Chapter 32
CHAPTER 32
PENELOPE
T he soft hum of my computer and the flip of paper are the only sounds in my small office as I pore over the latest light parade applications. We’re getting so close to the actual event that I’m hesitant to let anyone else in. I can’t tell them not to come, though. That feels scroogie and I’m not a scrooge kind of person.
I mean, I probably was last year.
And maybe the two years before that.
But I don’t feel so empty this year.
And I know why, and it’s terrifying. I should be depressed. We’re losing the bakery. Unless someone shows up and orders 1000 dozen rolls for Christmas dinner, we’re shutting the doors on the 31st. I should be a puddle of tears.
But I’m not. I’m humming a Christmas song about needing to get going while a “gentleman” tries to talk me into staying and kissing a while longer because that’s what my life feels like now. I’m in that song. Nick is ready to take my hat and tell me my hair looks swell and then ply me with hot chocolate and kiss me until I forget all about my responsibilities and the hard choices I have to make.
He’s ready for all that.
Am I?
I want to be. I remember what kissing him is like—it’s not an experience a woman soon forgets. I can’t forget it after three years. Each time our lips met created an electric current that ran through me, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. His kisses were sometimes soft and tender, other times passionate and urgent, but always filled with an undeniable connection that made my heart race.
He spoke to me through his kisses in a language that was just for us. Sometimes, it’s a gentle peck that said, “I’m here for you,” or a playful nip that hinted at his mischievous side. Other times, it was a deep, lingering kiss that spoke volumes about his desire and affection. His hands always found their way to me—cupping my face, running through my hair, or pulling me close - each touch added another layer to the intimacy of the moment.
It wasn’t just the physical sensation that made kissing Nick so incredible. It was the emotion behind each kiss, the way I could feel his care and passion in every movement. Kissing Nick wasn’t just an act; it was a conversation without words, a promise, and a reminder of the deep connection we shared. It never failed to leave me feeling cherished, desired, and completely, utterly alive.
I adjust my position in my ergonomic chair, and the rich burgundy fabric is smooth beneath my fingertips. I have to focus on my job. That’s it. No more thinking about Nick or kissing Nick or anything that has to do with Nick.
The door bursts open, startling me from my concentration. The sharp scent of pine and apple-cinnamon fills the air as Nick strides in, his face set in a determined expression that makes my heart skip a beat. His wavy light brown hair is slightly tousled in a way that begs me to run my fingers through it, and his green eyes are intense as they lock onto mine.
Before I can say a word, Nick grabs the arms of my chair and swivels me around to face him fully. I can’t breathe, can’t think. He’s all power and gruffness, and I have not been kissed by this side of Nick before, but I want it.
He leans in close, his hands on either side of me, caging me in. The sudden proximity sends a jolt through my system. I can smell his cologne - a warm, spicy scent that reminds me of mulled cider and cozy winter nights. It’s intoxicating, and I find myself fighting the urge to lean in closer. Then I stop fighting and lean in.
“Why did you wish me away?” Nick asks, his voice low and intense as he looks deeply into my eyes.
I blink, taken aback by the abruptness of his question. “Excuse me?” I manage to stammer, my mind struggling to catch up with this sudden turn of events. I was mentally finger-deep in his hair and pulling him closer and I’m trying to climb my way out of those hormones.
Nick takes a deep breath, and I can see him trying to gather his thoughts. “When I told you I was adopted into Santa’s family, you freaked out and wished me away,” he explains, his brow furrowing slightly. “Why did that freak you out?”
My throat constricts, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. The closeness of Nick, the intensity of his gaze, and the weight of his question all combine to overwhelm me.
I need some space to think clearly, so I place my hand on his chest, intending to push him back gently. But the moment my palm makes contact with the soft wool of his sweater, I freeze. I can feel the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath my hand, and it sends a wave of warmth through me. I suddenly feel safe in a way I haven’t in so long that I want to cry. I can trust him. I know that. It’s just so hard to trust myself.
“It wasn’t Santa that freaked me out. I thought...” I pause, struggling to find the right words, to be honest with him in a way I haven’t allowed myself to be in a long time. “I thought you were trying to scare me off so you could leave.”
Nick’s expression shifts from determination to confusion, then to hurt. He drops one hand from the desk. “What did I ever do that made you think I was that guy?”
The pain in his voice makes me wince. I push myself to stand, needing to move to put some physical distance between us. I lean against the wall, the cool surface grounding me slightly. “I knew when the light and the swirls and the magic came out of the coin that you were telling the truth and that I’d done something horribly wrong.” I shudder a breath. “I hated that part of me. The part that was so weak it let my fear be stronger than what I felt for you. Stronger than my belief in you.”
He staggers as if I’ve shoved a knife in his chest.
“Nick,” my voice is thin. I feel like I’m losing him all over again. This time, I grab his arm and hold on.
He looks somewhere over my shoulder. The lack of eye contact feels like a physical ache in my chest.
I take a deep breath, knowing that what I’m about to say isn’t easy, but it’s necessary. “It. Was. Me,” I repeat. “It was my hurt. Noelle’s dad. Gah!” I let out a frustrated sound, angry at myself for letting past hurts affect my present so strongly. “I was so stupid with him. I thought he loved me, and in the end, he used me and then left. I was so afraid that I wasn’t smart enough to pick a good man that I jumped right to the conclusion that you were trying to get rid of me. Just like he did.”
As I speak, I can see Nick’s expression softening. He lifts his hand, gently brushing my cheek with his fingertips. The touch is feather-light, but it sends sparks dancing across my skin. “I was ready to give it all up for you,” he says softly, his green eyes now locked with mine, full of an emotion that makes my breath catch. “Flying reindeer. Wish granting. Never being cold. It’s nothing compared to what I feel when I’m with you.”
His words wrap around me, comforting. I lean into his touch, unable to help myself. “I can still feel that fear, Nick,” I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. “It hasn’t gone away, and I don’t know how to make it. How do I jump into this love with you when my legs are trembling?”
Nick leans closer, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my neck. “Then don’t jump,” he says, his voice low and filled with promise. “Fall.”
And then he’s kissing me, and it’s like the world stops spinning. His lips are soft against mine, gentle but insistent. It’s a kiss full of tenderness and hope, of promises and new beginnings. I feel myself melting into him, my fears momentarily forgotten as warmth spreads through my body. My hands find their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips. The kiss deepens, and the world not only spins but also twirls when I taste the sweetness of possibility on his lips. There’s only Nick, his arms around me.
As we part, I keep my eyes closed for a moment, savoring the feeling. When I open them, Nick is looking at me with such love that it makes my heart swell.
We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other, neither of us quite sure what to say next.
“I’m so sorry I wished you away,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come back.” He rubs circles on my back as if testing to see if I’m solid. I squeeze him to reassure him that I am.
“Are we doing this?” I ask.
“I hope so. Otherwise, I have to take back your Christmas gift,” he jokes.
I pull back and swat his arm. “You did not buy me a gift. ”
He rocks us side to side. “You’re right. I didn’t buy you a gift.”
I snuggle into him.
“I got you ten.”
Laughing, I pull back and kiss him. I kiss him because he makes me laugh, and I kiss him because he’s sweet enough that I believe he bought me ten presents already. Mostly, I kiss him because I can.