Chapter 22 Sloane #2
“I love you, Jax Reid. I’m in love with you. I’m moving here. I bought a business with my sister and best friend, and I’m going to run it and live here and see you every day, and I’m terrified, but I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”
His eyes are bright with unshed tears. “I love you too. So, fucking much. I can’t believe you’re really here.”
“Believe it.” I reach up and touch his face, feeling the stubble under my palm. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good. Because I’m never letting you go.
” And then he kisses me. Not gentle. Not tentative.
This is claiming. This is relief. This is weeks of missing each other and holding back and finally, finally letting go.
I kiss him back with everything I have, my hands fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“Merry Christmas,” I whisper.
“Best Christmas ever,” he says, and then he kisses me again.
We stand there on his driveway in the snow, kissing like we have all the time in the world. Because we do. We have all the time now.
“Come inside,” he says finally. “You must be freezing.”
“I’m warm.”
“That’s the adrenaline. Come on.” He takes my hand and leads me up the porch steps. “I should warn you, the house is a mess. I had this whole plan for how this would go, and now you’re here, and I can’t remember any of it.”
“What was the plan?”
“Something smooth. Romantic. Impressive.” He opens the door. “Instead, I’m babbling like an idiot.”
“I like it when you babble.” I step inside and immediately feel at home.
The farmhouse is exactly what I imagined. Wooden floors. Comfortable furniture. A stone fireplace with a fire burning. Christmas decorations that are clearly handmade. Photos on the mantle.
It’s warm and lived-in and perfect.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
“It’s old and needs work.”
“It’s perfect.”
He looks at me like I’ve hung the moon. “You’re perfect.”
“I’m hungover and probably still smell like tequila.”
“You smell like vanilla. You always smell like vanilla.” He pulls me close again. “I can’t believe you’re here. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up, and this will all be a dream.”
“It’s not a dream.” I lean up and kiss him softly. “I’m here. I’m staying. Well, not staying, staying. I have to return to Denver to pack and close on the business and everything. But I’m coming back. For good.”
“When?”
“After New Year’s. We close on the business on January second.”
“That’s a week away.”
“I know.”
“That’s too long.”
I smile against his lips. “But then I’ll be here. Really here. For good.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He kisses me again, deeper this time, and I feel it all the way to my toes. “I should probably mention,” he says when we finally come up for air, “my family is coming over later for Christmas Eve dinner. My parents, my brothers, my grandmother.”
Panic flares. “Oh God. I’m meeting your parents. Today? Looking like this?”
“You look beautiful.”
“I look hungover.”
“You look beautiful.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “And they’re going to love you. Fair warning, though, my grandmother is going to interrogate you. My brothers are going to embarrass me. And my mom is probably going to cry.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“It is. But you’ll survive. And, Sloane?”
“Yeah?”
“Your sister and Riley are invited, too. I organized via Everett. They’re on their way.”
“You invited them?”
“While you were driving. Figured if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. Meeting each other’s people formally. Starting our lives together. All of it.”
Tears well up in my eyes. “How are you real?”
“I ask myself the same thing about you every day.” He kisses my forehead.
“Come on. Let me give you the tour before everyone gets here. I want to show you everything.” He takes my hand and leads me through the house, pointing out each room.
The kitchen that needs updating. The living room with the fireplace.
The office that could be anything. The bedroom upstairs with windows that look out over the property.
“That could be your office,” he says, pointing to the empty room. “If you wanted. If you ever wanted to work from home or needed space or ... I’m getting ahead of myself.”
“No, you’re not.” I squeeze his hand. “Show me everything. I want to see it all.”
So, he does. He shows me the barn that’s half-renovated. The chicken coop where I finally meet the famous chickens who’ve been staging coups and protests. The fields that are covered in snow now, but will be green in spring.
“This is where I want to plant a garden,” he says, pointing to a spot near the house. “Vegetables for us. Flowers for you. Whatever you want.”
“For us,” I repeat softly.
“Yeah. Us.” He turns to face me. “Sloane, I know this is fast. I know we barely know each other. But I also know that I want you in my life. In my home. Building a future together. If that’s what you want, too.”
“It is.” I don’t hesitate. “That’s exactly what I want.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He kisses me again, and it feels like a promise. Like a beginning.
We’re standing there in the snow, wrapped around each other, when I hear vehicles pulling up the driveway.
“That’ll be my family,” Jax says. “Are you ready for this?”
“No. But let’s do it anyway.”
He grins. “That’s my girl.”
My girl. I like the sound of that.