Page 22 of Love in a Christmas Storm
She was telling the truth. Not just the facts. The truth. And she was doing it with heart.
“That’s what you were hoping for,” his mother whispered, stepping to his side.
“Yeah.” Carlos didn’t take his eyes off the stage.
Howard leaned in. “What’s going on?”
Manuela patted his chest like he was being adorably slow. “Looks like our families are growing even closer, dear.”
Carlos barely heard them. Lettie was stepping away from the mic now, like she hadn’t just cracked open her chest and offered him a beating heart wrapped in sparkling wrapping paper. She looked vulnerable. And strong. And so, so beautiful.
He didn’t hesitate. He moved. Across the ballroom, through the applause, around clusters of staff and well-wishers, Carlosmade a beeline for the stage. His legs carried him faster than his thoughts could catch up. He had no idea what he was going to say when he got to her. He just knew he had to get there.
But her parents were standing in front of her.
Carlos slowed his steps. Extended his hand. “Mr. Noel.”
A pause. Then a firm handshake.
Bethany Noel stepped in next and offered him the side of her face. Carlos leaned in and kissed her cheek. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Noel.”
“And you, Carlos.”
Then finally, there was Lettie.
She was standing just beyond them, hands clasped in front of her like she didn’t know what to do with them. Her eyes found his, uncertain but open. Hopeful, maybe. Like she was still waiting for the verdict on whether this was real. Whether he was.
Carlos didn’t speak. He just looked at her. Like she was the first snowfall of winter. A candle lit just for him. A Christmas miracle wrapped in that slightly-too-cynical smirk he’d come to adore.
They both opened their mouths to say something—and then someone in the crowd shouted, “Mistletoe!”
Carlos’s head snapped up. Sure enough. Dangling from the ornate chandelier above them, just barely in frame, was a perfect sprig of mistletoe. Gold-trimmed. Strategically placed. Probably his mother’s doing.
The crowd laughed. A few people clapped. Cameras lifted.
Carlos's gaze dropped—straight to Lettie’s lips. She looked startled. Then amused. Then something else entirely. Tender, maybe?
He opened his mouth to say, “Do you want to go somewhere priva?—”
He didn’t get the chance. Lettie stepped into him, arms wrapping around his waist like ribbon, fingers curling intohis jacket like she was unwrapping and re-wrapping the same precious gift. And then she kissed him.
Carlos didn't hesitate. He kissed her back.
He pulled her to him like he’d been waiting all his life. He kissed her like he knew what she tasted like—honesty and cocoa and a second chance. He kissed her with everything he had, every carol and candle and snowflake and promise he’d ever carried in his chest.
He kissed her like she was Christmas. And the best present he had ever received.
The room around them blurred. The applause faded. The mistletoe sparkled faintly overhead.
But Carlos only had eyes for her. For them. And this time, he wasn’t hoping. He knew. She was his Christmas miracle.
