Page 55 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
He snorts, easing the block free, and I pounce. “See? Already healthier. You laughed. That’s at least three extra years added to your lifespan.”
“Three?” He arches a brow, sliding the block onto the top of the tower. “That’s very precise.”
“I don’t make the rules,” I say.
It earns me another huff of amusement, but then the tower wobbles on his next turn, tipping precariously before settlingagain. He lets out a sharp breath, muttering something under it, and I laugh so hard my shoulders shake.
And then it happens—his laugh follows mine. Not the quiet exhale he usually gives me, but a full one, just like earlier. Deep, rich, breaking loose as though he forgot to hold it back. His eyes crinkle at the corners, his whole face lighting in a way that makes my stomach do a flip.
I stop pretending to care about the tower. My grin lightens as I watch him, committing the sound to memory. “I like this version of you,” I say.
The blocks tumble down between us, scattering across the table, but neither of us moves to pick them up.
His smile fades a little, his jaw tightening as if he’s not sure what to do with what I just handed him. For a second, I think he’s going to shut down completely, retreat behind that wall he always builds.
But he doesn’t.
He shifts in his chair, clears his throat, and looks away, the tips of his ears going pink. “Don’t get used to it,” he mutters, voice gruff but not sharp.
I grin, leaning back, heart knocking against my ribs. “Too late.”
He doesn’t look at me, but he doesn’t pull back either. And that, for Max Calder, feels like the biggest win of all.
By the timenight settles outside, I’ve lost track of the hours. The food’s gone, the games are packed away, and we’re back in my room with only the glow of Christmas lights throwing soft gold across the walls.
It feels as if the whole day has passed in fast-forward—laughing, eating, watching him relax piece by piece until I almost forgot that Grinch-Calder exists under all that broody armor. Almost.
Now it’s quiet. Too quiet. I’m stretched out across my bed, watching him sitting there on the edge like he’s debating the fate of the world. His hoodie’s half unzipped, his hands flexing as if he can’t decide whether to shove them in his pockets or push himself up to leave.
My chest tightens. Because this is it, isn’t it? The part where he decides—stay or go.
I grin, trying to keep the mood light even though my stomach’s a mess of nerves. “You know,” I say, voice casual, “there’s room under the blanket. Not saying you have to, but… I don’t bite.”
He looks at me, green eyes unreadable, and I swear the air between us crackles.
If he goes, I’ll deal. I’ll tuck today away as the best Thanksgiving detour I could’ve asked for. But God, I hope he stays.
He clears his throat, low and rough, and my grin falters before he even speaks.
“I had a good day,” he says, his eyes fixed somewhere near the floor instead of me. “Better than I expected. But… Eli—we can’t be a thing. Whatever this is?—”
The words sting, sharp and heavy, but I knew they were coming. With Max, there are always walls. Always rules.
So I nod, even though my chest is aching. “I know,” I say, keeping my voice soft, steady. “I’m not asking for forever.”
That gets his attention—his gaze snaps to mine, surprise flickering there as if I’ve just shifted the ground under his feet.
“Just…” I shrug, trying to look nonchalant even though my heart’s racing. “Give me these few days. Just us. No labels, nopromises, no strings. We’ll call it a non-thing. And it can end on Sunday if that’s what you want.”
His jaw tightens as he fights himself. I don’t push. I just hold his gaze, letting him see that I mean it—that I’ll take whatever time he’s willing to give me.
Because even if it hurts later, I’d rather have three more days of Max Calder than none at all.
His jaw works, eyes flicking away for a second, attempting to find the right words—or maybe trying to swallow them back down.
When he finally speaks, it’s barely more than a whisper. “Yeah… alright.”
Relief crashes through me so fast I almost sag against the pillows. I keep my grin small, careful, I don’t want to spook him, but inside I’m lit up like one of the strings of lights on my wall.
