Page 50 of Worth the Risk

“Liam, it’s fine.” My mom shakes her head, her shoulders moving with a small laugh. “I like her. Feel like she’s good for you.” Now that has me back in the full smile I woke up with this morning.

“I like her too. A lot.” I turn back to the stove, pouring the mix onto the griddle before adding a generous handful of chocolate chips to the top.

“Good. Make sure she knows that.” I flip the pancakes over, mulling over my moms words. There’s been ideas floating in my head for weeks now about how to show Emilia I care for her but I hope it's not too much, too soon. On one hand I don’t want to rush anything with her, and on the other I don’t want to live another day where she’s not my girl. Admitting our feelings for each other is just step one into keeping this amazing girl in my life.

As I plate up the pancakes, I hear the faint sounds of feet padding down the hallway. I turn around with a stack of pancakes just as Emi enters the kitchen, wearing the sweat set I gave her months ago. Her hair frames her face in subtle waves, from braids I watched her put in last night, that thought has me smirking to myself. Except it’s not just to myself because my mom clears her throat, snapping me out of my thoughts and has me finishing my move to put the pancakes on the island.

“Good morning, Emilia. How did you sleep?”

“Good morning.” I don’t miss that slight flush of Emi’s cheeks as she realizes my mom knows what room she came from. “I slept well, thank you.” Grabbing the mugs from the counter I bring the hot chocolate over to the island as well.

“Emi, do you want some whipped cream?”

“Of course I do.” I top both of our mugs with a big heaping of whipped cream and a dash of cinnamon.

“Well, I’ll leave you both to it.” My mom excuses herself from the table, a smile playing at her lips as she heads back upstairs.

“Do you want to go out today?” I take the stool next to Emilia, piling a few pancakes onto my plate.

“Out?”

“Yeah, there’s this Christmas market downtown I thought we could go to.” Her eyes light up. I know what my girl likes.

“That sounds great.” We smile at each other and then both dive into our pancakes. “These are so good. You didn’t tell me you knew how to cook.” The comment brings me back to a month ago when I said something similar to her on Thanksgiving. Except today is so much better because she’s safely here with me.

“Don’t be fooled, it's a mix.”

“Well, it’s delicious.”

“So are you.” She gasps, hitting my arm lightly, eyes darting around the space.

“Liam you can’t just say that, you’re family’s around.” She whisper shouts at me. I just smirk which causes her to shake her bed before turning her attention back to the pancakes.

Every year our town hosts a Christmas Eve market. Downtown closes and different stalls line the streets selling homemade gifts, bakery items, and in general people just spread that Christmas cheer. A light dusting of snow covers some of the grassy areas and rooftops, really tying together the whole scene.

“This is so cute.” Emilia almost squeals, as we get out of the car and head towards some of the booths. She’s dressed in a warm, white puffer jacket with black gloves and a beanie. She looks adorable.

“Thought you might like it.” I thread my gloved fingers through hers. “Where should we start?”

We spend the next few hours perusing all the different booths at the market. We have our second hot chocolate of the day, eat croissants, listen to the local children’s chorus sing holiday classics. All the while my hands stay on her somehow, whether they're intertwined together or I put my arm around her waist holding her near.

Emilia spots a booth filled with books and she all but drags me over to it. I watch as she looks up and down the different rows of books, gravitating to a section of fairy tales with special covers.

“You like these?” I ask with my hand pressed lightly on her back.

“They’re gorgeous.” Her hands skim across the tops of the different books.

“I thought you read romance?”

“I do.” She lets out a light laugh. “But growing up these are what I read. My grandparents always read them to me.”

“Are these what are on the bookshelf in your room?”

“Yes. My grandma used to collect all the fairytales she could find. Now, I collect the special edition covers when I find them. Helps me feel closer to them.” With that I begin picking up the five different books that are in this section.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re buying these.”

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