Page 160 of Going Viral for Christmas
I gaze up at the stars. “That’s not fair.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t have anything equally romantic to say back.”
Soren lets out a breath that fans warm across my neck. “You don’t have to. I didn’t say it to get something from you. I said it because it’s true.”
There’s a beat. Maybe two.
“I’m not used to this.”
“Which part?”
“The safety. The stillness. Someone wanting more than a version of me that benefits them somehow.”
Soren doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak right away. But when he does, it lands in the marrow of me.
“The only version I want of you is the messy, tired, snarky, post-convention gremlin version. I want the girl who builds pillow forts and gets lost in her own plot twists. The one who wears glitter socks into battle and then hoards all the cinnamon rolls.”
I close my eyes. On the outside, it might appear as though I’m hiding. Or running from the moment. I’m not. I’mfeeling.
There’s a soft pulse of heat in my chest. The ache of wanting tobelieve him. The terrifying, bone-deep comfort of being held like I matter.
A second passes. Maybe more. He shifts. Blankets rustle. A quiet breath escapes his lips. His hand brushes a piece of hair from my cheek. Why does it feel like the most natural thing in the world?
His mouth finds mine. A tender press of lips that says I understand you. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.
My chest tightens in that sweet, unbearable way that reminds me of falling. And I’mchoosingto fall.
Aren’t I?
Eyes still closed, I tilt toward him, chasing more.
His palm cradles my jaw. And in that tiny, perfect world we’ve built out of couch cushions and whispered confessions, I kiss him back, hoping he feels what I can’t quite say yet.
He does. He’s told me as much.
When we finally pull apart, barely breathing, his forehead rests against mine, and he murmurs so quietly I almost miss it?—
“I dreamt about you… before I ever met you.”
My heart forgets how to beat. This is the beginning of something I haven’t allowed myself to want in years.
I don’t know how long we stay beneath the stars, under the quiet hush of the pillow fort we built like two overgrown kids avoiding adulthood. But eventually, the night fades.
Soren’s hand brushes mine again, but this time he doesn’t pull away.
Neither do I.
The blanket above us shakes a little when I roll onto my side to face him. The shadows don’t hide the way he’s gazing at me with tenderness. I could drown it.
“I’m not sleepy,” I whisper, voice barely audible over the gentle crackle of the fire still glowing in the hearth.
Soren’s hand lifts. His knuckles skim down the line of my jaw. “Me either.”
There’s a moment where we just breathe. My body sings, not from desire alone, but from how deeply Soren sees me right now, and how he wants more than my snark or my stats or the way I fill out adress.
He wantsme.Only me.
