Chapter 23
Simon
Operation Ice Skate went better than I could have hoped, especially given the ridiculously short time frame I had to pull it off.
You’d be surprised how extra cash around the holidays really helps motivate the teenagers running the YMCA.
After a few hours of skating, the five of us come back to Violet’s, put Nash to bed, then open a bottle of wine.
The ornament I gave her is in a place of honor on the tree, front and center, sparkling in the low light.
The one holding the picture of us as teenagers—the one she placed at the bottom back of the tree the day we decorated—now hangs next to it.
Candles line the mantle, flickering among the long line of cards I left for Violet each morning.
While I’d chosen to emulate The Twelve Days of Christmas to help Violet refresh her holiday spirit, I wonder now if maybe it was the secret truth of the second line that called to me.
…my true love gave to me…
Did I know, on some level, what the next couple weeks would bring?
Violet snuggles into my side, her feet curled up on the couch, glass of wine in hand, my arm thrown around her shoulders as we reminisce with Nora and Robbie.
It's cozy. Simple.
Not in a bad way. In the best way.
Last year, I worked right up until Christmas Eve night, then went to a party at Gavin’s brownstone.
I wore a suit, my hair slicked back, a champagne flute perpetually clutched in my hand as a pianist gently played familiar carols.
Women in floor length gowns talked to me about nothing important, pretending to undress me with their eyes when they were really interested in my bank account.
It was elegant, uptight, expensive… and completely boring.
But here? With Violet? There’s no snow. The wine came from a grocery store. The “cozy” fire is flickering on the TV, but the conversation is good. The friendship is real. It’s low rent, unpolished… perfect. It satisfies an ache I didn’t know existed.
“Remember when we wandered onto that private beach when we were what? Sixteen?” Robbie asks, the lights from the tree flickering in his dark hair. “We had no idea where we were, or that we were even trespassing, but when the cops showed up, we ran like idiots.”
“Oh my gosh! Yes!” Violet sits up, looking at me with astonished eyes. “It was midnight or something and chilly, so we had our hoods up. We had to have looked sketchy as hell.”
Nora chuckles, shaking her head. “It’s a wonder we weren’t arrested.”
“Or how about that time you nearly killed us on our skateboards with your car?” Robbie says with a wide grin and Nora sits bolt upright, shaking her head.
“That was not my fault!”
“That’s not how I remember it.” Robbie looks to me, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Right, Si?”
I place a hand to my heart. “I remember two innocent young men holding onto the back of your car while riding skateboards…”
“See! Totally innocent!” Robbie exclaims and I continue.
“And then the piece of trash that was randomly on the roof of your car—”
“You mean the drink I had just opened but forgot because you two came barreling out to inform me I was going to drive down the road with you holding onto the bumper?” Nora shakes her head, spine straight in her righteousness.
Robbie looks at his wife with adoration in his eyes. “Those details aren’t important.”
“They’re super important!” She drops her jaw. “Seeing as that drink came flying off is what caused you to fall in the first place, taking Simon with you.”
Robbie points at Nora like he’s caught her in a lie. “The drink you left on the roof. See? Your fault.”
“Because you hurried me and rushed me into your idea. Definitely your fault.”
The room dissolves into laughter. Violet leans into me, shaking her head. “And there I was, watching the whole thing from the driveway, thinking maybe our boyfriends had just been killed.”
Laughter ensues. Wine flows. The conversation continues.
“Remember when we had that bonfire at the beach after prom?”
“Oh my gosh that was the best. Someone brought beer. Someone else brought a guitar.”
“That was the night we snuck away,” Violet says, craning to meet my eyes. “And we…” She trails off, blushing furiously.
“It was a good night,” I reply, running my hand through her hair.
“The best night,” she agrees.
Robbie clears his throat. “And on that note—” He slaps his knees and stands. “Why don’t Nora and I head upstairs and give you two some alone time.”
“Behave,” Nora teases us as she follows her husband, but her smile says she already knows we won’t.
When the stairs creak and the laughter fades, the house feels smaller—quieter. Only the tree lights move, painting our skin with gold and green.
Violet starts gathering glasses, but I take them from her hands. “I’ve got it.”
“Simon, you don’t—”
“I want to.”
We carry them into the kitchen together. The sink runs, water humming softly under the hush of the house. She’s close enough that her shoulder brushes my arm when she turns to set down a glass, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body even through the cool air.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“For what?”
“For tonight. For… everything.”
When she turns, she’s still holding a dish towel, her hair slipping from its clip, her lips parted like she wants to say more but can’t quite find the words.
The lights from the living room spill across her face, soft and golden.
I take the towel from her hand and set it on the counter. “Violet.”
Her name leaves my mouth like a prayer.
She looks up, breath catching, and that’s all the invitation I need.
My hand finds the small of her back, her fingers curl in the front of my shirt, and for a heartbeat the world goes completely still—just candlelight, music, the sound of our breathing.
I touch her cheek, brushing a strand of hair away. “You have no idea what you do to me,” I murmur.
Her eyes search mine. “I think I might.”
Then she rises onto her toes and kisses me. It’s tender at first, but there’s nothing tentative in it—only the ache of years apart and the wonder of finding each other again.
It’s slow, searching, reverent. She tastes like red wine and peppermint, like something sacred and impossibly sweet.
Her hands slide up to my neck, drawing me closer. The kiss deepens, melting the rest of the world away until there’s nothing left but heat and breath and the quiet rhythm of two hearts finally finding the same beat again.
The garland on the cupboards brushes her shoulder as I lift her onto the counter.
Her knees part instinctively, pulling me in until the space between us disappears.
The rhythm of our hearts finds a slow, matching beat.
Her fingers slide into my hair, tracing the back of my neck as if memorizing me all over again.
The ornaments on the tree in the next room jingle softly when we bump the wall. Somewhere outside, the wind stirs the chimes on her porch. Inside, Christmas light flickers over her skin, over us, wrapping everything in gold.
She laughs softly against my mouth, a warm, husky sound that goes straight through me. “It’s amazing how right this feels.”
“I don’t know why either of us are surprised,” I whisper against the corner of her lips. “We were always good together.”
And I don’t just mean in bed. I mean in everything, every way.
Her reply is a quiet sigh and a deeper kiss, her nails scratching lightly against my back, her heels digging into my hips. “Stay with me again tonight?” she whispers and I nod, help her off the counter, take her hand, and lead her upstairs.