Page 130 of Going Viral for Christmas
Now I’m at my front door, key in hand, heart somewhere between my esophagus and the North Pole, trying to figure out what happens next.
He put the bags on the porch, and now he’s standing close enough to kiss me. Close enough to press me into the door and undo all the restraint I’ve watchedhim choke back for hours.
I want him to too.
I think?
No. Idefinitelydo.
But I also don’t.
If I let him in, it’s no longer a bit, or a fling, or a PR stunt. It’s a shit-just-got-real kind of thing. And real means risk. Real means giving someone the power to hurt you—and trusting, hoping, thatmaybethey won’t.
I’ve been burned. Charred down to the bone by a man who smiled sweetly and left ash in his wake.
I spent years patching the cracks, constructing walls, and pretending my fortress made me strong instead of lonely.
But Soren…
Soren isn’thim.
He’s cocky andBlade-level dramatic. But he’s also the guy who planned an entire night to make me feel safe. And special.
I’ve been too damn focused on punishing him for sins he didn’t commit, holding him responsible for demons that don’t belong to him, that I haven’t fully recognized that the version of him the world sees—the glint and grit and swagger one—is the armor he wears to keep from getting gutted too.
What if letting Soren in means breaking the pattern? What if—terrifying thought—I deserve someone good? And honest? Who adores me? One who takes the time to show me that?
I’m tired of being careful.
Right now, as I look at him, I want to know…
What is it like to let someone in and not come undone entirely?
What I’m about to do could ruin me or save me. Fuck it.
I turn to face him. “You want to come in?”
As I wait for his answer, my pulse is erratic. Air to breathe?Forgotten.
Soren’s gaze flits down to my mouth. It’s quick. Intense.
“Yeah, I do,” he replies, voice sultry. Temptation disguised as politeness. “But I’m not going to.”
Don’t look disappointed. Do not let your shoulders drop. Or your face fall. Appear unaffected.
The words flood out. “I’ve got wine. And fruit. And at least three different varieties of cheese. We could make a charcuterie board. Roll the salami into little roses if we’re feeling fancy.” I sound less like a rational human being and more like the host of a midnight infomercial for the lonely and emotionally insane.
A laugh rumbles out of him. “The most Ava Bell offer of all time.”
“Well, I’m very on brand.”
Soren steps forward. His cologne drives up my nostrils. Without ceremony, build-up, or a dramatic music cue, he kisses my forehead. Thoughtful. Kind. Friendly?
What just happened?
One hand cups my jaw as though I’m made of paper and poetry. His lips brush over my skin with devastating restraint, outlining the shape of the moment.
He pulls back, and my knees are asking my ankles for support. They’re not getting it, though.
