Page 89 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
We’ve been weaving through the crowd for an hour now, my parents and Jules are somewhere around here, but right now it’s just us, and every time I tug him somewhere new, he follows—quiet, steady, with that little smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth when he thinks I’m not watching. He’s let me stick a Santa hat on his head. He’s holding a hot cocoa I bought him. He’s not even grumbling about it.
“Okay,” I say, leaning against the booth where a lady’s selling homemade candles that smell like sugar cookies and evergreen. “Admit it. You’re enjoying yourself.”
Max’s lips curve, and he sips his cocoa. “You’re impossible to say no to. That’s different.”
“Uh-huh.” I step in close, poking his chest with one finger. “Translation: you’re having fun.”
He chuckles, low and rough, catching my hand before I can poke him again. “Maybe a little.”
“A little,” I echo, raising a brow. “You’re literally holding my hand in public. I think that’s more than a little.”
He glances down at our joined hands, thumb brushing over my knuckles. “You complaining?”
“Not even slightly.”
We wander again, stopping at booths for samples—peppermint bark, roasted nuts, cookies dusted with powdered sugar. I watch him more than I should: the way his shoulders finally relax, the way he lets the holiday cheer get under his skin until he’s smiling for real. Every time his thumb runs over my wrist, warmth blooms low in my chest.
When we stop to watch a street performer juggling large, fake candy canes, I lean against him. “You know,” I say, pretending to study the act, “you’re being a really good boyfriend.”
His arm slides around my waist, pulling me a little closer. “Yeah?”
“Mmhm.” I nudge his side with my elbow, playful. “Didn’t think I’d see the day the Grinch of the athletic department would willingly walk around in public, being affectionate and spreading holiday cheer.”
He dips his head, the brim of his Santa hat brushing my hair, voice low and lazy against my ear. “Anything for my princess.”
The words hit like a pulse straight through me—warm, sure,true.My breath catches before I can stop it.
I tilt my head up, meeting his eyes under the glow of the string lights. “You can’t just say stuff like that out loud,” I whisper, heart racing.
He grins, slow and smug. “Why not?”
“Because I might start believing you mean it.”
His thumb slides along my jaw, rough but careful, and he says it without hesitation—quiet and certain, the way truth sounds when it finally stops hiding.
“I do.”
He says it—I do—like it’s nothing and everything all at once. Like the words had been waiting on his tongue for weeks.
Before I can think, I’m kissing him. Right there in the middle of the market.
He doesn’t hesitate. His hand finds my hip, steady and certain, pulling me close until I can feel his breath against my skin. The world keeps moving around us—people walking, vendors calling out, Christmas music drifting—but it all fades under the thrum in my chest.
When we finally part, I can’t stop looking at him. There’s this open, unguarded light in his eyes that makes something in me loosen. He brushes his thumb under my jaw, still close enough that our shirts brush.
“Guess I’m not supposed to say stuff like that either, huh?” he murmurs.
My throat feels tight, and the only thing I manage is, “No. You’re definitely supposed to.”
He huffs a quiet laugh and threads his fingers through mine. Just like that, we’re walking again, his thumb moving slowly over my knuckles. A couple passes by, but he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t even glance around.
We stop for cocoa. He pays before I can argue, slips the paper cup into my hands, and leans close enough that our shoulders touch while I take a sip. The air smells like cinnamon and pine, and all I can think is that he’s here—really here—and not trying to hide it.
For once, I don’t feel like I have to either.
I tilt my head toward him, voice quiet. “You’re kind of perfect at this, you know.”
He smiles—not cocky, not teasing, just soft. “Good. I meant it, you know. About being a good boyfriend while we’re here.”
