Page 35 of Candy Cane Chains

The dress slips over my head, falling into place like it was made for me - which, knowing Julian, it probably was. I smooth it down, adjusting the hem that hits just above my knee. Black wool tights and ankle boots complete the outfit.

When I face him again, Julian's eyes travel slowly from my boots to my face, taking in every detail. His approval radiates from him before he even speaks.

"Perfect." His voice wraps around me like velvet. "You understand exactly what I want, don't you?"

Pride blooms in my chest, warming me from the inside out. I've pleased him - chosen correctly without being told. The anxiety of choosing melts away under his appreciative stare.

"I do."

He must see the unease still in me because he stalks forward, lifting my chin. "You are always perfect for me." He presses a kiss to my lips. "Now come." He takes my hand, guiding me back out of the closet and out to answer the question I asked.

18

JULIAN

The night air bites at my exposed skin, but I barely notice it anymore. What I do notice is how Ivy's shoulders tremble beneath my coat, the cashmere fabric drowning her small frame. The gesture was instinctive - seeing her shiver set off something primitive in me. The need to protect. To shelter.

Christmas lights drape every storefront as we walk downtown, casting multicolored reflections across the fresh snow. They dance in Ivy's amber eyes as she glances up at me, those delicate features softened by the glow. My hand finds the small of her back, guiding her through the bustling downtown crowd.

"Where are we going?" Her voice carries that musical lilt that's been haunting my thoughts.

I don't answer, steering her instead toward a weathered brick building tucked between two modernized storefronts. The café's windows frost at the edges, strings of white lights creating a warm halo around the entrance. Inside, the scent of chocolate and coffee wraps around us like a blanket.

"Find us a table." I shrug off my suit jacket, watching her navigate toward a corner booth. The way she moves, graceful despite those little heeled boots, draws more than a few appreciative glances from other patrons. My jaw clenches.

At the counter, I order two hot chocolates. "Extra whipped cream on both. And add those chocolate shavings." The barista's eyebrows lift at my tone - clearly not the usual request from someone in a three-piece suit.

Ivy's eyes widen as I set the oversized cups down. Towers of whipped cream teeter precariously, dark chocolate curls scattered across the white peaks like winter shadows.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a hot chocolate guy." A smile plays at the corners of her mouth as she pulls the mug closer.

"There's a lot you don't know about me." The words come out rougher than intended, but her smile only grows.

I watch Ivy wrap her hands around the steaming to go cup, her slender fingers seeking its warmth. The sight stirs something - a memory that catches in my throat. And then, when she moans as she sips on the drink, my cock stirs, too.

"Let's go."

She hops up without question, pulling on her jacket and wrapping her palms around the hot chocolate. I hold mine in one hand as I press the other to her lower back and guide her out along the decorated storefronts.

"My mother and I used to do this." The words slip out before I can stop them. Something about being here always does that to me. "Every December, like clockwork."

Ivy's head tilts, those amber eyes fixed on mine. She doesn't push, just waits.

"We'd take the 146 bus from our walk-up in Uptown. Sometimes we'd have to wait in the cold for almost an hour because we could only afford off-peak fares." I trace the rim of my mug. "She worked as a cleaning lady, but she'd save quartersin this old Maxwell House coffee can all year. Just for one night downtown, one hot chocolate."

The memory floods back - the way Mom's hands would be raw and cracked from cleaning chemicals, but she'd still hold mine tight as we walked past Marshall Field's windows. The elaborate Christmas displays seemed like magic then - mechanical elves hammering away at toys, reindeer soaring through cotton-batting clouds.

"She'd let me press my face against the glass like all the other kids, even though we both knew we couldn't afford anything inside. But that didn't matter. We had our tradition - window shopping until my feet ached, then going to that café that still makes real hot chocolate."

I pause, the sweetness of the drink suddenly sharp on my tongue. "She'd always insist I get whipped cream on top, even though it cost extra. Said a boy should have something special at Christmas."

Ivy shifts, taking my free hand in hers. The touch is light, hesitant, but it anchors me to the present. To her. I've never held someone's hand so casually like this, but I don't let her go.

Ivy's thumb traces small circles on my palm. "You've never mentioned her before."

"No." The word comes out like gravel. I take another sip of hot chocolate, letting the sweetness chase away the bitterness of old memories. "She got sick when I was fifteen. Breast cancer that spread faster than we could keep up with. By the time we noticed the lump, it was already in her bones."

The Christmas lights blur at the edges of my vision. I blink them back into focus.

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