Page 59 of Snowbound

He doesn’t stir. Still half-asleep, one hand slides up, anchoring me closer, like he knows I’m about to move.

I close my eyes again.Five more minutes.

Then I kiss his chest and slip out, padding into the kitchen wearing his flannel, hearing him stir behind me. I turn toward the living room.

And stop.

Becauseholy shit.

Theentirecabin is transformed.

Twinkle lights are everywhere. Pine garland hangs over the windows. The real tree in the corner is now covered in gold and red ornaments, candy canes, and tiny carved figures I don’t recognize but know he picked with me in mind.

There’s Christmas music playing low. Bing Crosby, for fuck’s sake.

And under the tree?

Presents… wrapped in festive paper with tacky bows and little tags that say, “For Her,” and “For Em,” and “Don’t open until I say.”

When I finally look up, he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee, wearing nothing but joggers and a smug grin.

“Merry Christmas, lass.”

“You did all this?”

His eyes drag over me, hungry. “Had to make it special. First one you’re mine.”

My throat catches.

“You’re crazy,” I whisper. Something flickers in his eyes. “And I love it.”

“Come, open your gifts.”

I sit cross-legged in front of the tree. He kneels beside me and reaches under the tree for the first one.

It’s a black, leather-bound notebook, embossed with my initials and a snowflake.

“For your stories,” he says. “The dark ones you’re too scared to say out loud.”

My heart twists.

Next, a necklace—the charm a tiny silver compass.

“So you always find your way back to me.”

The third is a photo in a slim black frame. It’s the two of us, teenagers, sitting on the cabin steps. I don’t remember it being taken.

“I kept it,” he says. “Even when I wasn’t allowed to keep anything else.”

I’m crying now.

“You like it?”

“I love it.”

He pulls me into his lap and kisses the tears away.

“Merry Christmas, baby.”