Chapter 35 Eli
THIRTY-FIVE
ELI
Christmas Eve morning feels like it’s wrapped in its own kind of magic. The house smells like cinnamon rolls and coffee, and somewhere down the hall, I can hear my mom humming along to carols on the radio. But the real reason my chest feels so full is the man half-asleep beside me.
It’s been a week of this—kisses that taste like cocoa, lazy mornings tangled up in each other, touches that still make my heart race. Every time he smiles, it feels like the whole world softens.
Max stretches, blinking awake, and his voice comes out low and rough. “Why are you smiling like that?”
I prop myself up on one elbow, trying to hide the box behind me. “No reason. Maybe because it’s Christmas Eve and I have the best present for you.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You already said you were my present.”
“Yeah, but this one’s wearable,” I say, pushing the box toward him.
He sits up, the blanket slipping low on his waist, and starts peeling back the wrapping paper. When he lifts the sweater out, his face goes through three stages—confusion, disbelief, and then this slow, incredulous amusement.
“You got me a panda.”
“Not just any panda,” I say, grinning. “A panda holding cookies. It was between that and a Grinch sweater, but I figured this one suited you better.”
He looks at me, fighting a smile. “Because?”
“Because you’re all tough on the outside, but inside…” I reach out and tap the middle of his chest. “…you’re basically a giant soft bear with a hidden sweet tooth.”
He laughs—quiet, genuine—and shakes his head. “You’re never letting that ‘Grinch heart grew three sizes’ thing go, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
Max holds the sweater up, studying it like it might growl at him. “You realize I have to wear this in front of your entire family tonight?”
“That’s the whole point. And you are going to be so cute.”
He sighs dramatically, but there’s no real resistance. “You owe me.”
“I think I’ve already paid in full,” I say, leaning in to kiss him once, soft and lingering.
He hums against my mouth, sweater still bunched in his hands. “Fine. But if anyone asks, the panda was your idea.”
“Obviously.”
By the time evening rolls around, the house feels alive. Every light’s on, every surface’s covered in food, and the air smells like cinnamon, brown sugar, and butter. The kind of cozy chaos only a southern family can pull off.
Mom’s in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, laughing with Dad over the gravy while my sister steals frosting straight from the bowl. They already know Max—really know him—and the way they look at him now, teasing and fond, settles something deep in my chest.
It’s the rest of them I’m nervous about.
Max stands beside me in the living room, looking unfairly good in that ridiculous panda sweater.
The green and red make his eyes stand out, and he’s already got flour on one sleeve from helping my sister decorate cookies earlier.
He catches my stare and quirks an eyebrow.
“You sure this is festive and not over the top?”
“It’s both,” I tell him, grinning. “But they’re gonna love you.”
We step into the heart of the noise in the backyard—uncles by the fire pit trading fishing stories, aunts placing casseroles on the long table, cousins chasing the dog around the tree. The whole picture is pure nostalgia for me.
I clear my throat and raise my voice just enough. “Hey, everyone—this is Max. My boyfriend.”
A dozen faces turn toward us. There’s a beat where I feel my stomach twist—then Aunt Judy smiles first, warm and bright. “Oh, honey, this is Max? Well, come on over here so we can actually see you!”
“Welcome, sweetheart,” another aunt says, already waving him closer. “Bless your heart, that sweater’s adorable.”
Someone hands him a mug of cider. My dad calls out from the kitchen window, “Save him some cornbread, y’all!”
And then Grandma Nellie rises from her recliner—tiny, wiry, and unstoppable. She looks Max up and down, then opens her arms. “Don’t just stand there, sugar. Come give your new grandma a hug.”
Max blinks, startled but smiling, and steps forward. She hugs him like she’s known him his whole life, patting his back before leaning away to inspect him again. “Mercy, you’re tall. And handsome. And wearing a panda. You’re a brave man, bless you.”
He laughs, a real, easy sound. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” She swats his arm lightly. “Don’t go calling me that. Makes me feel like I should start carrying peppermints in my purse again.”
Everyone chuckles, and just like that, Max fits right in.
The night spins out in a haze of carols, almost too-sweet fudge, and the steady thrum of family.
Max helps Mom refill cider glasses, listens to Dad’s stories, lets Grandma make him a plate he absolutely doesn’t need.
When I catch his eye from across the backyard, he gives me this look—soft, a little overwhelmed, completely happy.
And I realize there’s no better gift than this: the man I love, standing in the middle of my family, loved right back.
Later, when the fire’s burned low and the crowd’s thinned out, Grandma passes by and leans close enough for only me to hear. “You did good, baby,” she whispers, smiling at Max. “He’s got good eyes.”
I glance over at him, laughing with my sister, and smile. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “He really does.”
Grandma pats my arm one last time before turning toward the back of the house and the kitchen, muttering something about packing up leftovers before anyone can “mess them up.”
I’m still smiling when I feel a familiar hand slide along my back. Max leans in, presses a kiss to the side of my head—quick but grounding. “You enjoying the night?” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say, voice a little rough. “It’s been the best Christmas Eve ever.”
He hums, a quiet sound I can feel more than hear, and then straightens, glancing toward the kitchen window where Grandma is already organizing an army of foil-covered dishes. “Think she’ll let me help her get all that to the car?”
I bite back a laugh. “You can try, but fair warning—she’s protective of her leftovers. You might lose a finger.”
He grins, eyes still soft from the kiss. “Worth the risk.”
I watch as he crosses the backyard and into the house, sleeves pushed up, panda sweater slightly crooked, and somehow manages to charm Grandma Nellie in under thirty seconds.
She protests halfheartedly, but the next thing I know, he’s carrying a casserole dish in one hand and balancing a pie tin in the other while she walks beside him, talking his ear off about her church friends and the best way to keep rolls warm in the car.
I follow them down the hallway, just listening.
They make it to the front door, and she pats his arm approvingly. “You’re a good one, Max. Don’t let my grandson forget that.”
He chuckles and balances the pie on top of the casserole dish before reaching for the door and holding it open for her. “I won’t, ma’am—uh, Grandma Nellie.”
Her laugh carries through the hall. “Better. Now get that pie to my car before I change my mind.”
I lean against the doorframe, watching the two of them disappear into the night—her gray curls catching the glow of the porch light, his sweater bright and ridiculous and perfect.
When he comes back inside, I shake my head. “You just officially became Grandma Nellie’s favorite.”
He smirks, stepping close enough for me to feel the warmth still clinging to him from outside. “Guess I’m good at making impressions.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, sliding a hand into his. “You really are.”
He squeezes my fingers, eyes flicking toward the twinkling lights strung across the living room. “Come on. Let’s help your mom with whatever’s left before she recruits me for dish duty again.”
I follow, smiling, thinking that if every Christmas Eve feels like this—like laughter, like family, like love that fits right where it belongs—I’ll never need anything else.
I wake to the sound of quiet breathing and the faint hum of Christmas music drifting up from downstairs. Morning light cuts across the room, catching on the tinsel we forgot to take off our sweaters last night.
Max is still half-asleep beside me, his arm heavy across my middle, face buried against my shoulder. His hair’s sticking up at odd angles, and there’s a faint crease on his cheek from the pillowcase. It’s ridiculously endearing.
I shift just enough to see his face, and he groans like I’ve dragged him out of the best dream he’s ever had.
“Morning,” I whisper.
He makes a low sound in response, voice gravelly. “That can’t be right. It’s too early for ‘morning.’”
“It’s Christmas, Calder.”
One eye cracks open. “You’re one of those people, huh?”
“You already knew that,” I laugh, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Festive and proud.”
He exhales a quiet laugh and pulls me closer until I’m tucked under his chin. “You realize I’m not moving until someone brings coffee to this room.”
“You say that,” I murmur, “but the smell of cinnamon rolls is gonna get you in about five minutes.”
His stomach growls on cue, and I laugh outright.
“Told you.”
He tightens his arm around me, his voice softer now. “Fine. But if I have to get up, you’re coming with me.”
“Deal,” I say. “But you have to wear the matching pajamas I bought us.”
That earns a groan. “Eli.”
“What? It’s tradition now.”
“We’ve never actually worn matching pajamas.”
“Traditions have to start somewhere.”
He tilts his head enough to look at me, eyes still half-lidded but full of affection. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re bossy.”
“I know.”
We lie there for another minute, just breathing, the faint smell of coffee drifting closer. Then he finally sighs, resigned, and tosses the blanket off with a muttered, “Fine. Let’s go be festive.”
I sit up, watching him reach for the P.J.s I gave him last night. The sight of him holding the festive plaid shirt up by the sleeves makes me snort.
He glances over his shoulder. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Absolutely.”
He pulls it on anyway, shaking his head. “For you, Starling. Only for you.”
I smile, heart full but steady. “Merry Christmas, Calder.”
He leans down and kisses me once, slow and soft. “Merry Christmas, Eli.”