“Let’s find out.”
She looked around, checking for Levi. Damien didn’t seem to be concerned at all. He took her hand, and they went outside. The air was light and cold, sharp. White flakes tumbled down through the air, landing with absolute silence onto the snowpack that already surrounded them. It was dark, except for the moon, which shone valiantly through a hole in the clouds. Now that she was thinking of it all like a metaphor, she really couldn’t unsee it that way. It was just all there. All the time. A fire inside if she needed to get warm. The moon, to guide her way even in the darkness.
And Damien was there. And he was warm and solid standing next to her. They started to walk, and she didn’t think too deeply about where they were walking. She just listened to the crunch of their footsteps in the snow. She just enjoyed being beside him, because she had wanted that. She had wanted that for a long time. And it was Christmas Eve. And if the songs could promise that there was something magical about it, she didn’t know why she couldn’t have magic in the moment. She was desperate for it, in fact. Hungry for it. So when she reached out and let her fingertips touch his, she waited. For him to respond. To see if he felt it, too. To see if he was caught up in it. And then he wrapped his fingers around hers, and walked along the darkened road with her, holding her hand. Like they were something more than two people who had quick sex in a broom closet. Like they were something more than two people who had known each other with a whole other person between them.
She was Levi’s younger sister. He was Levi’s best friend. But Levi wasn’t there now. It was just Jessie and Damien. And what they were to each other. Which seemed to shift and change with each step forward. Which seemed to grow with each deep breath she took in, as if she could feel her lungs just slightly more each and every time. With the air. With promise. With hope.
They were headed toward his cabin. That much was apparent now. It was small and cozy, and he’d left a fire going in the woodstove. It was one room, and she knew that there was just an outhouse out back. And her shoe was sitting on the table right there in the entryway.
“Sit down for a second,” he said.
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
So she did, and he knelt in front of her, beginning to untie the laces on her snow boot, slowly and painstakingly. And she couldn’t help but laugh. “Damien,” she said. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But it seems like the thing to do, Cinderella. In fact, it doesn’t really seem like there’s any other point.”
Then he slipped her thick boot sock off her foot, and she wiggled her toes. And he took the sparkling high heel and slipped it right on her foot.
“It’s a perfect fit,” he said.
“You just needed to be sure?”
“Yeah. I just needed to be sure. And it’s kind of a magical thing. To see you. You, Jessie Granger, wearing that shoe. Because I know you were the woman that I saw walk into that space. But ever since then, you look like the you I’ve always known. And it doesn’t make you less beautiful. Don’t mistake me. It’s just that it was easy to think of you as two different things. But this is you. It’s all you. The girl in the snow boots and the sweatpants, and the girl in the red dress.”
“And you’re just the same. It’s just you don’t have a Zorro mask. And now I’m getting used to the beard.”
“Stand up,” he said, grabbing her hands and pulling her up into a standing position. She was lopsided because of the high heel and the snow boot. She had a beanie on her head, and he grabbed the top of it and lifted it off, letting it fall down to the ground. Then he cupped her chin, tilting her face up. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I’m not saying it just for my benefit. You’re beautiful, and I want you to know it. You’re beautiful, and I want you to know that I mean right now. I want you to know that that night... It wasn’t the first night that I thought so. I had to leave, Jessie, because when you tried to kiss me, you damn near lit my world on fire. You were hotter than that bonfire, and it scared me to death. Because I knew if I didn’t kiss you, then we couldn’t go back. And I knew you were too young, too inexperienced...”
“Well, I wasn’t, though. Because when we... When we actually did...”
“Exactly,” he said. “When we actually did, when all my own doubts were stripped away. When it could be nothing except just seeing where the chemistry went, well, then... I was wrong. You weren’t mismatched for me. You were perfect. And you always were. I just...couldn’t see it when I looked and saw Jessie. And it wasn’t anything to do with you. It was to do with everything...”
“Everything surrounding me,” she finished.
“Yeah. I remember. I remember when your parents died, Jessie. Your mom. And then your dad... And it felt so unfair. I remember just wanting to be there for you. For all of you. I certainly never wanted to be the reason that you cried.”
“Well, you were. Just so you know. After the bonfire. I was so embarrassed I’d...”
“Yeah. But that was a fitting trade. Just a little bit of sadness for all the hurt I could’ve caused you. That’s all.” He took her hand and brought her close, led her out to the center of the cabin. And her with her one high heel and snow boot clocked after him. Then he pulled her into his arms like it was a ball, and swayed back and forth with her. She laughed, and he twirled her, before bringing her back up against him. “No masks,” he said. “Just us.”
And that was when she kissed him. With all the pent-up desire inside her. For the very first time in her life, she looked up into his eyes, knowing it was him, and she closed the distance between them. Claimed his mouth with hers, and the best part was, he kissed her back. Harder. Deeper. Longer than she could’ve imagined. She was lost in it. In him. In tidings of comfort and joy that she hadn’t even believed in before this moment. And she could understand. The glory in being wrapped in the glitter of the season and letting it sweep you away. Because sure, the darkness and snow were still out there. Sure, there was still grief. But there was this. There was this, and they were them, and it was more than she ever dared hope. “I need to get that shoe off,” she said, kicking the high heel away. And then he lifted her up off the ground, wearing one boot and the rest of her snow clothes, and carried her over to the bed in the corner.
“Say my name,” she said, feeling needy and desperate, hungry for the acknowledgment that it mattered to him as much as it did to her who they were. Exactly who they were in this moment.
“Jessie,” he said. “Jessie Granger.”
“Yes,” she whispered, before he kissed her again.
He lifted her foot, put it in his lap, began to unlace her remaining boot, getting it loosened and pulling it slowly from her foot, along with her sock.
He paused for a moment, and dealt with his own shoes. Before drawing her close on the bed and kissing her again. It was a stark difference to that frantic coupling in the broom closet. It was a stark difference to everything that had come before. Because this was Jessie and Damien. Making a decision to do this. Making a decision to be together.