I hadn’t thought much about her memory of choice until her reaction earlier, having assumed I knew exactly what she’d choose.
Glitz and glam or summer lake house—both incredibly different yet uniquely, perfectly her.
Never once did I expect to walk into the scent of cinnamon and sugar, of pine needles and firewood. Of roasted marshmallows and warm hearth.
Of us.
The Christmas tree sits in the corner, a glittery green box perched on a stool beside it, overflowing with ornaments, waiting to be hung on the softly lit, yet bare tree. The small table for two in the opposite corner has two neatly folded aprons hanging over each chair, a small basket full of sprinkles and icing packets, a fresh batch of Christmas cut cookies sitting in the center with a folded card settled on top reading Cookies for Santa.
My throat threatens to close as my eyes blur, and I don’t remember moving to the open door of the suite’s bedroom, yet there I stand, staring at the bed, the comforter a silky, shiny silver, deep emerald green and red pillows aligned along the headboard, a small stuffed snowman sitting in the center, a tiny present woven tightly in its palms.
My body slumps, falling against the frame as my head meets the wall.
I close my eyes, wetness coating my lashes as I take a deep breath and fall headfirst into that night five years ago.
My pulse pumps wildly as I stare at the woman across the room, dancing softly to the music as she gingerly slides a tray of sugar cookies into the oven, determined not to allow this batch to burn like the last two.
Sneaking my phone from my pocket, I hold it up, snapping a picture the moment she slides the pad of her thumb along her lips, licking the bit of icing stuck to her satiny skin, frowning when I stare back at it, the gleam of a princess cut diamond glittering across my screen, taunting me.
Tainting us.
She glances my way, a teasing scowl pulling at her features. “We said no work tonight. Purely Christmas Eve fun and festivities.”
“I don’t know, you’re working pretty hard on those cookies,” I tease, setting my phone on the counter, I make my way to her.
“Working hard not to char them, yes. I doubt Santa likes burned snacks.”
Chuckling, I bend, swiftly sweeping her feet out from under her, and cradle her in my arms.
She squeals, arms looping around my neck. “Put me down. I’m way too heavy for this!” she protests, yet snuggles in more.
My grip on her tightens in response, my body humming in pleasure of having her this close. “Hush. You fit perfectly in my palms.”
A little glare takes over her face, but it’s more playful than anything, and I want to nip at her jaw in punishment.
Lowering her onto the couch cushion, she purposefully falls back into the velvety green blanket she bought for me, reindeer and little bells all over it. She sighs, pretending to make a snow angel out of the oversized couch throw, before hopping up with a clap.
“Okay, let’s—” She gasps, dashing toward the wall we taped a picture of a fireplace to, all so she could tack some stockings up beside it, hers already sitting full.
I smirk, and she laughs.
“You little sneak, and here I was waiting for you to stop paying attention to me, so I could slip away to be the first one done, and you already had me beat.”
“Get over here. Let’s get this tree decorated.”
Beaming, she hurries over, digging through the random things we got at the local drugstore—the only place we could find open by the time we tracked down a tree.
We take turns putting ornaments on the tree and tear open a box of Oreo-flavored candy canes, Noel thrusting one toward my mouth when it breaks as she pulls it out.
I take a small bite, my face scrunching at the oddly grainy taste.
“Nasty, right?” She giggles, tossing it back into the now empty box while I lean over the couch to plug in the lights we strung around the tree before dinner.
Together, we step back, laughing at our mismatched Christmas tree.
“My mom would have taken all these down and redid the tree if she saw this.”
“My dad wouldn’t even look at it, so you win.”
Grinning, Noel leans her head on my shoulder and it takes all I have not to wrap my arms around her. After a moment, she sighs, looking up at me through thick, dark lashes. “Thank you for tonight, Roman. I needed this.”
My heartbeat thumbs harder as I stare down at her. “Don’t thank me for doing something I wanted to do.”
“You wanted me to call you crying, then drag you all around town to find a last-minute tree and decorations, making quick work of destroying your freakishly clean kitchen on Christmas Eve?”