Chapter 12 #2
They made their way towards the drinks stand as they finished their sandwiches. The air was still damp but no longer biting, filled now with laughter, ‘Jingle Bells’ and the faint hum of festive music crackling from overhead speakers.
Christian ordered two hot apple ciders, both crowned with a towering swirl of whipped cream and cinnamon, and a side of half a donut glistening with sugar.
“Careful,” he said, handing a cup to Merry. “They said it’s lava.”
Merry gripped hers between her gloved hands, inhaling deeply. “Thanks,” she said, looking intensely at her drink. She hadn’t met his eye since he had touched her and a part of him wondered if he’d overstepped the mark.
The worry settled low in his gut. He wasn’t exactly a master of restraint, especially around her. But he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. He was thinking about how to apologise when Merry turned to him, frowning. “I know you’re leaving,” she blurted out.
Christian blinked. “What?”
Merry finally looked up at him. “You’re not staying in New York, are you?”
His breath caught, and for a second, he considered lying. But something in her face told him not to. So, he simply nodded. “After Christmas.”
Her gaze dropped to her cider. She gave it a little swirl, whipped cream sliding down into the cup.
“I heard. I just wasn’t sure if you were going to tell me. Not that it’s any of my business.”
“It is,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. And I wasn’t sure if you’d come here with me this evening if you knew.”
Her mouth twitched, like she was fighting a smile. “I knew and I’m still here.”
“Right.” He shifted closer, the noise of the market somehow fading beneath the weight of this moment.
“I wanted to give you something before I go. Something Christmassy. Because when you told me you’d fallen out of love with the holidays, I couldn’t let that go.
I didn’t want to leave without trying to fix that. ”
“You’re not responsible for fixing my Christmas spirit,” she said. “That’s not your job.”
“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to anyway.”
She didn’t reply right away, just looked at him, and in the silence, Christian felt dangerously close to wanting more than he knew he should.
She blew gently across the surface of her drink, then took a slow, careful sip.
The moment the heat hit her tongue, she gave a quiet, contented sigh that went straight to Christian’s bloodstream.
And then, God help him, the whipped cream caught on her lip.
Just a little. A pale puff clinging to the corner of her mouth, like frosting on a cake.
Christian stopped breathing. Merry didn’t notice at first. She licked the edge of the cup, then used the tip of her tongue to sweep the cream from her lip with devastating effect on Christian’s self-control.
He looked away, then immediately looked back, gripping his own cup harder than was strictly necessary.
“This is so good,” she murmured. “Sweet, and tart, and a little spicy. Honestly, if someone put this in a perfume bottle, I’d wear it.”
Christian tried to answer, but the words tangled somewhere between “You already smell incredible” and “I am in so much trouble .”
Merry took another sip, then smiled around the rim. “Why does everything taste better tonight?”
“Maybe because you’re actually letting yourself enjoy it,” he said, more serious than he had intended.
She glanced up, surprised. Their eyes met and, just like that, the noise of the market faded, the lights blurred and the space between them hummed with something warm and magnetic.
Everything slowed down. Not a single person bumped them, even though the path buzzed with life.
It felt like they were standing in the centre of something only they could feel.
“I like being with you,” Merry said quietly, her voice barely rising above the murmur of the crowd. “Maybe more than I should — and that feels dangerous.”
Christian swallowed hard. “Dangerous how?”
“Like I might forget you’re leaving.” The ache in her voice rooted him to the spot. “And I don’t want to forget.”
Christian’s chest tightened. “I haven’t left yet, Merry.”
The air between them thrummed and, in that moment, all he could think about was how easy it would be to kiss her. To take her hand, hail a cab and pull her back to his hotel room. Her flushed cheeks, the shine of cider still on her lips, it was all driving him to the edge.
Too much , he thought. Too soon.
“Come on.” He nudged her gently. “There’s something else I want to show you.”
Merry blinked, like she’d forgotten where they were. “What is it?”
He offered his arm, managing a crooked smile. “Bryant Park’s Christmas tree. Some people say it’s better than Rockefeller’s.”
She looked almost relieved by the shift. “Better how?”
“Less flashy, more heart.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Kind of like you.”
Merry shook her head, smiling as she looped her arm through his. “You’re such a flirt.”
He leaned in as they began walking. “You have no idea.”
He could have sworn he heard her huff out a little breath, but he forced himself to ignore it as they wandered along the paths, past booths of handmade ornaments and tiny carved animals until they reached the tree.
It stood tall at the centre end of the park, a glowing tower of warm white lights, snowflakes, stars and deep red ribbons that curled and looped like sugar candy.
“Oh,” Merry said softly. “Wow.”
Christian glanced at her, but she was mesmerised by the tree, watching the lights twinkle like stars strung from the branches.
“I used to think Christmas trees were magic,” Merry murmured. “Like, they weren’t just decorations but that they meant something homely and safe.”
“And now?”
“Now I think I just forgot how to look at them,” she whispered.
He gently bumped her with his shoulder. “I think you’re remembering.”
She looked up at him, her expression unreadable. “Maybe I am.”
For a moment neither of them moved. Christian had the overwhelming urge to lean down and kiss Merry, to pull her closer and freezeframe the time before it slipped away.
“Dessert?” Christian asked, instead, after a beat.
“I can’t eat anything else,” Merry declared, one hand pressed dramatically to her stomach. “If I so much as smell another pastry, I might combust.”
Christian laughed. “Agreed. But we still need dessert.”
She turned to him, eyes wide. “We had some.”
“Nope,” he said. “That was pre-dessert cider and donuts. This is dessert dessert.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re making this up.”
“Not at all. It’s a thing. And look—” He pointed behind them to a stall glowing with giant red-and-white candy canes, shiny and thick, stacked like festive swords. “Perfect.”
Merry let out a soft laugh. “You’re not serious.”
“Deadly,” he said. “A proper finale. Plus, we don’t have to eat them all at once.”
She rolled her eyes but followed him to the counter, letting him pay for a pair of oversized canes. Christian watched her as she slowly unwrapped hers, peeling the plastic back inch by inch and then sliding the end between her lips. Big mistake.
“Spicy,” she said. “Cinnamon. That’s a surprise.”
He opened his mouth to respond but nothing came out.
She licked along the side of it thoughtfully. “I like it.”
Christian’s brain short-circuited. Every drop of blood in his body seemed to redirect southward. He was barely still standing.
He needed to capture this moment for ever. He whipped out his phone and told Merry to smile.
Merry smiled for the camera, tongue still on the candy cane, innocently oblivious to what she was doing to him. “You okay?”
“Fine,” he said, voice higher than normal. “Totally fine.”
He tried to focus on the lights, on the chill in the air, anything that wasn’t the obscene beauty of her mouth wrapped around a piece of candy.
She looked at him sideways, her smile just a little wicked. “Are you blushing?”
He gave her a crooked grin, trying to play it cool even as he fought the urge to shift in place. “Not even slightly.”
“Hmm.” She popped the candy cane back into her mouth. “That’s a shame. I’ll have to try harder.”