Page 67 of Not For Keeps
“That’s because I made it,” I tease, nudging him with my foot under the table.
“Marry me,” he says without missing a beat, and the table erupts in laughter.
I glance around the room—at Nathan playfully throwing peas at Anna, at Mari leaning into Seb’s shoulder while he quietly refills her drink, at Maya curled into Mateo’s side—and my chest aches with something deep and certain.
This isn’t pretend anymore.
Later, when bellies are full and wine glasses are half-empty, Seb insists on Christmas karaoke. Andres queues up “Feliz Navidad,” and Mateo pulls Maya to the center of the living room, where they start dancing like no one’s watching. Her laughter is loud and unfiltered, and he’s twirling her in a circle while she squealswith joy.
“Alright, alright,” Seb says, clapping. “Time for something slower. Let the romantics shine.”
“Aw, Seb…my lover boy.” Mari gushes.
He switches the song. It’s “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” slow and soft. Mateo glances at me. Offers a hand. I hesitate for half a second, then I take it. He pulls me in gently, one arm around my waist, the other holding my land like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re glowing,” he whispers.
“It’s the wine.”
“It’s not.”
I look up at him, and his eyes are already on mine, steady and warm. We sway slowly in the middle of the room, the lights from the tree casting gold over his face. His handsome face. The hum of the room fades. And in this moment, everyone else has drifted away. It’s just us.
“You look devastatingly beautiful tonight, chula,” he says.
“You clean up pretty well yourself, coquito king.”
He grins, but his eyes hold something deeper. “You feel this, too, right?”
I nod.
“Say it,” he murmurs.
“I feel it, too.”
“Good.”
As the song ends, I pull back slightly. “I should check on?—”
But then Maya shouts, “Mistletoe! They’re under the mistletoe!”
Every head turns. I glance up, and sure enough, there it is—tied to the archway above us, slightly crooked.
Mateo’s eyes stay on me. “Well?”
“It’s okay, Mateo. We don’t have to,” I say, heart hammering.
“No,” he says, stepping closer. “But I want to.”
The music changes again—now it’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” soft and jazzy in the background.
“Lyse, I want to kiss you so badly I can barely hold myself together,” he says quietly, only for me. “But only if you want it too. Only if you need me as badly as I need you. Say the word.”
My breath catches. “Yes,” I breathe out. “I want it as badly as you do. Please kiss me, Mateo.”
He threads his hands through my hair, fingers gentle, reverent, like he’s memorizing the feel of me. Then he leans in and presses his lips against mine.
It’s slow—achingly slow—tentative at first, like we’re both afraid to take too much, like we’re each holding a breath we’ve been waiting all year to release. His mouth moves against mine with a quiet desperation, and I feel just as desperate for him.
