Page 30 of Touchdown Under the Mistletoe
“Hmm.” She pretends to think about it. “I’m moderately fond of you.”
“Moderately?”
“Okay, fine. I’m wildly, desperately, inconveniently in love with you. Happy?”
I stop walking right there in the middle of the tunnel and kiss her again. Because I can. Because she’s mine and I’m hers.
“Extremely happy,” I whisper against her lips.
A camera flash goes off nearby, and Riley laughs. “We’re going to be all over social media again.”
“Good. Let them see. Let everyone see how much I love you.”
And I mean it. The photos from last year’s ice rink nearly destroyed me, not because of the media attention, but because I thought I’d lose Riley before I ever really had her. Now? Now I want everyone to know. I want the whole world to see that RileyQuinn, English teacher, book nerd, keeper of my heart, is the best thing that ever happened to me.
We make it to the parking lot, where both our moms are waiting by the car. The drive home takes four hours, but it feels shorter with Riley’s hand in mine and her head resting on my shoulder as she dozes off halfway through. Our mothers alternate driving, and I’m grateful I don’t have to sit behind the wheel after my football game.
My phone buzzes with a text from Beau:ETA? Dad’s driving me crazy with his “helpful” suggestions for assembling Rosie’s dollhouse.
I text back one-handed:Two hours. Hang tight.
His response is immediate:Hurry. I need backup. Also, I bought the good beer. You’re welcome.
I smile and set my phone down, wrapping my arm around Riley as she snuggles closer. Outside the window, the landscape gradually shifts from city to mountains, from highways to winding two-lane roads. The closer we get to Maplewood Springs, the more I feel the tension of the season melting away.
This is what matters. Not the wins or losses, not the endorsement deals or the media coverage. This. Riley sleeping on my shoulder, our families waiting for us, Christmas lights already twinkling on Main Street as we drive through town.
We pull up at my parents’ house just as the sun is setting. The house is lit up like a beacon, with Christmas decorations covering every available surface. The crooked mailbox at the Quinns’ house is still tilted despite Mr. Quinn’s annual attempts to fix it, and it makes me smile. Some things never change. And they shouldn’t.
Riley stirs as my mother puts the car in park. “We here?”
“We’re here.”
She sits up, stretches, and looks at the house. “I can’t believe we get to spend another Christmas together.”
“Best tradition ever,” I say.
Before we can even get out of the car, the front door bursts open and Rosie comes running out, well—toddling quickly—with Maddox and Aspen right behind her.
“Uncle Travis! Aunt Riley!” Rosie squeals.
I scoop her up and swing her around while she giggles. “Hey, Rosie-girl. Ready for Christmas?”
“And for hot cocoa with marshmallows, like Aunt Riley,” she says, melting my heart.
Beau appears outside too and slaps me on the shoulder. “Thank God you’re here. That dollhouse I got for Rosie came with instructions written in what I’m pretty sure are ancient hieroglyphics.”
I set Rosie down, and she immediately grabs Riley’s hand, pulling her toward the house while chattering about cookies and Santa and something about a reindeer she saw at the Christmas market.
Beau and I follow, and he throws an arm around my shoulders. “Good to have you home, man. Season treating you well?”
“Can’t complain. How’s business?”
“Busy, but good.”
“And your love life?”
“Let’s not talk about that this week,” he says with a laugh.
