Chapter 29
Valerie
I wasn’t sure I’d ever understand the Delaneys. Not the grandfather, and especially not Grant.
How could he just wish me a Merry Christmas, steal the air from my lungs with one look, and then step onto the elevator as if he was late for a tree lighting?
Grant Delaney was in for a very serious lecture once I tracked him down.
I left his grandfather’s office with my head high and a festive spring in my step. Mr. Delaney had looked surprised when I’d finished my rehearsed speech, but he hadn’t said a word—enigma that he was. He just nodded and slid a card across his desk, his home address printed neatly across the front.
So now I was headed for some gated community outside the city, because apparently, Grant didn’t have the decency to answer his phone.
This grand gesture business was a lot of running around. Which made sense since they always seemed to be running in the movies. Next time, I was wearing sneakers. And bringing my water bottle.
I punched the elevator button, dropping one floor to make a quick stop in my office. I kept an emergency makeup kit there, and I wasn’t showing up to the Delaney Christmas looking like an elf who’d pulled an all-nighter.
My heels clicked over the tile, the only sound in the empty office. Someone had left the tree on, and it blinked red and green like a Christmas stoplight. But those weren’t the only lights still on.
A glow spilled through the glass of my office door. I slowed and peered inside, my heart doing its little dance.
Grant stood near my desk, coat still on, one hand braced against the shelf where my sand globe collection caught the morning light. His head was bowed, shoulders drawn tight, like he was carrying the weight of the North Pole on his back.
I leaned against the frame, crossing my ankles. “Planning to steal one? You only get half of everything if I agree to it.”
He turned, startled, and the teasing grin vanished from my lips.
I’d never seen him look so exhausted. As if it wasn’t just sleep he’d lost, but a part of his soul. Then he tried to smile. It just didn’t have that Grant flair. The ache started in my throat and seeped down into my chest.
“I am so sorry,” I said, stepping into the office. “About everything. I wish I could take it all back.”
He made a low, rueful sound in the back of his throat. “Isn’t that what you’ve wanted this whole time? To change things?”
“Yeah,” I whispered, the word catching.
I wanted so badly to cross the room and slip into his arms. To tell him I was done running from the mess we made.
He didn’t look away, searching my eyes with that intensity that had always made me question whether I hated him or couldn’t live without him. The answer was easy now.
“Before you say anything else,” he said finally, still standing too far away. “Do you remember that night on the beach when we almost kissed—when you told me I hated you more?”
The breath trembled in my chest. “You said the list of reasons would break my heart.”
“I’ve been adding to that list for a long time now.”
I let out an unsteady laugh, a tear escaping with it. “So you do have an I hate Valerie Spellman checklist.”
He nodded once. “I do.”
The air between us changed. It felt heavier, somehow. He took a slow step forward, his eyes locked on me like he’d been memorizing the distance.
“It started simple,” he said quietly. “I hate that I think of kissing you every time your name drops into my inbox.”
My heart stalled. “That’s very… inconvenient.”
He moved another step. “You emailed me all day, every day.” A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. “I hate that I remember exactly what you were wearing at the luau. That I couldn’t take my eyes off you, even when I tried.”
“I hated your suit.”
He tsked softly, closing more of the distance between us. “No, Spells. This is my list.”
He was close enough now that I could see the tired smudge beneath his eyes, the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave. His voice dropped low and rough.
“I hate anything that warms you up that isn’t me. It’s a need I can’t shake, Spells.”
The office tilted. His confession wasn’t loud, but it filled every corner of the room—every part of me.
My fingers curled at my sides. “Grant…”
His hand lifted, slow enough that I could’ve stepped back.
I didn’t.
When his fingers brushed my skin, the world seemed to still. Heat rippled from his touch, gentle but unrelenting, sinking through me like sunlight after a long winter. Every muscle in my body trembled from the effort of standing still.
His thumb traced the edge of my jaw. “You feel that?”
I nodded, barely breathing. “I do.”
His forehead dipped closer until his words brushed my lips. “That’s what I get to do,” he said softly. “Warm you up. Keep you safe. It’s a privilege.”
And that’s when it hit.
Magic.
It hummed in my veins—his, mine, ours—recognizing something it had been searching for. It came rushing back all at once, the power I’d lost on that beach a year ago, pouring through me in a way it never had before. Stronger now. Steadier. Born not from his love, but from my faith in it.
I gasped, air burning bright in my lungs. Every nerve in me felt alive again.
Grant wasn’t finished. He swallowed, throat working as he went on, “I hate that I left yesterday without driving you home. I hate that I didn’t wake up next to you.
” His hand cupped my cheek, tilting my face up to his.
“And I hate—“ his voice cracked completely, ”—that I won’t get to spend Christmas with my wife. ”
The room shimmered around us, the air thick with magic and the sound of my heartbeat trying to catch up.
“Who says?” I whispered, tears slipping down my cheeks. “I didn’t take the key. I turned it down.”
For a heartbeat, he didn’t move.
Then he laughed—soft and incredulous—his forehead dropping against mine.
“You didn’t take it,” he repeated, voice shaking with disbelief. “You didn’t just leave it with my grandfather for a rainy day, did you? Because I need to hear you say it, Spells.”
I huffed out a shuddering breath. “Oh, I bet he would have loved that. He’s terrifying. My knees were shaking.”
“He’s a true villain.” His eyes searched mine again, his thumbs brushing away the wetness near my lashes. “Spells… you’re killing me.”
“Just leaving you in peak suspense. I’m only getting one of these cinematic rom-com confessions.”
“Spells—” His voice was a growl now, low enough to undo me.
“I just asked myself—what would Grant Delaney do?” I pressed my finger lightly against his chest. “He’d turn a problem into a fundraiser. So I donated the key to the agency’s annual New Year’s auction—for the penguins.”
His brow arched. “Lucky penguins.”
I shook my head. “Lucky me.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck, nudging him with my hips until he walked backward and bumped the edge of my desk. The tiny ornaments on my potted palm rattled.
“You see, I snagged myself a handsome husband with great hands, who makes me laugh so hard I can’t breathe.
” I tugged sharply on the lapels of his jacket.
“He makes me sing Jingle Bells before we kiss, and he has a secret soft spot for animal adoption commercials.
“ I rose onto my toes, brushing my lips against the V of skin between his shirt collar. “I have my own list, too, you know.”
With a choked groan, Grant’s hands found my waist. He spun me around and lifted me onto the desk.
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah. I made it when I was sixteen. It’s ridiculous, but somehow, you check every box.” I smoothed my palms up his chest, stopping when I reached his heart. “I love you, Grant Delaney—and you’re stuck with me for another year.”
“Another year?” His mouth captured mine, his fingers threading through my hair, loosening the messy knot. But I was already unraveling, melting as he deepened the kiss.
When we broke apart, breathless and searching for more, he caught my hands against his chest, pressing them flat over his heartbeat. “Fifty years won’t be enough for how much I love you.”
“Hmm…” A slow smile spread across my face. “Are we negotiating terms? Because there are a few vows I’d like to go over.”
He caught my hands tighter. “The whole love, honor, and cherish thing? I have big plans for those.”
“No. The cooking me breakfast forever line. I think it’s right next to obey.”
His eyes narrowed with amusement. “Weird, I’ve never heard that one. Sounds like it would fit better next to in sickness and in health—my sickness and my health, if I ever let you back in the kitchen before I show you how to scramble an egg.”
“Oh!” I wrapped my ankles around the backs of his legs. “Can you teach me how to catch a pancake on the edge of the spatula?”
His gaze dipped to my mouth. “It would be an honor, Mrs. Delaney.”
“Then let’s start there.”
His mouth found mine again, sealing the strangest vows that had ever made their way to the altar.
“Merry Christmas, Spells,” he whispered against my lips.
“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet, husband. We still have to visit your family tomorrow.”
He dropped his head into the crook of my neck with a painful sigh. “Haven’t we suffered enough?”
“Trust me. We won’t be the ones suffering. I told your grandfather I wanted to start a new tradition.”
He lifted his head, suspicion furrowing his brow. “And which one is that?”
“The one where we sing them carols.” I winked. “I hope they bring earplugs.”
Grant threw back his head and laughed. “Best. Christmas. Ever.”
And I had a feeling he was right.