Page 65 of You Wish
Instead, she tipped her chin up. Just barely. Just enough.
His lips brushed hers like a question—gentle, unhurried, as if he was giving her every possible chance to pull away. But Georgia didn’t. She leaned in, closing the distance, and the kiss deepened into something warm and dizzying, snowflakes dissolving against their skin.
It wasn’t fireworks or lightning. It was softer, steadier. The kind of magic that felt like home.
When they finally broke apart, her forehead rested against his, breathless and laughing at the sheer impossibility of it all. For once, she didn’t think about tomorrow, or mistakes, or how far they might fall.
For once, she just let herself be held in the snow.
23
Jake had played golf with presidents, stared down his competition in the heartbeat before the final light flashed, and once skated past a five-car pileup with less than a blink to spare. But walking into Ben’s house, which would be full of sugar-charged kids, while wearing his World Champion smile?
Easy as swiping cookies off Santa’s plate.
Only he didn’t think that Georgia was going to have as easy of a time getting through the evening.
She gazed at the night’s sky, head tilted so far back that lazy snowflakes glistened in the reflection of her eyes. The flakes looked small at first until he realized just how fast the snowbank at the base of the front porch was rising.
Georgia stood beside him, shifting her weight like she was debating whether to bolt or knock on the door.
“You okay?” He kept his voice low, so low it was nearly eaten up by the blanketed quiet. He’d learned a long time ago that when it came to Georgia and her feelings, it was better to ease into the throttle instead of forcing it.
“I’m so fine I could splice hairs,” she said, eyes glued to the Christmas wreath with white flickering lights.
“That’s what people say right before they’re not fine.”
Her gaze flickered at him, half amused, half terrified. “Since when did you become an amateur therapist?”
“Not amateur.” He leaned back on the porch rail and crossed one ankle over the other. “I’ve got a master’s in reading people. Pit crews, other drivers… my grandpa after a Hallmark binge.”
That got a chuckle, but it was as light and fragile as frost on a windowpane.
“This is my job, Jake. I’ve done it hundreds of times before.”
“Darlin’, none of those kids were like Connor. And none of them had spina bifida.”
“Maybe.” That was as close to a yes as he was going to get.
She sent him a sharp glance. The kind of glance that said he’d crossed the line but not in a way she’d actually tell him to back off.
“I can handle it,” she added.
“I know you can.” And she could. The woman could hold her own in any storm. “There isn’t much you can’t handle. But it might be nice to have someone to shoulder this with. I’ve got big shoulders. And you know what they say about big shoulders.”
She snorted.
“If you need an out, I’ll just tell everyone you had to go check on Santa’s sleigh.”
“And you callmesappy?”
“Don’t spread it around,” Jake said, giving her a slow, dangerous smile. “The guys in the pit will start calling me princess.”
A snowflake landed on her cheek, and without thinking, he brushed it away with his thumb. Her breath caught. Jake’s might have too, but no way was he admitting it. She was still spooked about their conversation yesterday; he didn’t want her to close up entirely.
“You ready?” he asked.
She hesitated, then, “No.”
