Page 97 of Back to December
Maybe I can squeeze a bunch of frosting between the candy cane in question—which isn’t tall enough to offer support—and close the gap.
“You bought them for me the weekend we got engaged.”
I jerk in surprise, squeezing the tube, which is aimed right at my face.
Holden’s laughter rumbles through the room, soon to be joined by the kids’.
“Gingerbread man!” Henry squeals. “Gumdrop buttons.”
“You said we couldn’t put frosting on our faces,” Luna giggles. “You look silly, Mommy.”
“That’s why we check the frosting tube before we squeeze,” I tell her, trying not to laugh. “How bad is it, Holden?”
His face is already red from holding in his laughter. “Hold still.”
“Frozen like a statue.”
“Let it goooooo!” Henry sings, and that’s all it takes for everyone to break.
Luna drops her frosting tube with a flourish. “How am I supposed to work in this?”
I swipe a bit of frosting from my cheek and trail it down Holden’s.
He blinks, startled. “That, ma’am, was a declaration of war.”
“Oh, yeah?” I grab the nearest handful of sprinkles. “Then prepare for battle.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” he murmurs, his voice low. Laughter dances in his eyes, but there’s also something else in his gaze that has heat curling in my belly.
There’s no turning back if I follow through with this, but I don’t think I care. I want to see what’s at the end of this path so desperately it hurts.
“Try me,” I whisper with a smile.
In seconds, we’re all out of our chairs. Luna and Henry squeal as colored sprinkles rain like confetti. Laughter bounces off the walls. Flour turns to snow, the air thick with cinnamon and joy. Gumdrops scatter across the floor like tiny breadcrumbs, shining sugar trails inthe chaos—proof that joy can lead you home, too. For a heartbeat, the air sings with Christmas magic.
Holden ducks left, then right, trying to corner me. I spin away, laughing so hard I can barely breathe.
“Truce!” I gasp.
“Too late.” He catches my wrist mid-swing, the warmth of his fingers curling around my skin.
The room quiets around us. I know we had music on, but all I can hear now is the rhythm of our breaths tangled together.
“You’ve got a little something…” he murmurs, brushing a thumb across my cheek.
“So do you,” I whisper back.
He looks at me the way he always has, with a certain awestruck tenderness, like he’s the luckiest man alive. My breath catches when his eyes drop to my lips, then again when his eyes lift back to mine.
“Thank you for building this life with me,” he says. “For loving me.”
For once, the words come easily. “You’ve always made that part easy, Holden. Unlike getting this frosting out of my hair.”
His fingers tighten around my wrist, tugging me closer to him.
“Stop talking, honey,” he says, his voice low and playful. Then he leans in and kisses me, and somewhere in the background, Luna’s giggles tinkle like sleigh bells.
Holden’s lips are warm and sure, tasting faintly of sugar, and for a second, I forget that my hair probably looks like I could be Smurfette’s cousin, the gumdrops on the floor—everything else that isn’tthis.
