Page 128 of Faking All the Way
“I wanted you to have something that shows you belong on my team,” he says, watching my face carefully. “In my world.”
I hold it up, reading the name across the back again. It’s so personal. So much more than just buying me team merchandise. It’s a statement. A claim. A promise that I’m part of this, part of his life, in a real way.
“And the number.” I run my fingers over the embroidered lettering. “You remembered.”
“I remember everything you tell me,” he says simply.
Blinking furiously, I drop the jersey and throw my arms around his neck, kissing him hard. “I love it so much. Thank you.”
He kisses me back, his hands coming up to cradle my face. “You’re welcome, bright eyes.”
When we break apart, I wipe at my eyes, trying to get my emotions under control. “Okay, your turn.”
I hand him the package I wrapped, suddenly nervous, chewing my lower lip as I watch him take it. What if he doesn’t like it? What if I read too much into things and made it too personal?
He tears the paper off carefully, his expression shifting as he reveals what’s hidden beneath. When his present is completely unwrapped, he pauses, staring down at what’s in his hands.
It’s the illustration I’ve been working on. The one of him skating at the outdoor rink. I captured him mid-stride, arms out slightly for balance, his face turned up toward the sky. The expression on his face is pure joy.
I worked on it obsessively, getting every detail right. The way the winter light hit his face, the texture of the ice, the folds in his jacket. But more than that, I tried to capture thefeelingof that moment. The joy and freedom and peace I saw in him.
He stares at it for a long time, and I wait, getting more nervous with each second that passes in silence.
When he finally speaks, his voice is a bit hoarse. “How did you do this?”
I know he’s not talking about the technical aspects. Not asking about my watercolors or my technique or how long it took.
I shrug, my own voice coming out quiet. “Because I see you.”
He looks up at me, something burning in his eyes. Just like I did after opening his gift, he pulls me into a kiss, so much heat and emotion in it that I feel dizzy.
“I love it,” he murmurs when the kiss breaks. “God, Kat, I love it so much. No one’s ever…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Thank you.”
“Merry Christmas, Asher,” I tell him softly, because it really is the best Christmas ever.
After we clean up the wrapping paper and packaging, putting it all in the recycling bin, Asher glances at his phone. “I have to go take care of something.”
“What?” I ask, immediately curious.
He only smiles mysteriously, shoving his phone back into his pocket before I can see what’s on the screen. “Just some Christmas errands.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer you’re getting right now,” he says, kissing me quickly. “I’ll be back in about an hour. Two at most.”
I want to press, but he hustles out of the house before I can figure out how to pry the secret out of him. After watching his car pull away down the snowy driveway, I decide to bake cookies for the family dinner tonight. I know there will be a ton of food and desserts already, but I’m in a festive mood—and more Christmas cookies never hurt anyone, did they?
I put on some holiday music, finding a playlist on my phone. Then I get to work, pulling out ingredients and mixing bowls. The kitchen warms up quickly as I preheat the oven.
I get lost in it. The familiar rhythm of baking, something I’ve always found soothing. Measuring flour and sugar, creamingbutter, adding eggs one at a time. Humming along to the music, swaying a little as I work.
I’m just putting a new batch in the oven, flour dusting my hands and probably my face, when I look up and realize Asher is back. He’s standing in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame. Just watching me with a look on his face that makes me flush.
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, setting down the rolling pin.
“Just a couple minutes.” He grins, pushing off from the doorframe. “I was enjoying watching my girlfriend bake Christmas cookies while humming off-key to Mariah Carey.”
I throw a dish towel at him. “I’m not off-key.”
