Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
Kat
I wake up on Christmas morning wrapped in Asher’s arms, sunlight streaming through the curtains of my bedroom in the main cabin. The light is that special kind of bright that only happens when there’s fresh snow on the ground, reflecting everything back twice as strong.
He’s already awake, watching me with those blue-gray eyes that still make my stomach swoop as if I’m on a roller coaster.
“I love you,” he says immediately. His voice is still rough with sleep, deeper than usual. But the way he says it makes my chest squeeze in the best way.
He’s been saying it constantly since we got back together a few days ago. For real this time, not fake. Almost like he can’t believe he gets to say it to me, like he’s making up for all the time we wasted being scared.
“I love you too,” I whisper back. Then I stretch up to kiss him softly, my lips finding his. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, bright eyes.”
I grin at the nickname, pulling back to look at him. “You know, when you first called me that, I was sure it was something you called all the girls you dated. You came up with it so quickly, like you didn’t even have to think about it.”
He huffs a laugh, his arms tightening around me. “I’ve never called anyone else that. It’s just for you.”
“Really?”
He cups my face, his thumb stroking my cheek. “Really. That was one of the first things I noticed about you. One of the first things I loved. The way your eyes light up from inside when you talk about something you’re passionate about.”
He kisses me again, and we don’t rush any of it, slow and lazy and perfect. Neither of us in any hurry to leave the bed or each other. His hands roam over my body, sliding under my t-shirt to touch bare skin. My fingers thread through his hair, still messy from sleep.
When we finally come up for air, both of us breathing a bit harder, he rests his forehead against mine. “We should probably get up. It’s Christmas.”
“Five more minutes,” I mumble, burrowing closer to him.
He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “You said that ten minutes ago.”
“And I was right then too.”
Eventually though, he kisses my forehead and says, “Coffee?”
I sigh dramatically but agree. “Fine. But only because you make it better than I do.”
“That’s not true. You just like having someone make it for you.”
“Also true,” I admit with a grin.
We pad into the kitchen together in our sleep clothes.
I’m in a baggy shirt that I borrowed from him, and he’s in gray sweats that hang low on his hips in a way that’s seriously distracting.
We move around each other easily as we get coffee started, and when he hands me my mug with coffee and creamer in it a few minutes later, I can’t help grinning as I take my first sip.
This simple thing, this morning routine, will truly be my life going forward.
No more end date looming, no more bracing for when the arrangement is over.
We take our coffee to the living room, sitting down in front of the Christmas tree. The one we decorated together a couple of weeks ago, with its slight lean that we decided gave it character. The ornament he bought at that little shop in town is hanging near the top, catching the light.
There are only two presents underneath the tree. One wrapped in silver paper with a blue bow that I recognize as my wrapping job. The other in more professional-looking paper, neat corners and a perfectly tied ribbon.
“You first,” Asher insists, pushing the professionally wrapped box toward me.
I set down my coffee and pick up the box. It’s heavier than I expected. I tear the paper off, not even trying to be neat about it. Just ripping through it like a kid on Christmas morning.
When I see what’s inside, I gasp.
It’s a hockey jersey. The fabric is thick and high quality, official team material. In the Denver Aces colors that I’ve learned over the past few weeks. Blue, black, and white.
But when I lift it out of the box and turn it over, my heart actually stops for a second.
“brIGHT EYES” is printed across the back in bold white letters. With the number 27 underneath. My lucky number.
I stare at it, my throat tight.
“You had this custom made,” I breathe. “You had them put my nickname on it.”
“I wanted you to have something that shows you belong on my team,” he says, watching my face carefully. “In my world.”
I hold it up, reading the name across the back again. It’s so personal. So much more than just buying me team merchandise. It’s a statement. A claim. A promise that I’m part of this, part of his life, in a real way.
“And the number.” I run my fingers over the embroidered lettering. “You remembered.”
“I remember everything you tell me,” he says simply.
Blinking furiously, I drop the jersey and throw my arms around his neck, kissing him hard. “I love it so much. Thank you.”
He kisses me back, his hands coming up to cradle my face. “You’re welcome, bright eyes.”
When we break apart, I wipe at my eyes, trying to get my emotions under control. “Okay, your turn.”
I hand him the package I wrapped, suddenly nervous, chewing my lower lip as I watch him take it. What if he doesn’t like it? What if I read too much into things and made it too personal?
He tears the paper off carefully, his expression shifting as he reveals what’s hidden beneath. When his present is completely unwrapped, he pauses, staring down at what’s in his hands.
It’s the illustration I’ve been working on. The one of him skating at the outdoor rink. I captured him mid-stride, arms out slightly for balance, his face turned up toward the sky. The expression on his face is pure joy.
I worked on it obsessively, getting every detail right. The way the winter light hit his face, the texture of the ice, the folds in his jacket. But more than that, I tried to capture the feeling of that moment. The joy and freedom and peace I saw in him.
He stares at it for a long time, and I wait, getting more nervous with each second that passes in silence.
When he finally speaks, his voice is a bit hoarse. “How did you do this?”
I know he’s not talking about the technical aspects. Not asking about my watercolors or my technique or how long it took.
I shrug, my own voice coming out quiet. “Because I see you.”
He looks up at me, something burning in his eyes. Just like I did after opening his gift, he pulls me into a kiss, so much heat and emotion in it that I feel dizzy.
“I love it,” he murmurs when the kiss breaks. “God, Kat, I love it so much. No one’s ever…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Thank you.”
“Merry Christmas, Asher,” I tell him softly, because it really is the best Christmas ever.
After we clean up the wrapping paper and packaging, putting it all in the recycling bin, Asher glances at his phone. “I have to go take care of something.”
“What?” I ask, immediately curious.
He only smiles mysteriously, shoving his phone back into his pocket before I can see what’s on the screen. “Just some Christmas errands.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer you’re getting right now,” he says, kissing me quickly. “I’ll be back in about an hour. Two at most.”
I want to press, but he hustles out of the house before I can figure out how to pry the secret out of him.
After watching his car pull away down the snowy driveway, I decide to bake cookies for the family dinner tonight.
I know there will be a ton of food and desserts already, but I’m in a festive mood—and more Christmas cookies never hurt anyone, did they?
I put on some holiday music, finding a playlist on my phone. Then I get to work, pulling out ingredients and mixing bowls. The kitchen warms up quickly as I preheat the oven.
I get lost in it. The familiar rhythm of baking, something I’ve always found soothing. Measuring flour and sugar, creaming butter, adding eggs one at a time. Humming along to the music, swaying a little as I work.
I’m just putting a new batch in the oven, flour dusting my hands and probably my face, when I look up and realize Asher is back. He’s standing in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame. Just watching me with a look on his face that makes me flush.
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, setting down the rolling pin.
“Just a couple minutes.” He grins, pushing off from the doorframe. “I was enjoying watching my girlfriend bake Christmas cookies while humming off-key to Mariah Carey.”
I throw a dish towel at him. “I’m not off-key.”
“You’re a little off-key.” He catches the towel. “But I think it sounds better that way.”
“Well, maybe my boyfriend can come taste one of these cookies instead of critiquing my singing,” I say, gesturing to the cooling rack. “Some are done. Tell me if they’re any good.”
He comes over and picks up one of the cookies, a snowflake shape with white frosting. He takes a big bite, making an appreciative noise.
“Really good.” His expression shifts, his head cocking slightly to one side. “Although there’s something in this kitchen that tastes even better than these cookies.”
I frown, looking around. “What do you mean? I didn’t make anything else yet.”
He puts the half-eaten cookie down on the counter, backing me up against it. His hands come to rest on either side of me, caging me in, his voice dropping low as he murmurs, “You.”
I laugh, but it turns into a gasp as he lifts me effortlessly onto the counter, pushing my legs apart so he can step between them.
“Wait, Asher! The cookies!” I protest weakly. “I’m in the middle of baking.”
“The cookies can wait.” He doesn’t even pause, his hands sliding up my thighs. “This can’t.”
He pulls my shorts and panties off in one quick move, his eyes going dark as he looks at me spread out on the counter for him.
As I gaze down at him kneeling between my legs, it hits me how much has changed.
I used to feel self-conscious about this, about my body, about letting anyone see me like this.
But the way he looks at me now leaves no doubt about how much he loves my body. How much he wants me.
Feeling bold, I reach down and grip his hair, guiding him to exactly where I want him.
He goes happily, burying his face between my legs with a groan that I feel all the way through my body. His tongue works me slowly at first, taking his time until he’s got me gasping for breath, my hips shifting on the countertop.
The timer on the oven is still ticking down in the background. I can hear it counting, marking the seconds. When he reaches for the bowl of cinnamon-sugar frosting sitting nearby on the counter, my breath hitches.
“What are you…” I start to ask, but the words die as he smears some of the frosting along my inner thigh.
Then he licks it off, his tongue hot and wet against my skin. “You’re sweeter than any Christmas cookie,” he murmurs between licks. “So much sweeter.”
The combination of sensations is overwhelming. His mouth on me, the sticky-sweet frosting, the knowledge that anyone could theoretically see us through the windows. The timer keeps ticking down, adding urgency to everything.
He alternates between sucking my clit and licking frosting from my skin, painting it on with his fingers and then cleaning it off with his tongue. The contrast between the cool frosting and his hot mouth making me shiver and gasp.
“Asher,” I breathe, my hands fisting in his hair. “Oh fuck, Asher.”
Just as the timer goes off with its loud, insistent beep, I come apart. Crying out, my whole body shaking. My back arching off the counter.
In the aftermath, as I’m still trembling and trying to catch my breath, he grins up at me. There’s frosting on his chin and satisfaction in his eyes.
“The cookies might be a little overdone,” he says, not looking even slightly sorry. “But it was completely worth it.”
I laugh, still breathless and shaky as I pull him up to kiss him, tasting sugar and cinnamon and myself on his tongue.
He quickly helps me hop down from the counter, and as I tug my shorts and panties back on, he takes the cookies out of the oven.
They are, in fact, a bit too brown on the edges. But they still look edible, thankfully.
“What was your errand about?” I ask as he scoops them off the pan and onto a cooling rack.
He only gives me that sly smile again, the one that tells me he’s definitely up to something.
“You’ll find out tonight.”