33. Eve #3
On the television screen, the opening credits of "White Christmas" begin to roll. I've seen this movie dozens of times, but watching it in Nash's apartment, with our tree twinkling in the corner and his arm around my shoulders, feels entirely new.
"I love this movie," I murmur against his shoulder.
"I figured. You seem like the type who has strong opinions about classic Christmas films."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Nash's chest rumbles with quiet laughter. "It means you're the kind of woman who probably has a list of required holiday viewing, and woe to the man who suggests skipping 'It's a Wonderful Life' in favor of an action movie."
He's not wrong, which is slightly embarrassing. "There's nothing wrong with having standards."
"I never said there was. I like that about you—the way you commit fully to things that matter to you."
His fingers trace absent patterns on my shoulder as we watch the movie, and I find myself relaxing completely for what feels like the first time in months.
Maybe years. The combination of wine, warmth, Christmas lights, and Nash's solid presence beside me creates a sense of peace I'd forgotten was possible.
When the famous "Sisters" number begins on screen, I can't help singing along under my breath. Nash's chest shakes with silent laughter, but he doesn't tease me about it. Instead, his arm tightens around me, pulling me closer against his side.
"You're happy," he observes quietly during a lull in the music.
"I am." I tilt my head back to look at him, noting the way the tree lights reflect in his blue eyes. "Are you?"
"Happier than I've been in..." He pauses, considering the question seriously. "Maybe ever. Definitely happier than I ever thought I deserved to be."
The last part makes my chest tight with emotion. "Nash?—"
"I know what I am, Eve," he interrupts gently.
"I know the things I've done, the choices I've made.
For a long time, I convinced myself that happiness wasn't in the cards for guys like me.
That I could have satisfaction, maybe. Success.
But not this." He gestures around the room, encompassing the tree, the movie, the domestic bliss we've created together. "Not peace. Not home."
I shift position so I can face him more fully, my hand finding his cheek. "You deserve all of this. You deserve happiness and peace and someone who loves you exactly as you are."
His eyes search my face with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken. "Do you? Love me exactly as I am?"
The question hangs between us, heavy with significance.
We haven't said those words yet, despite everything we've shared, everything we've been through together.
But sitting here in the glow of our Christmas tree, surrounded by the evidence of a life we're building together, the answer feels inevitable.
"Yes," I whisper, my thumb brushing across his cheekbone.
"I love you, Nash. All of you. The EMT who saves lives and the man who protects the people he cares about by any means necessary.
The boy who was cruel to me because he was scared and the man who's spent years hating himself for choices he made when he was young and stupid. I love every part of you."
For a moment, Nash just stares at me, his expression cycling through surprise, relief, and something that looks almost like disbelief. Then his hands are framing my face, thumbs brushing away tears I didn't realize had started falling.
"I love you too," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "I've loved you since we were kids, Eve. Through everything—your engagement, the years apart, convincing myself I wasn't good enough for you. You've been it for me since before I even understood what that meant."
The kiss that follows is different from all the others we've shared. Soft and sweet and full of promises, it tastes like wine and feels like coming home. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, our breath mingling in the space between us.
"Say it again," I whisper against his lips.
"I love you."
"Again."
"I love you, Eve Turner." His smile is radiant, transforming his entire face.
"I love your Christmas tree standards and your need to make everything perfect.
I love the way you sing along to movies and how you worry about everyone except yourself.
I love that you forgive people for being human, even when they don't deserve it. "
Each declaration makes my heart feel fuller, like it's expanding to accommodate all the happiness threatening to overflow. "I've been dying to hear you say that," I admit. "Not just now, but for years. Even when I was trying to move on, part of me was always waiting to hear those words from you."
"Well, now you have them," Nash murmurs, his hands sliding down to my waist. "And you're going to keep hearing them. Every day, for as long as you'll let me."
Before I can respond, he's lifting me easily, settling me across his lap so I'm straddling his thighs. The new position puts us at eye level, and I can see every fleck of color in his blue eyes, every line of his face that I've memorized and cherished.
"I love you," I tell him again, just because I can. Just because the words feel like freedom on my tongue.
His response is to pull me down for another kiss, this one deeper and more demanding than the last. I can feel his hands bunching in the fabric of my sweater, can feel the growing hardness beneath me that suggests his thoughts are moving in the same direction as mine.
On the television, Bing Crosby continues to croon about dreams of white Christmases, but I'm no longer paying attention to the movie. All of my focus has narrowed to Nash—the taste of his mouth, the feel of his hands on my body, the way he looks at me like I'm something precious and perfect.
This is what I was missing with Ethan, I realize. This overwhelming sense of rightness, of being exactly where I'm supposed to be with exactly the person I'm meant to be with. This feeling that I could stay in this moment forever and consider my life completely fulfilled.
"I love you," Nash whispers against my throat, his voice filled with wonder like he can't quite believe he's allowed to say the words. "God, Eve, I love you so much."
And in the glow of our perfect Christmas tree, surrounded by the evidence of a life we're building together, I finally understand what it means to be completely, utterly, irrevocably home.