Chapter 40
Forty
We escape to the resort, grateful to find an open suite, and spend the day ice skating, eating cookies, watching Christmas movies, and ordering room service.
It’s an unconventional Christmas, but Anna is unbothered by the change.
She happily accepted our departure from the cabin, more focused on the promise of hot chocolate and playing in the snow than on leaving her dad behind.
She's spent the day playing with James and me, a grin never leaving her face. We haven’t had a chance to talk about everything that happened earlier, but there will be time for that.
Today has been a glimpse of the future we fought for, the one we refused to give up on.
But tonight is for us.
After settling Anna onto the pullout couch, we retreat to our room.
I slip into the bathroom, pulse quickening, savoring the build-up.
I remove my purchase from its tissue, a red lace confection that makes me blush even as I imagine his reaction.
My fingers trace the delicate fabric before I slide it over my skin.
I take my time with every detail—soft waves framing my face, dabs of my favorite essential oil, freshly shaved and moisturized skin.
When I open the bedroom door, I freeze.
Dozens of candles flicker across every surface. Reflected in the windows, their glow turns the ordinary suite ethereal. And there, at the foot of the bed, sits James, his chest bare above black sleep pants.
“Where did you find that?” he asks, leaning forward, voice dropping into a low growl.
I let my fingers drift to the hem of the sheer lace, teasing it up enough to reveal the matching thong beneath.
“Oh, this?” I ask sweetly. “Do you like it?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw as he exhales sharply through his nose.
“I found it downstairs in the boutique when I wandered off earlier,” I smirk, savoring the way his eyes darken. When I purchased it, I’d imagined his boyish blush, maybe a nervous laugh. But there’s nothing boyish or hesitant about him.
He rises from the bed, closing the distance one deliberate step at a time.
“How did you do all this?” I ask, taking in the glowing room.
“The resort was very accommodating when I asked for every candle they could find.” His gaze roams my every curve. “But now that I see you… I didn’t get nearly enough.”
His lips claim mine, tender and gentle, unhurried. There is no rush to cross this final barrier. But when I reach up to cup his face, he pulls away, breathing labored and his gaze drops to his feet.
“What is it?” I whisper, reaching for him, closing the distance.
“I… did the Mason thing happen on the deck before New Year’s Eve that year?” His breath shakes against my palm.
“Yeah, but he didn’t touch me, and he hasn’t touched me since. It's why I walked away from the stairs so abruptly. I didn’t want him to catch us and get angry again.”
“Fuck.” He blows out a sharp breath. “I’m so sorry. I should have realized something had happened. I saw how upset you were at breakfast that morning—this was after we spent the day together, wasn’t it?”
“Don’t. You didn’t do this, and I handled it.” I wrap my hands around his body, pulling myself closer.
"You shouldn't have had to handle that alone. That's not nothing."
"It's over now. He's not here. It's just us. Don’t let it ruin tonight."
"What he threatened... that's not something you move past in a single conversation." He exhales slowly, his thumb brushing along my collarbone.
"James, it happened almost two years ago. I've processed it. Gone to therapy. I'm okay. I'm not brushing past it or ignoring the severity of it." I meet his eyes.
He studies my face for a long moment, then slowly pulls me closer, resting his forehead against mine. “I… fuck, we’ve wasted so much time.”
“Then let’s not waste a minute more.”
His lips crash into mine. A hard, desperate kiss that steals the air from my lungs and makes every moment of waiting worth it.
“I love you,” he breathes against my mouth.
My heart aches for everything we lost, all the moments we were forced to bury. But none of it matters now. I kiss him back, pouring years of longing, regret, and love into every touch.
He pulls back, eyes dark and pleading. “Say it.”
A slow smile curves my lips. He watches it like it holds every answer he’s ever wanted.
“I want to hear you say it,” he repeats, his voice hoarse.
I cup his face, feeling the slight tremble in his jaw. “I love you. Today. Tomorrow. I don’t know what the future holds, but I promise to show up and keep choosing you.”
A tortured sound escapes him as he lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist, and he sits with me straddling his lap, breathing deep. My hands bury themselves in the dark waves at his nape, guiding him closer as his mouth meets mine. A kiss that offers everything and asks for nothing.
With one finger, he slips the first strap off my shoulder.
He presses his lips between my breasts before gently sliding the other strap down my arm.
I lift my hips, easing the slip and thong away.
And I let him see me. Not the woman trying to be perfect, not the mother burying her desires.
Just me. His fingers trace my curves as his eyes study every inch of my body.
“I used to lie in bed dreaming of these freckles,” he whispers, kissing the scattering of brown dots on my collarbone, trailing down my chest. “Fantasizing how far they traveled down.”
His tongue follows their path. I groan when he finds the tender skin of my breast.
“I’ve waited a long time for this.” His mouth claims mine again. “But now I’m yours and I’m never letting you go.”
“We’re ours.”
There’s no urgency, only a slow undoing. The candlelight flickers around us as we strip away years of distance, moment by moment.
When I slide his pants from his hips and stretch my body over his, we both let out shaky breaths. Skin to skin, nothing separating us. The heavy, hard length of him rests between my thighs as I slowly move against him, my warmth seeking his fullness.
“Sydney,” he groans, eyes heavy-lidded. “You keep doing that, I’m going to last maybe ten seconds. Let me love you first.”
“Show me what you’ve got.”
And he does.
His mouth worships every part of me, slow and unrelenting, learning exactly how to make me shatter—with his tongue, his fingers, his unrelenting devotion.
He brings me to the edge again and again until I’m trembling and sated.
Sparks dance beneath my skin. Flaring and fading, firefly-bright.
He crawls up my body, kissing me through the tremors and groaning like the sound of me unraveling is his favorite thing.
I flip us in one swift movement. My tongue takes a slow journey down his body, memorizing him the way he did me. James’s fingers roam across every inch of skin he can reach, my name spilling from his lips between groans when words fail him.
“Darling,” he rasps, “I’m holding on by one tiny thread of control.”
“I’ve always wondered how far I could push you before that restraint finally snapped.”
He groans, his hands tightening on my hips. “This… is my breaking point.”
Slowly, I lower onto him, inch by inch. I feel every place where we become one, the exquisite stretch of my body accommodating him. A gasp spills from my lips.
“I may have overestimated those ten seconds. You feel—” He groans, voice wrecked.
“Save the grand declarations for after. I need you to move.”
But he doesn’t. His hand slips between us, rubbing me with firm, steady pressure.
Each stroke winds me closer to the edge, until pleasure fractures through me in waves I can’t contain.
Then his control finally breaks. With a guttural groan, he thrusts up into me, burying himself deep.
He presses his face in my neck, groaning a breathless, “holy shit,” as he follows me over the edge.
Tangled in sheets that smell of candle wax, sweat, and us—we stare. Breathe. A tear slips free. I trace his dimple with my fingertip as he wipes it away.
“I don’t think a hundred years together would be enough.” I sigh and relax into his arms.
“Hmmm. This Sydney, all sweet and cuddly, is new. Where did your claws go?” He pulls me close, my back to his chest, his hands gliding down my stomach.
“Multiple orgasms will do that.” I laugh, then reach an arm around him, digging my nails into his back. “Want my claws to come out?”
“We may be forty, but I hope you’re not planning on getting much sleep tonight.”
“Hmmm. Anna will probably come looking for us eventually,” I murmur, distracted by the path of his fingers.
“Will it be okay if I’m here? In bed with you?” He nips my ear and presses against me, already half-hard.
“Yes, love. We’ll explain it if she asks.
But she didn’t seem to be troubled today.
” I turn to face him, needing to see his eyes for this moment.
“I know technically we’ve only been together for a few days…
I don’t want to scare you. But I can’t spend any more time apart.
I don’t know what that means with you in Boston and me in D.C. until everything is finalized.”
“Sydney, I don’t give a damn if it’s been three days or three decades. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll come to you. I can work remotely, and we can figure out the details from there. Together.”
I kiss his temple, his dimple, down to his neck.
“I’ve spent my whole life waiting to feel like I was enough for someone to love. I didn’t think I could trust anyone to be there when I turned around.”
“Turn around all you want,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I’ll still be here.”
He closes his mouth over mine, and we don’t talk for a while.
When exhaustion claims us, he slips his T-shirt over my head and pulls on sleep pants. I drift off into a deep, completely satisfied sleep, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear, our arms and limbs tangled together.
Sunlight reflects off the snow-covered tree tops, waking me to the stir of a small body nestled at my front, and solid warmth pressed to my back. Anna joined us as I predicted. James drapes his arm over us. I sigh with contentment, and Anna snuggles deeper into the warmth until realization hits.
She shoots up, eyes wide. “Is Unca J gonna live with us?”
The question is so straightforward in the way only children can be.
“Would that be okay with you if he did?”
“Yes! This is the best!” she squeals, bouncing on the bed, her nightgown twirling with her.
He chuckles, his voice thick with sleep as he presses a kiss to the back of my neck. Anna jumps between us, laughing and demanding attention. James leans over and tickles her until she’s wriggling like a fish out of water. The sound of her giggles is a perfect soundtrack to this new beginning.
She escapes his grasp, bouncing across the bed. Life with a three-year-old leaves no room for mornings spent tangled in sheets. Anna, fully awake and ready to conquer the day, has no patience for her lovestruck mama and Unca J.
James tosses me some leggings from the floor, and I slip them on. “Come on, Bug. Let’s get some breakfast.”
I start the coffee and place a quick order for room service. Through the open bedroom door, I admire James sprawled in bed, one hand scrubbing his face, the other reaching for the spot still warm from my body. He catches my eye and gives me a slow, sleepy smile.
Anna starts jumping on the pullout bed. Laughing and throwing her toys in the air, she twirls in delight.
I watch her joy and smile. I should tell her to stop, but seeing her this free, I don’t want to clip her wings or ask her to be quieter or smaller.
I want her to live big—even if that means jumping on the furniture.
“Who’s making all that racket?” James stands in the doorway of the room, a scowl on his face.
Anna freezes. I study his expression and catch the mirth in his eyes, the mock sternness.
“I heard the tickle monster’s on his way to make sure she yells even louder!” And the grin finally breaks as he runs toward her, tickling her belly. She squeals with delight, thrashing. He looks over at me with a smile a mile wide.
“I heard Mama wants to be tickled, Bug. Let’s get her.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” I step away, but he’s already there, throwing me over his shoulder and adding me to the pile on the bed. They both attack me, and I gasp between fits of laughter. It’s not long before that damn snort escapes.
“I love that sound.” He smiles, and the tickling finally relents. We lie there tangled together, breathing in our new reality.
“What should we do today?” I look between their expectant faces.
Anna tilts her head and says, “Cookies!”
I laugh. A light, carefree sound I barely recognize as my own. Of course, she wants a cookie. Because for her, life is simple. She has what I never did. A childhood wrapped in love and warmth, in comfort and safety, and yes, in cookies. The childhood I’ve dreamed of giving her.
The three of us lie there, hand in hand, bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun. Our family—not perfect or conventional—but ours. The one we found and fought for. The one we’ll claim every day for the rest of our lives.
Through laughter and tears, joy and sorrow, we’ll build something real.
Something beautifully messy.
Just like us.