Page 69 of My Rival for Christmas

I watch Paige now as I fix her a cup of hot chocolate, my chest tight, burning with how right this feels. How at home she looks sitting on the living room floor, between the couch and coffee table. We’ve all but forsaken the godawful couch, opting to make a pallet of blankets to cushion us from the hard ground instead.

The newly adorned tree sits proudly behind her, Snowball lounging on one of the branches, with the snow-covered mountains a formidable background in the distance.

Her cascading hair is tucked behind one of her ears as she rests an elbow on the coffee table, her head resting on her hand as she bends over a photo album we found in one of the boxes used to make Snowball’s playpen.

I’ve been watching every little reaction that crosses her face, cataloging every sound as she relives my childhood memories. Each one is like a dart to my heart, bullseye after bullseye.

Maybe most people wouldn’t want the person they’re obsessed with to see every embarrassing photo of them. But I fucking love it.

Love that she’s so interested, looking at each photo with careful attention. Soaking in every moment, every feature.

It only amplifies how right this feels. Not just in the cabin. But being back in each other’s lives.

We might not have spent a lot of time together these last two years, but it feels like we were just on separate vacations, easily picking up from where we left off. Two puzzle pieces finally being put together, fitting in a spot only meant for them.

The burning sensation only intensifies as I finish pouring the obscene amount of marshmallows into her mug.

As if sensing me, she tilts her head up. A content smile on her face.

Another fucking dart.

I can’t help but notice there’s been an ease in her shoulders, a softness to her jaw. The little crease in her forehead has all but smoothed out.

She looks almost at peace.

Like for the first time in her life, she doesn’t need to be anywhere or do anything.

She can just be.

It makes me want to never leave, to be trapped in here forever so I can keep pulling back her layers, stripping her bare of all her defenses before gently claiming her heart.

Claim it and protect it and never let it go.

“Stop smiling at me like that,” Paige orders as I hand her the freshly made mug of hot chocolate—I’m really glad I stocked the cabin with food the day I decorated it because this is her third cup and it’s not even 4 p.m.

“And how else am I supposed to look at you?” I ask, sinking onto the blankets next to her, our thighs touching.

Maybe once she would’ve pulled away from my touch, but now as I stretch my arm along the back of the couch, she leans into my side, and I start to play with her hair.

She sighs. “I don’t know. I haven’t found one that makes your beard look any less attractive. But keep trying different ones until I let you know.”

I pull on a few of her red locks, my smile not diminishing in the least. “Are you saying you’re a fan of the beard?”

“I’m saying it makes you look even more attractive than you already are, and sometimes it’s frustrating to focus on anything else. It would be kind if you tried to look more ugly at times.”

I stare at her profile, my chest feeling heavier and heavier with each word out of her mouth.

I want this. I want her. More than anything I’ve ever wanted.

Every day. For the rest of my life.

I’ve always wanted her, but now I know what it’s like to live without her, and the idea of going back after having a taste of what our lives could be feels too cruel to even think about.

I’ve caught the way Paige looks at me, felt the way she holds on to me. With that same desperation I cling to her with. And I can’t help but hope that she feels the same way as I do—that she doesn’t want to go through life without me again.

There have been too many moments where I’ve reached for my phone to call her, to tell her some news or just because I’ve missed her voice. Too many times when I’ve been somewhere and wished she was beside me.

Two long years of seeing her every day and mourning her as if she was gone.

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