He ducks his head, places his hands over mine.
“I’m in love with you, too,” I say, and then he looks up, meets my eyes briefly before closing his in what seems to be plain, simple relief.
“People’s feelings,” he says quietly, tipping his head down and resting his forehead against mine. “People who loved me, once. My family. Their feelings changed. I’ve been afraid of that, with you. Afraid of trying, for what I might lose. The job—it felt like the only way I could have you in my life.”
I move my hands from his coat, bring them up to his cold cheeks, feel him wrap his arms tight around my waist. “I’ve loved you a long time too. And I was afraid too. Of not being . . . in your top place, I guess. I didn’t think I could ever handle that. Being with you, but always knowing the job would be more important.”
He lifts his head, but keeps me close. “You’re in the top place. Forever. I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter about the Dreyers. We can go back there, and you’ll see. I won’t say a damn word about the patent. I’ll sing a Christmas song with them, whatever you want. I don’t care.”
I shake my head, a tear-soaked laugh in my throat. “You don’t have to sing,” I say, and then we’re kissing, my back against the door of the cottage, Jasper broad and strong and hungry against me, his arms lifting me those few inches we need to be level. It’s cold and bright and perfect, a Christmas morning kiss, and the only reason I break it is because I can’t stop from smiling in perfect happiness.
“Kris,” he whispers to me, right against my lips. “I missed you.”
I somehow know what he means, know what it means to him to admit it, and I hold him tighter, pressing my mouth to his again, and he smiles now, that scar-side of his mouth tipping away from mine first, until he’s got to simply hold me, pressing his smile into the cold strands of my hair.
“Jasper,” I say, tipping my chin up so he’ll hear me. “Come to Michigan.”
I feel his smile widen. “Yeah?”
I nod. “As soon as we can get on a flight together. I don’t want you to miss it.”
We both pull back then, just enough so we can smile at each other. Jasper lifts a hand, swipes his thumb gently across my cheek, catching a few stray tears. I don’t think he’d mind knowing his eyes are a little shiny too. All of a sudden I see Christmases stretch out in front of us, years of cookie making and movie watching and kissing past midnight.
“We’ll have to talk about it, you know,” I say, placing my hands on his chest. Even through his coat I think I can feel the holiday bell of his heart. “How to make sure it works between us. We’ll have to lay some ground rules for—this. This relationship, and our relationship at work.”
He leans back, smiling down at me before leaning down to give me a quick, soft kiss.
“Kris,” he says, his voice husky, his eyes soft. “That’s not going to be a problem.” Another kiss, this one more lingering. “I’m good at following rules, when it comes to you.”
Epilogue
JASPER
December 25
One Year Later
Kristen’s parents live in a tiny ranch house, barely three bedrooms, and the barely is because the third one is basically a thin-walled closet, hardly enough room for the futon Kris and I have been sleeping on for the last three nights to be unfolded. My back hurts, I’m sex-deprived, and last night I stayed up until three a.m. helping Kris’s brother-in-law build a dollhouse for his daughters.
I am having the best time.
“Okay, last one,” Kris says, passing me yet another pot from the stove. I don’t remember there even being enough food options on the dining table this evening for this many dirty dishes, but I haven’t much minded the escape, Kris and me alone in the small kitchen while the rest of the family relaxes and digests in the other room. It’s been fun, my second official Fraser family Christmas, but it’s been noisy, too, and hasn’t allowed for much privacy. Later tonight Kris and I will drive over to Traverse City, where we’ve rented a cottage right on the lake. Our Christmas gift to each other, and a private continuation of a tradition we started last year at the Dreyers’.
“I’m getting good at this,” I tell Kristen, scrubbing at a spot of stuck-on potatoes. “Your mom is gonna love me.”
Kris makes a clucking noise. “Please. She already loves you.”
I smile down at my soapy hands. She’s said it casually, jokingly, but the truth is—I think her mom does love me. I think her whole family does, and I’m as proud of that as anything I’ve ever done, especially since it made it easier to ask them—two nights ago while Kristen built a snowman with her nieces—for their blessing about a particular question I’m planning to ask Kris soon.
Tonight soon, if I have my way. I’ll be breaking a promise to her, saying the cottage was the only gift for the holiday this year, but I’ve got a feeling she won’t mind.
“I talked to Carol,” Kris says, interrupting my thoughts. “She opened our package. She says it’s her new favorite.”
“I can only hope her family put on sunglasses before she turned it on.”
Kris laughs, swats me with a towel. Keeping Carol on after the Dreyer deal lapsed hadn’t been easy, exactly. We’d had to downsize, moving into a space with only one private office, but as it turned out Kris and I liked sharing, and we’ll probably re-up the lease, even though we’re back—way back, thanks to a new deal we’ve recently made
