Chapter 5 Mine Again
I couldn’t stop shaking.
Not from cold. From him.
Garner stood in the middle of my living room, snow melting off his boots, eyes locked on me like he was memorizing every inch. The Christmas lights behind him blinked red, green, gold. His sweater stretched across his chest when he breathed. I wanted to climb him again. Right there.
He grinned, slow and filthy. “We still have two things left on that senior-year bucket list, Mags.”
My heart tripped. “Yeah?”
“Cut down our own tree. Wake up together Christmas morning.” He stepped closer. “I say we get a little one tonight. Put it right in your bedroom.”
The image hit me hard—him in my bed, morning light, needles on the floor, us tangled in sheets. Heat pooled low in my belly.
But a tiny voice whispered: People change. Five years. What if we don’t fit anymore?
I shoved it down. Tonight wasn’t for doubt. Tonight was for fixing everything.
“I need to change,” I said. “Can’t walk downtown in pajamas.”
His eyes darkened. “Hurry.”
I ran upstairs. Heart hammering.
In my bedroom I yanked off the silk robe. Then I stopped.
The ring.
Aidan’s ring still sat on my finger, cold and wrong. I twisted it off, the metal catching for a second before it slid free. My hand felt naked. Light.
I opened the small wooden box on my dresser—the one I saved for things I didn’t want to lose—and dropped the ring inside. Closed the lid. Done.
Placeholder no more.
I pulled on a soft cream sweater, a short black skirt, thick tights, boots. A touch of lipstick. Hair down. I looked in the mirror and saw a woman who was finally choosing herself.
And choosing him.
I came down the stairs slow.
Garner waited at the bottom, hands in his pockets. His gaze started at my boots and traveled up—slow—until it reached my face. He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years.
“Jesus, Mags.”
Heat rushed over my skin.
He stepped forward, took my bare left hand, turned it palm up. His thumb brushed the empty space where the ring had been.
“Good,” he said, voice rough. “Because the next ring that goes on this finger is mine.”
My knees actually wobbled.
He tugged me against him. Hard chest against my breasts. One hand low on my back, pressing. “You’re mine, Mags. No one else’s. Not ever again.”
The words slammed into me. Possessive. Perfect.
I nodded, couldn’t speak.
He kissed me—deep, claiming—then pulled back just enough to zip my jacket. His fingers lingered at my throat.
“Truck,” he said. “Now.”
We drove into downtown Appleridge with the heater blasting and windows cracked so the cold air bit our faces. Christmas music low on the radio. His hand rested on my thigh the whole time. Casual. Like it belonged there.
It did.
We parked near the square. The streets glowed—lights strung across every lamppost, storefront windows painted with snowflakes and candy canes. A few families still wandered, kids dragging parents toward the last open shops.
Garner laced his fingers through mine and pulled me down the sidewalk.
We talked. Really talked.
He told me about the auditions that went nowhere. Crashing on friends’ couches. Eating ramen three meals a day. Stealing Wi-Fi from coffee shops. Losing every cent he had on a bad poker game in Vegas.
I listened. My chest hurt for him. But I was proud too. He’d chased the dream. Hard.
“Your turn,” he said, bumping my shoulder.
I told him about moving back from the city to take care of Mom after her surgery. Giving up my apartment. Writing in the cabin at 3 a.m. because the quiet finally let the words out. The first royalty check that made me cry.
He stopped walking. Looked down at me, eyes soft.
“I read them, you know. Every single book.”
My stomach flipped.
“I knew the hero was me,” he said, smirking. “All those dirty scenes? Yeah. Definitely me.”
I laughed, face burning. “Shut up.”
He tugged me under an arch of mistletoe hanging from a lamppost.
“Tradition,” he murmured.
Then he kissed me.