Chapter 16
Jonny
Driving back toward town, I can’t stop sneaking glances at Shira.
Tonight was unexpectedly perfect. She navigated my family like a pro, chatting with my parents, teasing my siblings, letting my nieces and nephews cling to her.
But it wasn’t just her ease with everyone—it was what that did to me, watching her.
Seeing how she was able to join in while also being completely herself.
..somehow, it made me feel more at ease, too.
Plus, every member of my family—at least, the ones old enough to speak—found a moment to corner me and tell me how much they like her. The problem is she’s leaving soon. For the first time in my life, I’m not looking forward to Christmas.
“What?” she says, catching me staring.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Just that you seem way too far away over there.”
Smiling, she folds up the middle console, then unbuckles and scoots over until she’s right next to me. I wrap an arm around her shoulders as she buckles the middle seat belt.
“Much better,” I murmur. “How are you holding up after all that?”
“It was a lot of fun.” She snuggles against me. “Your family’s great—I bet they’re going to miss you when you leave again.”
“Maybe, yeah.” I shift in my seat, a little uncomfortable—both with the thought of staying and the thought of leaving again. “You know, I’ve been thinking about something.”
“Tell me.”
“It was something you said when we were at the bar last week. About how I have all this start-up energy and no long-term follow-through.”
She sucks in a breath. “Oh. I…sorry, that was kind of a shitty thing for me to say.”
“No, you’re right. That’s how I’ve been for a long time. But lately, I’ve been craving something different. Like, a bigger project that I can really sink my teeth into, where I can leave my mark. Something more permanent. I’m just not exactly sure what that looks like yet.”
“What lights you up inside?” she says. “What gets you excited?”
You.
The thought flares in my mind, and I quickly snuff it out. That’s not at all what she meant. My chest is doing that thing it seems to do around her, that almost-painful tug that makes me want to get closer to her even though she’s right next to me.
“I’ve loved seeing the town come together for this holiday market this year,” I say.
“Do you think you’ll run it again next year?”
“Nah,” I say, shaking my head. “My dad’ll be healed up by then. Besides, the building will probably be torn down in a few months anyway.”
“Really?” she says, surprised. “That’s too bad. In Chicago, a cool industrial place like that would totally be turned into fancy loft apartments or something.”
“Nobody’s going to invest in something like that in a place like Azalea, though. They’d have to have some serious vision.”
“I mean, you could do it.”
I pause. “What do you mean?”
“You could be that investor. If you wanted. Show this town how lucky they are to have you.”
The idea of stepping into that role, shaping the future of a corner of this town…
it’s interesting. But then my old instincts resurface, the part of me that knows this town will never see me any differently than they already do.
As much as I’ve enjoyed spending time with my family, being Fun Uncle Jonny, I still worry that I could start to feel suffocated.
“Not sure how people around here would feel about that,” I say finally. “You’ve been warned off me what, a half-dozen times?”
Her hand settles on my thigh, making my pulse skip. “Maybe I’m tired of caring what other people think.”
“Careful, Trouble,” I murmur as her hand slides up my thigh. “I’m driving.”
“Then keep your eyes on the road,” she says, her voice teasing as she squeezes my thigh. “You know what I’ve been thinking about?”
“Tell me.”
“I wonder if maybe all that troublemaking you did as a teenager was just a way to show everyone you were different.”
I never really thought of it like that before, but it’s true. Once I left for college, all that bad behavior stopped. I started getting good grades. I had zero interest in anything even remotely illegal.
“Maybe,” I say.
She leans her head against my shoulder, exhaling.
“When I first came here, I was hiding pieces of myself because I thought people here wouldn’t understand, or they’d judge.
But you helped me see I didn’t have to hide.
And when I finally opened up, your family, this town…
they embraced me.” She pauses, her hand warm on my thigh.
“I bet you can do the same, Jonny. Show them who you are now. And even if some of them never fully see or understand…if you know who you are, does it really matter what they think?”
Her words loosen the knot of self-doubt I’ve carried for years. Not all the way, but a little. She came here so scared to show her authentic self, and it’s been inspiring to watch her open up. Could I do that, in my own way?
“We’ll see,” I say softly, then clear my throat. “What’s next for you—going back to work for Conor? By the way, I’m not sure whether to send him a fruit basket to thank him for sending you here or punch him in the throat for expecting it of you.”
She laughs, lifting her head off my shoulder. “Well, he owes me a promotion to Senior Project Manager.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
“It’s what I’ve been working toward for a while.”
We pass the textile mill on my left. Ahead, the stoplight changes to red, and I ease the truck to a stop. I glance over at her. “Yeah, but…is it what you want?”
Her eyes lift to mine, big and brown and shining. “One thing I’ve learned in life is that you don’t always get what you want.”
The quiet ache in her voice punches straight through my chest. “Tell me what you want, love, and I’ll make sure you get it.”
And I mean it. In this moment, I would tear the world apart to give her whatever she asked.
Her gaze drops, lashes lowering as her fingers ghost over the fly of my jeans. “Right now…” she whispers, “what I want is you.”
Her touch sends a spark racing down my spine. She strokes the seam of my jeans again, slow and deliberate, and heat rises sharp and sudden.
“I feel the same,” I say, my voice roughening, “but that’s probably obvious.”
“I could do something about that,” she says, her hands moving to my belt buckle.
“Shira…” Her name is a warning and a plea all at once. I’m trying to hold on to my last thin thread of control, but she’s burning through it fast. Thank God there’s no one else at the intersection.
“Keep an eye out for other cars,” she murmurs as her fingers work the buckle loose. And then she’s easing my zipper down, sliding her hand inside my boxers, and wrapping it around me. Her hand is small and warm and so fucking soft, it’s like heaven.
I let out a low groan. “This is…really unsafe.”
“Tell me to stop, then,” she says, teasing.
But I find I have no words, especially as her hand starts to move, slowly sliding up and down, teasing me at the tip.
“Oh, fuck,” I breathe. I’m aching for her, trying to hold myself back from thrusting into her hand. Closing my eyes, I let my head drop against the headrest. The light turns green, but there’s no way in hell I’m moving now.
A flicker of memory: me at sixteen or seventeen, fumbling and selfish, chasing the high, leaving behind a trail of disappointed girls and a hollow feeling in my chest. I thought I’d changed in adulthood, but did I really?
For years, I’ve been in such a rush, never taking the time to build anything real.
Until her.
Yes, I want Shira like I’ve never wanted anyone before.
But it’s more than chemistry, more than desire.
For the first time, it doesn’t feel like I’m rushing into this moment.
It feels like I’m arriving—like together, we’re stepping onto something solid, a foundation built on care, affection, and trust. She’s the one who made me want to try.
The one who made me want to be better than I’ve been.
And now I’m absolutely certain that moving forward will only deepen what’s already there between us.
“We’re not doing this here,” I grit out.
She releases me and looks up. “But we’re doing it somewhere, right?”
I drag a hand over my face, trying to catch my breath. “Yes. Just not in the front seat of my dad’s truck at an intersection in the middle of town.”
The light’s turned red again, giving me time to think.
“My place is way too far away, so pull over,” she says. “Do you still have that mattress back there? Or you can just take me in the back seat,” she teases. “That’s what everyone’s been warning me of, right? Maybe I want to see what all the hype’s about.”
Her words are playful, but they land like a dare. I lean closer, my mouth at her ear, my voice dropping. “That was a long time ago. I’ve got better moves now.”
“You think you can make me forget all those rumors?”
“I think I can make you forget your own name.”
Her eyes flare with heat. “So cocky,” she whispers, but before I can say anything, she adds, “I know. Confident.”
“Damn right.” I reach down and zip up my jeans, still hard, still aching, but focused now.
“Where are we going?” she asks. The light turns green again, and I hit the gas.
“Hold on.”
I crank the wheel in a fast U-turn, tires squealing, then head back toward the textile building.
I unlock the back door, and we rush inside. As soon as I’ve locked it behind me, my hands are on her, lifting her as she wraps her legs around my waist.
“Are we done being patient?” she says. “Because I really, really want you.”
“Fuck patience. I think we’ve earned this.”
We collide, mouths and hands moving fast, hungry. Her head rolls back as I kiss her neck, my hands roaming, one sliding under her sweater, the other inside her pants to cup her ass.
“I want you,” she repeats, more urgently. “Right here, right now.”
I kiss her, hard on the mouth, then say, “I’m not fucking you against the wall, Shira.”
“Please?”
I thrust instinctively, and she moans. “Like that?” I growl.
“Yes.”
But my brain is catching up to my body now. This is better than the truck, but it still isn’t how I want it. Later, we’ll do hard and fast. But this first time, I want to taste every inch of her, trace every curve, see her eyes gazing up at me when I come inside her.
I want this, all of it, to matter.
“Follow me,” I say, setting her down.
I lace our fingers and lead her through the darkened market, our footsteps echoing. As soon as we enter the bookshop, she’s gripping my shirt, her mouth finding mine like she’s starving.
I back her into a bookcase, one hand sliding under her thigh, lifting her leg high against my hip. Her lips part beneath mine, and I cradle her jaw with my other hand, holding her there while I kiss her deeper.
“Was this your plan all along?” she gasps between kisses. “To take me against the romance shelf?”
Hazy, I glance up and see the rows of books, the pink handwritten sign saying FIND YOUR LOVE STORY. “Is that what you want, baby?”
“I could be into it.”
I press her against the bookcase, just enough to rattle it. “Glad we tightened those locky spinny pieces.”
She laughs, breathless. “If you topple any of these shelves, you’re putting them back together.”
Another thrust against her, a hard kiss on the mouth. “Good thing I’m a handyman.”
“Handsy, more like it.”
Laughing, I lift her as she wraps her legs around me. I’m not about to undo all the work she put into this place because I’m too eager and greedy to slow down.
I carry her toward the register and set her on the counter, both of us breathing hard.
Her hair’s a mess, her lips kiss-swollen, that ridiculous handmade sweater all rumpled.
I love seeing my polished, put-together girl unraveling like this.
Makes me desperate to watch her fall apart, to know that I’m the cause.
“Wait here,” I tell her.
She makes a growling sound in her throat, tugging me closer.
“I’ll be right back,” I promise, brushing my lips over hers before pulling away.
I jog back through the silent market, heart hammering, grabbing quilts from a booth, a few candles, and a box of matches from another. When I return to the bookshop, she’s still perched on the counter, legs swinging, teeth worrying her bottom lip.
“So in addition to defiling your town’s Christmas market, you’re also a thief?” she teases, voice husky.
Grinning, I say, “I’ll pay double for everything tomorrow.”
I spread one quilt across the rug, then another on top, folding it back like a bed turned down.
I light the candles and set them around, golden pools of light flickering up the shelves, dancing off the spines of books.
The space feels less like a pop-up shop now, more like a secret, magical library created just for us.
When I glance back at her, she’s watching me with a soft smile, eyes shining. “Who’d have guessed the town troublemaker’s a romantic?”
I walk over to her, step between her knees. “You’re the one who said I should show the real me.”
Her smile widens as her hands come to my shoulders, then slide up into my hair, her fingernails rasping against my scalp.
“I love that,” I sigh.
“Hmm?”
“Your hands in my hair.”
She continues stroking my hair as I kiss the soft spot beneath her jaw, then down her neck, nipping with my teeth and soothing with my lips. I’m lost in her, the feel of her, the taste, my entire body humming with need—and another sensation that’s softer, warmer, deeper. Unfamiliar. Terrifying.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day,” she says as my mouth moves to the other side of her neck. “About how you’d wait and wait to open your last present.”
“Mmm,” I murmur between kisses. “Yeah?”
She pulls back enough to meet my gaze, a nervous glint in her eyes. “Did you ever get disappointed? Like after you’d dragged it out for days, when you finally opened that last special present, it wasn’t what you hoped for?”
I frame her face in my hands, thumbs brushing her lips. “Never. Waiting always made it better. Made me appreciate the gift more. Made me want to take care of it. Cherish it. Keep it forever.”
Her lips part, but before she can say anything to remind me that she’s thinking of this as a “holiday fling” that isn’t going to last, I scoop her off the counter and carry her over to the quilts.
I lower her down, kissing her again. “Now,” I whisper against her mouth, “let’s start unwrapping.”