Chapter Nineteen
Nolan
She tastes like peppermint.
Like peppermint and the first bite of a fresh orange, juice sliding over my chin. I work my mouth against hers, too hungry for the taste of her to take my time.
She keeps taking me by surprise. Even when life has been nothing but cruel to her, she keeps her chin up. She smiles through the worst of it and I can’t—I can’t keep myself away anymore.
I suck at her bottom lip, drag my teeth across the corner of her mouth, and kiss her like I’m trying to breathe her in.
I’m out of practice and out of control, my hands trembling as I try not to take too much, too fast. But I’ve been lying to myself every time I see Harriet, thinking this feeling would fade if only I dedicated enough time to it. If only I were strong enough.
But I’m not strong at all, and she tastes like peppermint.
I kiss her again, my nose digging into her cheek, my hand at the small of her back, dragging her closer into me. She makes the smallest of sounds—a short exhale of surprise—and then her hand grips the front of my shirt as she kisses me back. She presses up on her toes, chasing my mouth with hers.
I can’t get close enough. I can’t hold enough.
“Nolan,” she whispers, in between wet, frantic kisses. “Nolan, please.”
Everything below my belt twists, a heavy stone of desire sinking in my gut.
I nudge her cheek with my nose and tip her chin up so I can get a better angle.
Faster. Deeper. Harder. She whimpers and my magic flares hot, brushing along the back of my neck.
Over my arms and somewhere in the middle of my chest.
Fuck.
I don’t go slow. I am not gentle. I’m clumsy and overeager. My hunger is a physical thing, a drumbeat of desire telling me to take, take, take. She’s soft and warm and just as impatient as I am, and I’ve wanted this for too long.
Her other hand finds my cheek, holding me to her, and I groan, wild, my hand dragging roughly down to grasp the curve of her ass through the material of her smart little skirt.
She’s always wearing the most ridiculous, impractical things.
Colorful sweaters and tiny skirts. Boots that make her legs look like they go on for miles and flimsy, semi-sheer blouses that tease more than they conceal.
I press my body into hers, desperate for more, and we go stumbling across the narrow space behind the counter.
Her back hits the wall and something tumbles off, clanging across the floor. But she doesn’t stop and neither do I, our mouths still working frantically against each other like this is the only chance we’ll get.
“More,” I demand against her mouth, my hands tugging at her hips, the curve of her thigh, trying to guide her on the counter so I can have her closer.
She complies without hesitation and then I’m licking into her mouth while I spread her legs wide, slotting my hips between her thighs.
We’re a perfect fit, her soft curves pressed up against all my sharp edges.
I haven’t felt anything half as good in more than a hundred years.
Not in this lifetime or the one before it.
“I need—” she says, all breathy and sweet, and something shatters toward the back of the shop.
My magic is singing through my blood, humming in a way I’ve never felt before.
I sink one hand into her thick, incredible hair and pull.
I know exactly what she needs. I need it, too.
I pant against her neck, tugging again, my fingers twisting through her heavy curls.
How many times have I imagined exactly this?
Her hair spilling over my hands, my face against her throat.
I scrape my teeth along her pulse and she shivers in my arms. I press my tongue to the same spot and feel the flutter of her heartbeat.
“Please,” she whispers. I wrestle enough control of myself to look at her face. She tips her head back, her eyes squeezed shut as she mouths the words. Please, please, please.
I don’t know what she’s begging for, but I’ll give it to her. I’ll give her anything she wants.
“Harriet,” I whisper against her skin, just for the pleasure of feeling her name rattle against my teeth while she wraps herself around me.
She tucks both of her hands beneath the hem of my shirt, her palms firm on either side of my spine.
Her nails drag up and my hips jump forward.
She digs them into my shoulder blades and I almost drop to my knees.
“We should—” She cuts off on a sharp gasp when I nose the collar of her sweater to the side, dragging wet kisses along the line of her shoulder. I grip her thigh and pull it higher against my hip. “We should talk about this. I don’t—I don’t want—”
Awareness shudders over me. I stop and drop my forehead against her collarbone, lifting my hands from her ass to the counter on either side of her hips. I grip it tight, the weathered wood groaning beneath my hands.
“You don’t want?” I ask, winded.
“I don’t want this to be a pity kiss,” she finishes on a gasp, her voice muffled against the fabric of my shirt.
I lean back. “Pity kiss?”
She nods, keeping her face tucked to my chest. Hidden. “Yeah, you know. Because of the whole stupid teenage boy thing.”
I almost laugh. Pity kiss. I don’t give a flying fuck about that boy and what he did or didn’t do—beyond making Harriet cry.
I kissed her because I wanted to. Because I couldn’t keep standing in front of her and not do it.
I want to see her eyes for this conversation, and selfishly, I want to know what my kisses look like burned against her mouth. I sink both of my hands into her hair and angle her face toward mine, dragging my thumb over her red and swollen lips.
They part and her tongue briefly touches my skin. I exhale a sharp sound.
“What about that kiss felt pitying to you?”
A small smile twists her mouth, then her eyes jump to the mistletoe across the ceiling. I follow her gaze to the trembling, glittering leaves. Hundreds of them, covering every tile.
“Wow,” she whispers. “It’s beautiful.”
I make another vague sound. My magic has never done anything like that before. I have no idea how it happened. All I know is I was thinking about kissing Harriet, and … mistletoe.
Harriet presses her face into my hand, still gazing up at the ceiling. “Did you kiss me just because, like, ten million things of mistletoe exploded out of you?” A self-deprecating smile inches across her mouth. “Do Christmas ghosts get penalized for not upholding traditions?”
I move my hand from her jaw to the graceful line of her neck, tracing against the small bruise I worked against her skin, satisfaction burning in my chest. The leaves on the ceiling rustle with another hot flare of magic.
“I kissed you because I wanted to, Harriet,” I say. Her eyes find mine. “And I’ll kiss you again, if you want that. But know there won’t be anything pitying or required about it. I’ve existed for decades. I don’t do things I don’t want to do.”
She nods. A subtle shift of her chin to her chest. “Okay.”
“Okay.” I sift my fingers through her hair again. For weeks, I’ve tried to find reasons to touch it. I want to feel it everywhere. Brushing against my chest. Over my thighs. Tangled across my shoulder while I tuck myself against her in bed.
I clear my throat. “Though I do concede Tommy Hildenbrand is a moron of monumental proportions.”
Harriet snorts, her arms looping around my waist in a loose hug. She presses her cheeks over my heart. “He is. Or he was, at least. Who knows what he’s up to now.”
I rest my head against hers and close my eyes while she traces a gentle circuit across my back with her hands, more of my weight leaning against her the longer she does it.
She scratches at the base of my spine and I press my face into her, nuzzling into her neck.
She laughs and scratches again, harder this time.
“Feels good,” I slur, my mouth against her warm skin.
“Good,” she says.
“No one’s touched me like this in—in a very long time.”
The silence stretches into a yawning, comfortable quiet. Harriet moves her hands against my skin and I relax into the pattern of it, indulging in the rare moment of stillness. I haven’t felt this anchored to a place in decades.
“I think I want to kiss you again.” I press the words against her skin. “Will you let me?”
Her hands stutter in their rhythm, then resume again, light and teasing.
“Yeah.” She releases a deep breath, a decision made in the way her whole body relaxes against mine. She’s dropped all that armor she’s been holding on to and I’ve never felt such simultaneous relief and pressure. I want to be worthy of her trust. I want to earn it.
It’s just us and the mistletoe in her tiny shop, time slipping slowly around us. If I ever got to choose to come back to a memory, I’d want it to be this one.
“Nolan?” she asks, her voice lazy and slow. “Is this a good idea?”
“This?” I ask.
She traces the line of my spine. “This,” she says, her voice hushed. I tighten my grip around her.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. The things I want from Harriet don’t line up with the things that are inevitable. “I can’t—” I swallow around a suddenly dry throat, hating the truth but knowing she deserves it. I can’t lie about this.
“I can’t stay,” I rasp. “I can’t give you a future. Even if I don’t move on, you won’t remember me. Not after Christmas Eve.”
“No,” she breathes. She tips her chin back to look at me, eyes searching mine. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’ll remember you.”
I gently free it with my thumb. “You won’t,” I correct gently.
She shakes her head. “I’m not going to forget about you. I can’t.” Her jaw firms. “I won’t, Nolan.”
“It’s not up to you. It’s part of our magic. Your memories will blur until they’re gone completely.”
“Will you remember me?” she whispers. “Yes,” I confess. “I’ll remember everything.”
Her face crumples. “Nolan.”
“Hush.” I slip my hand around the back of her neck, thumb rubbing up and down. “This is how it’s meant to be.”
“I don’t believe that. I can’t.”
“It is,” I say gently. “This is not something we can change.”
There are forces bigger than the both of us at work. Sand is slipping through our hourglass and it doesn’t matter how many handfuls I grab in an attempt to extend our time. Christmas Eve is my deadline.
Her hands press into fists against my back. “What if—”
“What?” I ask.
A sad smile tugs at her mouth. “I know I can’t keep you, but—” She saws her teeth against her bottom lip, blinking up at me with her wide, coffee-colored eyes.
Her heart on her sleeve and mine in my throat.
“What if I hold on to you for a little while? Just until you have to go. What if we … pretend?”
Something in my chest fractures. “Harriet,” I whisper. “Can I just—can I have you like this? For as long as I can?”
I make a wounded sound.
“If that’s not something you want, that’s all right.
I promise I won’t make things uncomfortable for you.
I’ll help you get to your afterlife, just as I promised, no matter what.
” She sucks in a deep breath, collecting her bravery.
“But if there’s a part of you that wants me the way I want you, then—”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “I do. Of course I do.” I duck my head down quickly and catch her mouth with mine.
I meant for it to be a chaste kiss—quick, reassuring—but I get distracted by the small moan that sticks in the back of her throat.
I lick into her hot mouth and suck at her bottom lip, both of my hands anchored in her hair.
When I pull away, we’re both breathing heavily, her hands clenched tight in the front of my shirt.
“I do want you,” I say, my forehead against hers.
Harriet relaxes. “Then maybe this is what we get to have. Just this. For as long as we can. No expectations, from either of us. We won’t worry about the future. We’ll have our present.”
“Yes,” I agree, the weight on my chest doubling, a buzzing in the back of my head and in the palms of my hands.
“We can have this.” I almost don’t recognize the feeling, but it builds to a dull roar, vibrating everything beneath my feet.
Magic. We’re being pulled away, against my will.
Harriet gasps and I reach for her just as my magic does, spinning us away before I can get a good grip on her.
Her legs curl around my hips, the counter suddenly gone, and I adjust her in my arms until she’s wrapped around me.
My stomach bottoms out as time yanks at us. I wasn’t ready for the pull of it and neither was she, her legs scrabbling for purchase against my body.
“I’ve got you,” I yell over the howling, holding her tighter. Flashes of images and sound blur by, her hair whipping around us.
Harriet clings to me. “Don’t let go!”
“I won’t.”
I might as well be yelling into the void. The roar around us masks everything. I’ve never jumped so soon after another trip before, and I’ve never done it without tugging on my magic myself. It’s violent and unrestrained. Rough. Demanding.
When we finally stumble to a stop, I stagger backward with Harriet in my arms, landing with a rough thud against a cabinet taller than I am.
Nothing around us moves. Nothing around us reacts.
Harriet lifts her face from my neck, blinking blearily at me. “Please tell me you didn’t try to avoid a serious conversation by flinging us backward into my past.”
I lower her legs from around my waist, smoothing the edges of her skirt down while I take stock of our surroundings.
“Why would I want to avoid a conversation I was enjoying?” I nudge her chin with my knuckles and brush a quick kiss to her nose.
Reassuring her, I hope, that I won’t be in the habit of letting her down.
Not if I can help it. “No, this little trip was unintentional.”
“Does that happen?”
“It’s never happened to me before.”
A smile tugs her mouth tight. “Another anomaly.”
The room we’re in smells like warm brown bread and sea salt, dimly lit by the single window on the far side of the room.
Limestone walls and a low, thatched roof.
A candle in the middle of a small, wooden table.
I can hear waves just outside. A low voice that rumbles the first few bars of a Christmas song, then abandons it.
Harriet’s hand reaches for mine. “I know that voice,” she says.
A tall figure ducks into the room, shirt untucked and suspender straps around his waist. It’s like looking into a slightly warped mirror, my hair longer around my ears and collar than I keep it now. Messy and windswept from being out on the water.
The figure moves closer and I come face-to-face with … myself. The winter of 1902, give or take a couple of months. Just before my death.
“Aye,” I say faintly, watching myself settle at the table, urging the candle closer. I pull a book out from under my arm and place it flat on the table, leafing through it until I find the right page. “I know it, too.”