Chapter 23
Ford
The metal ladder digs into my shoulder as I trudge through ankle-deep snow around the Wallace’s house. My breath clouds in front of me while I scan the barren trees, mapping where each strand of lights should hang.
Somewhere behind those kitchen windows, Harper’s probably watching—the back of my neck tingles with that familiar warmth whenever she’s near.
Eric curses as he fumbles with cold fingers, and Lance keeps checking his watch. When we finally secure the last strand, the sky has turned deep purple. They stomp toward the house, but I linger, plugging in the cord.
The trees burst to life with golden pinpricks against the darkening sky. A door creaks open, and there’s Harper, her cheeks flushed pink from the heat inside, steam rising from the mug clutched between her mittened hands.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“It looks great! There’s just one branch that’s a little off. Do you mind?”
“Fix away,” I reply.
Harper drags the ladder across the snow, its metal feet leaving twin trails behind her. She scales the rungs with practiced ease, reaching for that one drooping strand Eric left behind—typical Eric. My own sections hang in perfect symmetry, each bulb equidistant from the next.
She stretches upward, denim pulling taut across her curves, and I find myself forgetting to breathe.
The branch snaps back. Her red jacket catches, yanking her sideways.
My muscles react before my mind does—hot cocoa flies through the frigid air as I lunge forward.
Her weight lands against my chest, knocking the wind from me.
Beneath us, the snow glistens, deceptively soft over frozen ground that would have cracked her head like an egg.
“I ripped my jacket,” she pouts, then smiles up at me. “You always seem to be around when I need saving, don’t you?”
“Must be lucky.”
“Lucky you or lucky me?”
I hold her securely and grin. “Both. But mostly me.”
Her eyes lock onto mine, pupils wide in the twilight. My gaze drops to her lips, still parted slightly from her fall. Her fingers tighten against my jacket, and I feel her breath catch when I lean forward just an inch.
I pause there, watching the flicker of Christmas lights dance across her face, waiting for that almost imperceptible nod she always gives. The one that’s been coming more frequently these past few weeks.
“What are we doing?” Harper whispers.
“In life or…?”
She grins. “Right now. Are you going to put me down?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Probably best if you do.”
Reluctantly, I set her down. I can’t keep her in my arms if she doesn’t want to be there.
But then her mittened hand finds mine, tugging me behind the massive pine.
The scent of sap and winter fills my lungs as she backs against the trunk, her eyes reflecting golden pinpricks from the strands above.
Her breath forms tiny clouds between us, each one shorter than the last. When she pulls me closer, my heart hammers against my ribs like it’s trying to reach her.
The rough bark catches at my glove as I brace myself, her lips parting beneath mine. She tastes like cocoa and something sweeter: Possibility.
Her fingers thread through my hair, nails grazing my scalp, sending electricity down my spine. I press closer, feeling her shiver against me, not from cold.
“Pick me up again,” she whispers.
I lift her into my arms, her weight settling against me as her legs lock around my waist. Her eyes level with mine now, no more looking down or up. When she rocks against me, the friction sends sparks through my body that make my knees weak.
My mind flashes to my bedroom, to her sprawled across my sheets, winter clothes abandoned on the floor. But we’re here, now, with nothing but night air and Christmas lights.
Her breath comes in clouds against my ear, little puffs that match the rhythm of her movements. I taste the salt on her neck, drag my lips along her pulse point. She shudders.
My fingers find their way beneath layers—past her jacket, under her sweater—to the warmth beneath. She arches into my touch, her thighs tightening around me like she’s afraid I might let go.
We sway together against the pine tree, its needles scratching my back through my coat. The pressure builds, hot and insistent, threatening to unravel me right here in the Wallaces’ backyard.
Harper’s always been the only one who could make me forget myself completely. Her whispers grow more urgent, her movements less controlled, and something primal takes over my body in response.
Ford,” she breathes, tugging on my hair until my head tilts back, exposing my throat to the cold air.
Her lips crash onto mine again, and my knees nearly buckle. The world narrows to just her weight against me, her fingernails scraping my scalp, the soft sounds escaping her throat.
She rocks against me with purpose now, finding a rhythm that makes her breath hitch. I grip her tighter, steadying us both as she trembles. My name falls from her lips again, this time with an urgency that sends lightning down my spine.
I press my forehead to hers, watching her eyes flutter closed as she moves, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
“Harper, are you out here?” her mom calls from the back door.
Her body goes rigid against mine. My fingers, still warm from her skin, curl into a fist as I withdraw my hand from beneath her sweater. The sound that escapes my throat dies somewhere between my chest and lips.
“Yeah, Mom,” Harper calls over my shoulder, her voice an octave higher than normal.
“Gina needs you when you have a minute. No hurry.”
A strand of her hair sticks to the corner of her mouth. She tucks it behind her ear with trembling fingers, pupils still dilated in the Christmas light glow. Her teeth drag across her bottom lip, leaving it flushed and swollen.
I trace the outline of her jaw with my thumb. “We seem to keep meeting like this, huh?”
I’m not complaining. Are you?”
I shift my weight, pressing against her just enough to make her breath catch. “What do you think?”
“Me neither.”
She gives me a quick peck before wriggling to be let down. I lean against the tree as she hurries inside, watching the sway of her hips beneath her jacket. My fingertips still burn with the memory of her skin. I touch my lips, tasting cocoa and the promise of something unfinished.
She glances back once before disappearing through the doorway, and in that half-second look is a question neither of us has answered yet.
The Christmas lights above me flicker, casting shadows that dance across the snow like all the tomorrows I’m hoping for.