly too.” And then I pause, a suspicion occurring to me. “Did Cindy really need me to work that long?”
He shakes his head.
“And did Bill really need me to cover?” Another headshake.
“And does Gary actually have the flu?”
He pulls me against him. “No. But every last one of them is a sucker for love, and they all bought me enough time to help me set up my yard.”
“I love it,” I say. I press a soft kiss against his mouth. “And I love you, Henry Hill.”
“Merry Christmas, Paige. But I love you more. In fact—” his face grows serious—“I have an important question for you.” He clears his throat, and before I can stop him, he’s holding my hand and getting down on one knee.
Oh, no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. I will want this someday, maybe even someday soon, but this istoosoon.
I need to save us both from some horrific discomfort. “Henry, I—”
“I have to get through this, Paige.” He clears his throat again, gives my hand a soft squeeze, and says, “Paige, will you go to Christmas Town with me?”
“I can’t, Henry,” I say in a mortified burst of words, eyes squeezed shut, before I register what he said. I open them to find him grinning at me. “What did you just say?”
He repeats it very slowly. “Will you go to Christmas Town with me?”
I stare at him for a full twenty seconds. Then also very slowly, I answer, “I’m going to kill you.”
