Chapter 63 Caleb
I'm wedged into the corner of Ivy's ancient couch, my stomach full of three different kinds of potatoes because Mom, Sarah, and Sage got competitive about sides.
The cottage is tighter with everyone crammed in, but somehow, it's still perfect.
Dad's hand rests on Mom's knee, thumb tracing absent patterns while she describes her latest library program to Sage.
A year ago, he would've called this whole setup—the crystals, the herbs, the general witchy vibe—a bunch of nonsense.
Now he's nodding along as Jasper explains the historical significance of winter solstice celebrations.
"Did you know, that the Romans would actually—"
"Dad," Ivy interrupts fondly, "maybe save the lecture until after everyone's digested?"
Matt snorts from his spot by the fire, where he's sprawled across an oversized floor cushion, Sarah using his leg as a pillow. "You mean there's a version of Jasper that doesn't include random history facts?"
The ducks waddle past, making their nightly pilgrimage to the radiator. Quackie Chan stops to give Dad's reindeer socks a judgmental once-over.
"Still can't believe you let them have free range of your house," he says, but there's no bite to it. Not like the first time he visited last week when helping with the Christmas tree, when he nearly had an aneurysm over "livestock in the living room."
"They're family," Ivy teases. "Besides, they have better manners than some people I know." She shoots me a pointed look that makes Matt snort.
"Hey, my manners are excellent," I protest. "I haven't stolen food off your plate in at least three days."
"Speaking of cooking," Jasper says, "that turkey was incredible, Dottie. The herbs you used—"
"Oh, just some rosemary and thyme from Ivy's herb garden," Mom waves him off, but her cheeks flush pink. "Nothing special."
"They were seasoned with magic," Eliza declares from her throne by the fire. "Greg, you should try that protection charm I made you."
Dad winces. "I will hang it in my truck later tonight."
"Really branching out there, huh?" I can't help myself. "Next thing you know, you'll be joining full moon circles."
"Watch it, kid." But he's fighting a smile.
I glance around at the aftermath of our gift exchange—ribbons and paper creating a festive disaster zone. Dad's wearing his new "Meat Me in the Backyard" apron, though he claims it's just because he spilled wine earlier. Mom keeps touching the handmade ornament from Eliza like it might disappear.
Ivy's first edition of The Secret Garden sits carefully wrapped in cloth on the coffee table.
Worth every hour I spent tracking it down just to see her face light up.
I haven't taken off the sweater she made me, even though it's possibly the ugliest thing I've ever worn, and I love it more than anything.
"Oh!" Matt sits up suddenly. "Almost forgot. One more round."
He retrieves four wrapped packages from behind the tree, and something about Sarah's smile makes my stomach flip. They're both trying too hard to look casual as Matt hands them out. One each to Mom, Dad, Ivy, and me.
"Together?" Mom asks, fingers already working at the paper's edges.
The room stills as we reveal matching T-shirts, and for a moment, my brain refuses to process what I'm seeing.
My eyes jump from text to text—Drunkle in Training stretched across mine, Cool Aunt Club: Founding Member on Ivy's, Mom's, I've waited my whole life to be called Grandma, and Dad's, Granddad Loading . . .
Mom's shriek could probably be heard in all Hallow's End.
"Holy shit," I breathe, staring at Matt and Sarah. The words feel inadequate against the magnitude of what's happening. "Are you . . .?"
Sarah's smile trembles, happy tears catching the firelight. "Twelve weeks, as of yesterday."
"I'm going to be a grandmother," Mom manages through her own tears, but she's already launching herself at Sarah.
Dad looks shell-shocked. But in a good way. Like someone just handed him everything he never knew he wanted.
I turn to Ivy, and the look on her face knocks the air from my lungs.
She's glowing, and already moving to embrace Sarah, but there's a softness in her eyes when she glances back at me.
A quiet someday. And watching her—the way she fits so perfectly in this chaos, and how naturally she claims her spot in our expanding family—I know with bone-deep certainty that I want to give her this. All of it. When we're ready.
Snow drifts past the streetlights as we climb the stairs to my apartment, both of us quiet but vibrating with something electric.
"Matt's going to be insufferable now," I say, fumbling with my keys. The metal is cold against my suddenly clumsy fingers. "Did you see his face when—"
Ivy's mouth finds mine, cutting off whatever I was about to say.
Her lips taste of mulled wine and cinnamon, sweet and warm against the winter air still clinging to our skin.
When she presses closer, pinning me against my own door, my brain short-circuits completely.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging just enough to make me groan.
"Less talking about your brother," she murmurs against my mouth, "more kissing me."
My hands slide down to grip her waist, anchoring her to me as she deepens the kiss.
Weeks of wanting crash through me—every night spent holding back, trying to earn her trust, prove I could be the man she deserves.
Then she rocks against me, slow and deliberate, and a sound I'll deny later rips from my throat.
The hallway light flickers overhead, casting shifting shadows across her face when we break apart. Her cheeks are flushed pink, lips swollen from kissing, and I've never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
"Inside," she pants, reaching past me to turn the handle. "Now."
"You sure?" I manage, even as she's already pushing me through the doorway. "Because we could—"
"Caleb." Her eyes are dark and hungry, pupils blown wide. "I've spent weeks watching you be perfect. Patient. Sweet." Each word punctuated with a kiss that leaves me dizzy. "Now I want you to show me how much you've been holding back."
She doesn't give me time to think.
The door clicks shut behind us, and her mouth is on mine like she's starved for it.
Our coats land on the floor in a heap, with the soft thud of fabric and the metallic clink of keys hitting hardwood.
The heating unit hums in the corner, but all I can focus on is the sound of her breathing, quick and shallow against my neck.
I walk her backward until her spine hits the wall, and she gasps at the contact. My hands find the soft fabric of her dress, bunching it up, and her skin is so warm beneath my palms I could get drunk on just touching her.
She gasps when I lift her, legs instinctively wrapping around my waist, heels digging into my back.
I press her into the wall and kiss her like I'm making up for every second I didn't. The taste of her is heady and sweet, and when she rocks against me, I can feel how warm she is even through our clothes.
"I've been good," I murmur against her mouth. "So fucking good."
She clutches at me, nodding frantically. "Stop being good."
"Hold on," I growl, hooking an arm beneath her ass as I lift her higher.
She clutches tighter, thighs clamped around my shoulders, breath hitching near my ear.
My free hand yanks the soaked lace down her legs, letting it catch at her ankle like a collar she forgot she needed.
She's already shaking when I fall to my knees, keeping her wrapped tight as I bury my face between her thighs.
She arches with a cry the second I taste her.
My grip locks at her waist, holding her wide open as I devour.
Long, hungry licks through her slick heat.
My lips seal around her clit, and I suck hard until her body jerks and her thighs start to tremble.
She's dripping for me, coating my face, and I lap it up like it's my last meal.
"Caleb . . . I'm gonna . . ."
I increase the pressure, while she falls apart with a choked scream. She whimpers, trying to close her legs, but I press harder, licking her through it until she's crying out all over again. The sound of her pleasure echoes off the walls, mixing with the harsh rasp of my breathing.
When I finally rise, I'm hard and aching, my cock straining painfully against my zipper. I rip the condom from my wallet and get it on fast with shaking fingers. The living room lamp casts her in warm gold light, highlighting the flush that's spread from her cheeks down her throat to her chest.
Her hands grab at my shirt, yanking me in. "Hurry up. I've been waiting for this for so long."
I line myself up and sink into her in one smooth thrust, burying myself to the hilt.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
She's so tight, hot and wet and gripping me like she's never letting go, and my vision goes white at the edges. The sensation is overwhelming. It's better than anything I've ever felt, better than anything I imagined during those nights alone, thinking about her.
"You're gonna ruin me," I choke out, pressing my forehead against hers.
I start to move in long, punishing thrusts that slam her into the wall, her breath catching each time I bottom out. She digs her nails into my shoulders, moaning so loud it echoes, and the only thing in my head is one word: mine.
"You want more?" I growl. "You want it rough, babe? Want me to fuck you like I've been dreaming about for months?"
"Yes," she sobs. "Harder. Please, Caleb."
My hand slips between us, fingers finding her clit, rubbing tight little circles as I thrust harder.
She arches against me, head thrown back, and I watch every second of her unraveling.
The sight of her—lips parted, eyes half-closed, completely lost in pleasure—is almost enough to send me over the edge.
"That's it. Take it. Just like that."