Twenty-Six
Theo
“ H old up, Santa!” Isla throws up both hands like she’s trying to rein in a runaway sleigh. “I want to return the favor before you go any further.”
“You don’t have—”
“Oh, but I do.” She scrambles off the bed and makes a break for the door. “Hang tight. It’s in Asher’s room!”
“So, it definitely can’t be very big!” I call after her.
She shakes her head and groans, but her shoulders bounce with laughter.
As soon as she’s gone, I drag a hand down my face and glance at the last box.
Smaller than the rest. Lighter, too.
But its meaning?
Fucking tectonic.
Isla skids in a minute later, breathless and flushed, one hand tucked behind her back. Whatever she’s holding, the look on her face says she’s not ready to let it go.
She clears her throat, approaching with cautious steps. “Just know it was extremely last-minute, so it’s not the best representation of my work. Also, I didn’t have any of my tools with me, so it’s a little rough and I—”
There’s a tiny quiver in her voice that slashes through me.
“I could’ve done more— better —I wanted—”
“ Sunshine .” I cut her off, stepping closer. “Didn’t we already establish what happens when you talk shit about yourself?”
Her mouth pops open. “I—”
“You’re brilliant.” Closing the final few inches between us, I frame her face with both hands. “And if it’s from you?” My thumbs sweep across her cheeks. “It’s perfect.”
Her breath catches. Mine tears its way straight out of my chest.
“Now,” I murmur, “be a good girl and show me.”
A small smile breaks through the restraint of her teeth. “Okay. Since you asked so nicely.”
With a sharp exhale, she squeezes her eyes shut and brings her hand forward to reveal a glass ornament.
Its surface glimmers with a soft, hand-painted watercolor scene.
Much like the woman in front of me, it’s delicate but bold as hell. Every brushstroke tells a story I’ve been replaying incessantly these past few days.
Snow-covered trees beneath a silver-streaked sky. A full-on blizzard swallowing the world. Two tiny figures, tangled in a kiss.
Not just any kiss.
The kiss. Our first.
Along the back, her looping silver script spells out three words that bury themselves deep under my ribs.
Isla’s Best Kiss.
And right beneath that?
The date I stopped pretending I didn’t give a damn.
Isla watches me examine the ornament like she’s bracing for a life-altering verdict. “It’s silly. I know, but—”
“I love it.” The declaration rips out of me on instinct. Its rapid speed matches the wild, crashing rhythm of my heart. “So much.”
I set the ornament on my nightstand, double-checking that it won’t roll, then reach for the final gift box.
“Guess it’s only fair I show you mine,” I say, holding it out to her.
She takes it from my hand, fingertips skimming the lid. “I can’t believe there’s more.”
Every muscle in my body tightens in anticipation as she lifts the top.
“Theo! Is this—” Her eyes fly up to mine. “ Really ?!”
A miniature forest glows from within the snow globe–style ornament. Resin trees, tiny storybook animals, and swirling fake snow that brings the piece to life.
And right in the center—locked in the best kiss of my life—are the two of us.
It’s just an object, but it contains a whole damn confession.
Mine .
Isla gasps, nearly dropping the ornament, when she spots the engraving.
Theo’s Best Kiss .
“How—” she begins, but the words collapse under the weight of her laughter.
Unable to help myself, I join in.
What else is a man to do when fate gift-wraps his feelings and presents them in matching glass globes?
“Did you know what I was making?” she asks.
“Not a clue. You?”
“Nope.”
Neither of us moves as we stare at the ornament in her hand.
“Considering our first kiss was an out-of-body experience, it kind of tracks that we both gave it a Best Kiss award.” She purses her lips and turns the globe, watching the glitter drift through the trees.
“The only difference? Yours looks light years better. You could sell it. In a real store. For real money. Good money.”
“My feelings aren’t for mass production. And truthfully? I like yours more.” It’s not a compliment. It’s a fact.
She shoots me a skeptical glare. “Now you’re just lying.”
“I’m not.” My hand slides up to her face. “You publicly declaring I’m your best kiss?” I lean in, close enough to taste the warmth pulsing between us. “It does things to me. Wonderful, hopeful things.”
Her gaze falls to my mouth, but she remains still.
“Next year, we hang our story on your tree,” I whisper against her lips. “Deal?”
She stiffens under my touch, her jaw locking tight.
“You keep talking about next year.” It’s a statement, but the way her fingers grip the globe—like she’s bracing for it to shatter—carries the silent why she doesn’t say aloud.
How can I blame her? I deserve it. After all, I broke her heart once already.
“Because I will keep showing up. Every year. If you’ll have me. ”
She inhales as if preparing to respond, but no words come out. Instead, I'm treated to a soft breath that fans across my skin, warning me to step back.
So, I do.
Releasing her warmth hurts. Not just on the surface. Underneath . It burns where it counts. Still, I let the pain tear through me. Isla deserves space that isn’t warped by my need to fold her into my life. Time that isn’t tainted by how badly I want to make her mine.
Which makes my final gift slightly… problematic .
“Wait.” Isla glances down at the box on my bed. “There’s something else in here.”
Handing the ornament to me, she reaches past the tissue paper to pull out a shirt.
“Another one?” she asks, carefully unfolding the soft, white fabric.
Her expression shifts from curiosity to confusion as she squints at the letters on the front. I know the exact moment the print registers because her eyes widen, and a tremor ripples through her body.
Frowning slightly, she flips the shirt over, probably in search of a punchline. Or a disclaimer. Maybe even a graphic to explain my madness.
She’ll find none.
I only gave her one word.
Bold. Explicit. Possessive.
“ Theo’s ?” she whispers.
“ Theo’s ," I correct. "No question mark.”
A small frown creases her brow. “Just… Theo’s ?”
I nod. “They charged per letter. I was being frugal.”
“We both know you can afford to cover every inch of this fabric in print. ”
“I figured this was enough.”
“Theo’s what ?” she asks, stepping closer.
Everything .
“Present?” Isla prods when I don’t answer. “Is that why the lettering is red and green?”
That wasn’t the intent. I simply picked the two colors that felt most… her .
“Would you like to be my present, Sunshine?”
She blinks. “What would that entail?”
“Wear the shirt and find out.”
“You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.” I pause. “But you’re fully in control.” She needs to know that whatever happens next is her call.
“And…what if…” Isla swallows. “What if I want you to take the lead?”
Half request. Half confession.
All gasoline.
Our eyes lock. Something snarls awake inside me. A feral kind of interest.
I clear my throat. “Is that what you like?” I ask carefully. “With…your partners?”
Fuck .
I don’t want to picture anyone else touching her. Ever. Past, present, or future.
But this moment needs to be investigated. Respected .
She dips her head, then shakes it. “I’m not sure.” A flush blossoms on her cheeks. “It’s kind of a you thing. An only you thing.”
Shit .
My jaw tightens. I drag a hand across the muscle, trying to collect what’s left of my brain. Not an easy feat when my thoughts are exploding shrapnel, bursting in every direction .
Before I can pull myself together, she proceeds to further wreck me.
“You saw me through the worst time of my life. Helped me collect all the broken pieces and rebuild myself. Taught me to embrace my power. I am strong enough to stand on my own, but…” Her voice dips. “I like that you make me feel like I don’t have to.”
“ God , Isla…” My chest fractures, heart cracking wide open.
Without another word, I wrap her in my arms. “I’m honored you trust me to take care of you.” I haul her closer and press a kiss to her temple. “Only me.”
All at once, every version of her—past and present—engulfs me.
Isla at eighteen, dragging herself out of darkness and blazing like the damn sun in the wake of tragedy.
Isla at nineteen, presenting her heart to me with trembling hands, staring down fear with unflinching bravery.
Isla at twenty-five, wearing my name across her chest like a brand as she offers herself to me.
Quietly— painfully —a part of me aches for Isla of the future, too.
One I haven’t earned yet. One I’m eager to make mine.
When I pull back, she pins me with a devastating look and runs a finger over my handwriting.
Theo’s .
A label she’s testing. A prophecy she’s about to fulfill.
“Put it on,” I order in a low, smooth command. “I want to make you come wearing my name. Screaming it, too.”
She smirks. “Fine. Only because you’re being such a gentleman.”
Gripping the hem of her knit dress, she peels it off with the kind of calculated boldness that makes my pulse riot.
Even in surrender, my girl is pure fire.
Soft, bare skin greets me, freckles glowing under the lamplight like scattered stars.
Her lingerie is a muted rose color that matches the blush covering her from head to toe. The material is silky and simple, edged with the faintest trace of lace.
But it’s not what she’s wearing that ensnares me.
It’s her .
There’s a new steadiness in her stance, and that beautiful golden gaze shines with the knowledge she owns me.
The rest of her is just as enticing. Her nipples strain against the thin material of her bra, begging for attention.
And between her thighs? Even from here, that darkened patch of fabric is impossible to miss.
She’s wet.
For me. For this. For us.
The sight goes straight to my cock.
She lets me drink her in—and fuck , I do. Slowly. Greedily. Intimately. Indulging my senses like I’ll never get another chance to be this close to her again.
A bold grin plays on her lips at my reaction.
I’m breaking, and she knows it.
“I like the idea of being your Christmas gift,” she says, slipping the shirt on. “Theo’s toy to enjoy.”
“Is that really what you want?”
“Yes. I’d like to be yours for the night. Show me what it takes.” As if that’s not devastating enough, she bats her lashes and tacks on a sweet “ Please .”
I don’t dare question the for the night part. It hits too close to strings I can’t afford to tug on right now.
Instead, I steer us toward the things we’re both dying to explore.
My shirt. Her pleasure.
And this inexplicable heat between us.