Page 21

Chapter

Twenty

MOM, I KISSED SANTA CLAUS!

Madden

“Jingle all the way straight to hell.” — M

“ I hope you enjoy your evening, Mr. Hunt.”

Only my team and I know my restaurant’s mission, and frankly, I prefer it that way. Nobody needs to know because then it becomes about me and that’s not the goal. I don’t want or need the praise and the fake love that comes from helping others. I couldn’t give one single fuck.

Twinkling Christmas lights hang from the ceiling, as they do throughout the hotel, casting a soft glow over the restaurant. Each table is elegantly set, each one adorned with crystal bases holding green flickering candles and evergreen centerpieces covered in fake snow.

The napkins match the decor, and tiny Christmas tree confetti is scattered across the table like sparkly little reminders of cheer.

I let out a slow sigh, taking in the festive shit already getting used to them. Oddly they don’t annoy me as much as they did before.

“Mommy! Mommy! Look.” A little girl, no older than five, shrieks from a nearby table, her voice cutting through the Christmas songs playing in the background. I turn to see her family, all dressed to the nines, clearly enjoying their meal. The child is showing her mother the two baby carrots she wedged up her nose, giggling like it's the funniest shit in the world. Her parents and other siblings are laughing, but it’s the expressions that catches my attention— pure love and pride lighting up their faces.

They look so damn happy. Every family and couple here are smiling, reveling in the evening, their joy so genuine it feels like a wave crashing over me. It’s a reminder that the world keeps spinning, no matter how I feel about this damn holiday or happiness in general.

I wonder what it would feel like to feel that happy, that warm inside.

I take a deep breath, trying to absorb the energy around me, hoping to let it seep into my bones. Maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to embrace the holiday season.

For her.

Always her.

As I glance at my table, I notice that the decoration is not the same as the rest. After I gave the order to tone the Christmas cheer around me, my staff followed through with the asshole request.

A sudden thought strikes me, and I signal the nearest waiter, a young woman with an overly friendly smile who approaches hesitantly.

“Mr. Hunt. What can I get for you?” she asks. A hint of uncertainty in her voice.

“Can you make my table look like the others?” I ask, my voice gentle but firm.

She hesitates, confusion flickering across her face. “I’m sorry, sir. I thought you asked for no holiday decor?”

I nod slowly, meeting her eyes with a steely gaze. “I changed my mind. Now please, bring it all out and make it as festive as you can. I want sparkles, cheer and all that crap”

With a small nod and a subtle smile, she scurries off, and I can’t help but smirk. The shit I do for this woman…

I lean back in my chair, scrolling through email when the waitress returns, her arms filled with an intricate centerpiece. Bright red and white decorations spill over the edges and strings of lights too. She sets down an arrangement of candy canes and ornaments, topped with a shimmering star, and places small candy cane bowls at each corner of the table.

“Here you go!” she beams, arranging everything with care and joy. “Here you go, Mr. Hunt. I hope this is cheerful enough?” she adds a few more touches—twinkling string lights and a couple of red jingle bells that clink softly— she steps back, her brown eyes sparkling with delight.

I look at the work she did and then back at her nodding. “Thank you,” I say, my voice terse. “This will do.”

She beams at me, clearly pleased with her work. “I’m glad you approve, Mr. Hunt. Your guest is very lucky,” she says, her tone respectful and warm.

“I’m the lucky one,” I mutter as I keep playing with the knife absently.

With a quick nod and a knowing smile, she disappears back into the flow of the restaurant, leaving me alone to wait for my guest.

I check my phone, ignoring the countless notifications undoubtedly from the shitstorm going on back in the States. I glance at the time— still early.

Why the fuck am I so damn nervous? The feeling is strange and only happens with her. That damn fairy and her witchy charms.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I ? —

Suddenly, the sweetest voice cuts through the buzz of the restaurant. “I’m sorry if I’m late. I didn’t think anything in my luggage was proper for the occasion.” Her voice is so soft it barely registers, yet I catch every word.

I always do.

Putting the phone down, I look up, and the air is knocked out of me. Willow stands before me, looking shy yet breathtakingly beautiful in a skin-tight, almost see-through dress that shimmers in soft shades of pink, green, and silver. The thin fabric ties delicately at the neck, exposing the top of her ample breasts making her look like a real-life naughty fairy. Then there is that damn hair of hers that makes me crazy. Her long brown curls tumble down her back in a playful half-ponytail, framing her stunning face perfectly.

I’m taken aback when I notice she’s wearing makeup. Not too much, but enough that her eyelashes look thick and long framed by black. Her cheeks have a soft peach hue, and her natural plump lips look fuller and glossy.

Fuck, so damn beautiful.

Was she always this stunning?

Yes.

For a moment, I’m speechless, unable to find my voice. “Fucking beautiful,” I finally manage to say, the word falling to short compare to her beauty.

A blush creeps across her cheeks, spreading to her neck as she glances down at her out of this world sexy as fuck fairy get up. “T-thank you,” she stammers, the pink deepening, making her all the more enchanting to me. It’s strange… even with the flickering candles and twinkling fairy lights all around us, she's still the one who truly lights up the room.

Rising from my seat, I pull out a chair for her. She smiles shyly, her blue eyes lighting up, and takes a place at the table looking perfectly at ease. As I settle back into my own seat, I watch her survey the table with an infectious grin, “ I like this ,” she says, her voice sweet and melodic.

“The candy?” I ask, noticing as her fingers play with the candy canes.

Willow meets my gaze, her eyes sparkling. “ I do like those, but I meant the whole tropical Christmas explosion all over the hotel. Was it your idea? ”

I nod once, hoping she doesn’t press for more. As if sensing my reluctance, she shifts the topic. “ Thank you for asking me to join you tonight .” She brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her smile radiating joy. Fuck that smile. It’s a sight I could lose myself in forever— lose myself in her forever. In each little detail—the way her hands move gracefully as she communicates with me, her sweet voice, the gentle lilt of her laughter— it keeps drawing me closer to her and I’m helpless against it.

I clear my throat, at a loss for words, and nod again, feeling like my mind turns to mush whenever she’s near. Just then, the waitress returns, bringing with her the a la carte menu, her smile much the same as Willow, warm and kind.

Willow’s fingers brush against mine briefly, sending a jolt of electricity through me as we both take the menus. She opens it, her brow furrowing slightly in concentration as she scans the large variety of options. I can’t help but watch her, captivated as she reads the names of the plates aloud.

“ Everything looks amazing, and I appreciate that there are so many vegetarian options, ” she signs, glancing up at me with those bright, doe eyes. I nod, the waitress stands by, patiently waiting for our order. The scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced cider drifts through the air, making my stomach growl. “What do you recommend?” she signs again.

It hits me then—she's using sign language instead of her voice. As of lately, she speaks freely with me, her laughter filling the air like music, and her words melting my heart. But with strangers, she retreats into herself, and it makes me furious that she still feels embarrassed of her disability. Fuck, that. There is not a single part of her that isn't perfect.

Clearing my throat, I say, “You should definitely try the moqueca .” I watch as she frowns, scanning the menu for the dish. Reaching over, I point to where it is listed and explain, “It’s a delicious Brazilian stew made with vegetables, coconut milk, and spices.”

“ I do love me some veggies, coconut milk and spices. ” She smiles wide and gestures with her hands, asking, “ What’s in it? ”

I can’t help but smile at her curiosity and excitement over some soup. “It usually has bell peppers, tomatoes, and onions, all simmered together with fresh herbs. Sometimes, they add plantains or squash for a touch of sweetness. It’s served with rice, and honestly, you won’t ever taste anything quite like it.”

She nods, then licks her plump lips making my groin tighten. Fuck. She has no idea what she does to me. “ That sounds delicious, ” she signs back, her excitement mirrored in the sparkle of her eyes. I’ve never met anyone who feels happy and excited over the little things until her. The sight warms my heart.

Willow glances down at the menu, then meets my gaze as she signs, “ What are you having ?”

So damn sweet…

I bite back a smile and without breaking eye contact, I gently hand both menus to the waitress. “I’ll have the picanha, ” I say, my voice steady. “It’s a flavorful cut of beef, grilled to perfection. Served with chimichurri and some roasted veggies on the side.”

I know she’s a vegetarian so I understand my choice is not one that's appetizing to her but still she doesn't judge or act like those obnoxious and judgmental people who want others to think, act and live the same way they do.

Not, Willow though.

She’s never unkind or judgmental.

“And what will you be having to drink?” the waitress asks, looking between us.

I lean back slightly, and say, “Bring us a bottle of 1961 Chateau Pétrus .” Then I turn to Willow, curious to hear her choice.

And just when I think this woman can’t possibly surprise me anymore, she does it again.

With a shy grin, Willow signs, “I would love a Caipirinha !” She beams looking adorable, and I can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. Alcohol?

As if reading my thoughts, she laughs awkwardly, her cheeks flushing a bit. Then she signs, “I’ve been drinking it all throughout my stay. It’s so yummy!”

I can’t help but smile, chuckling at how genuinely happy she is about it.

“Okay, then,” I say, shaking my head in mock disbelief. “One Caipirinha for the fairy it is” The waitress nods, her own smile wide as she jots down our orders. As she walks away, I look back at Willow to find her looking at me the same way she looks at her mushrooms when discovering a new species. That’s when it hits me—I just laughed. I laughed in front of others, and it wasn’t a fake or a forced laugh either.

It was real. A laugh that came from somewhere deep inside me—my soul.

She did that.

She’s the one who changed something in me, just like she did when we were kids. Back then, she didn't get the chance to paint my world, but she’s doing it now.

“M-Madden…” Her voice is soft, almost hesitant, like she’s afraid to ask.

“What?” I glance over at her.

She opens her mouth, then closes it again, clearly trying to find the right words. “How was your life after?—”

Before she can finish the question I’m not quite ready to answer, a little girl walks up to our table. Her wide eyes are sparkling with mischief. “My mom thinks you're cute…” she says , speaking rapid-fire Portuguese, her words tumbling out like they’re bursting from her tiny body all at once. “She’s right,” the little girl says, now standing on her tiptoes to get closer to my face. “You’re really cute. Like a fairytale prince.” She giggles, and my heart does something unexpected—thud. What the fuck? Why is the damn organ in my chest such a weak little bitch lately?

Maybe it’s because she looks like an exact replica of the woman who is currently looking at us with the sweetest, most gentle smile on her equally sweet face. Willow.

The little tiny ball of sunshine of a girl adds with a wink, “Though, the tattoos make you look a bit like the villain.”

“Huh…” I turn to Willow, teasing her. “What do you think, fairy? Do the tattoos make me look like a villain?”

Instantly, her cheeks turn the brightest shade of pink, and my heart does another one of those weird flips.

She mouths the word ‘no’, shaking her head quickly, her eyes soft.

“Scary tattooed villain or not, you’re still cute, mister,” the little girl adds, her giggles ringing through the air like a jingle bell.

I can’t help but soften at her innocent charm and lovely sound.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Isabella,” she beams, then holds up a napkin with a hopeful look in her eyes. “Can I have your name? I want to give it to my mommy as a nice Christmas present because I don’t have a lot of money,” she adds with a little pout.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Something about the way she’s so selflessly thinking of her mom for Christmas makes my chest tighten. Most kids would ask for an autograph for themselves or jump at the chance of getting presents— or even money— from me. True fucking story.

A lump forms in my throat, catching me off guard. “Of course, Isabella,” I say, my voice quieter now. I take the napkin, scribble my name across it, and hand it back to her.

Her eyes light up like I’ve just given her the greatest gift. “Thank you, mister. You’re the bestest!” Isabella clutches the napkin eagerly, then skips away with a little hop in her step. But just before she gets back to her mom, she turns around, grinning at Willow. “You’re real pretty, too! A real-life princess.” she exclaims, her high-pitched voice like a burst of sunshine in the air.

I watch her disappear toward her family, then turn to find Willow looking at me, amusement dancing in her eyes.

Frowning, I raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“That was so sweet,” she murmurs, almost to herself, as if forgetting I’m sitting right across from her. “You can be so sweet, Madden Hunt, when you want to be. Not a grinch at all…”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.

I gesture for Lincoln to come over. He catches my signal, strolling across the restaurant with his usual cocky swagger. But as he gets close, I notice a hint of a smile on his face.

“Boss,” he says with a casual nod, extending a hand toward Willow. “Hello, beautiful. I’m Lincoln. Nice to meet?—”

Nope.

Fuck, no.

“Don’t look at her,” I cut the asshole off, while trying to suppress the raging psycho that wells up inside me whenever another man approaches her. The fuck is he looking at her like that for? I catch Willow’s eye, and see her smile brightening, which only makes my anger and irritation burn hotter.

She’s kind to everyone, I know that. She has a smile for anyone she meets—but it annoys the fuck out of me when she gives that smile to men who aren’t me.

Lincoln raises an eyebrow, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. I shift my focus back to him. “Make yourself useful, yeah?”

The fucker rolls his eyes. “Aren’t I always?” he asks, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

I ignore his sarcastic remark and ask. “Find out which room that little girl, Isabella, is staying in,” I say, my tone serious. “And make sure her room is filled with presents on Christmas morning.”

Lincoln’s expression changes from mocking to one of surprise and respect. “I’ll take care of it,” he says, then adds with a teasing grin, “Can I ask who you traded personalities with during this holiday season? Shit, I barely recognize you, man.”

“I heard I might not be a grinch after all.” I wink at Willow and watch her blush while her eyes seem surprised and filled with genuine joy.

“Will do, boss.” Lincoln nods, clearly amused, before heading off.

“Can I tell you something, Madden?” she asks softly, her voice full of hesitation.

Leaning back, I give her my full attention, leaning in just slightly. “Anything, Willow.”

She takes a slow breath, almost like she’s gathering the courage to say something that means a lot to her. “I was hesitant to come here, to leave my family during Christmas week, but this place… it feels like home. Seriously. It’s like it breathes magic into everyone who stays here. And it’s done that for me. I don’t feel as sad about being away from home anymore,” whispers almost shyly.

Feels like home…

Something tugs at my heartstrings.

I’ve always hated Christmas with a passion. The noise. The forced joy. The hypocrisy.But this year, it doesn’t feel so grating. At least, not anymore. Not with her here.

Maybe Christmas is more than just about the festive crap and feasts. Maybe Christmas is about more than just me. Maybe it’s about this warmth in my chest, the kind of feeling that settles deep and makes everything else seem… softer. Less ugly.

Before I can respond, our waitress returns, balancing our plates and drinks with ease. The rich, mouth-watering aroma of the feijoada and the moqueca fills the air, making my stomach growl in anticipation. She sets the dishes down in front of us, and I watch as Willow’s smile grows wide.

Fuck, even something as simple as food makes her smile like she’s just been given the world.

How does someone like her even exist? The answer will always be a mystery to me.

“Here you go,” our waitress says with a smile, placing Willow's Caipirinha gently beside her. The glass glistens with fresh lime and ice, and I see the excitement in Willow’s eyes as she reaches for it, licking her lips in anticipation.

I shift in my seat, trying to adjust my pants discreetly. The sight of her soft, wet and pink lips has my imagination growing wild.

Her cheeks are flushed, her lips are pink and so is her tongue… I wonder what else is…

“Enjoy your meal and happy holidays!” The waitress interrupts my perverted thoughts before moving on to pour the wine, the deep red liquid swirling in the glass like liquid garnet.

Willow takes a sip of her drink, her face lighting up. “Delicious. I don’t think there is anything as good and sweet as this drink!” she whispers in awe.

O h, sweet Willow… I think to myself. I can think of something sweeter.

Oblivious to my dirty thoughts, she digs into her food, and I follow suit.

The moment the first bite hits my tongue, a burst of flavors explodes in my mouth.

We eat in comfortable silence, but I can’t help stealing glances at her while she savors the food. I watch the way the light catches her skin, making it glisten like liquid gold, the way her eyes sparkle more than usual tonight. And there’s something else, something small but adorable as fuck— three tiny freckles beneath her left eye, scattered like tiny stars across her face. I find myself tracing the path of those freckles and memorizing them in my mind.

Out of nowhere, I lean in a little closer/ unable to help myself. “Tell me everything about you.”

Willow pauses, her fork hallways to her mouth, eyes widening in surprise. “E-Everything about me? But why?” she stares at me with her eyebrows raised, curiosity mingled with confusion across her face.

I shrug casually. “Because I want to know. Because you, Willow O’Sullivan, are the most interesting human I’ve ever known,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “And… because fuck, I want to listen to your voice.”

Her mouth forms a soft ‘O’ and her expression softens at my confession. I watch her process what I just said. I can also see the wheels turning in her mind. “My voice?” she repeats, a hint of disbelief lacing her tone.

“Yeah,” I reply, my gaze steady on hers. “It chases the bad shit away. It always has.”

Her eyes mist over, and instantly, I curse myself for making her tear up. Shit.

I watch her nervously reach for her napkin, dabbing at her lips as if she’s unsure of what to say.

“I want to know you—beyond just the surface,” I add, my voice loud and sure. “I want to know what makes you tick, what you love, what you dream about. Everything.”

She bites her lip, pausing as she considers my words. “That’s easy,” she says softly. “My family.”

Family.

I figured.

The O’ Sullivan have always been a tight-knit bunch, and it’s obvious they still are.

“How are your parents?”

“They’re great,” she says with a smile that lights up her whole face. “Mom is busy running her bakeries and all her nonprofit organizations, trying to spread love and light everywhere she goes. And Dad… well, he's still terrorizing Philadelphia.” She laughs and the sound sends a shock to my once barely beating heart.

I didn’t get to have what she has. A good life. Loving parents. But I’m glad she does. I’m glad she has all the love in the world. No one deserves it more than her. No one.

“What else makes you happy?” I ask, taking a sip of my wine.

She taps her chin thoughtfully, looking utterly adorable. I can’t help but smile. “My job,” she beams as she takes a sip of her drink. “My job makes me really happy.”

Her job.

Of course.

Most people spend their entire lives hating the place they go to when they wake up in the mornings to hustle. Not Willow. I’ve seen firsthand the passion she has for science. It’s quite wholesome and inspiring to see. She genuinely loves what she does.

I want to ask her why she chose this path, but it's obvious. From the very beginning, she has lived and breathed nature. It’s in her blood, just like it’s in her mother.

Looking into her eyes, I ask the one thing I’ve been curious about since the first day I met her, “What do you dream about, Willow?”

Her smile widens, and I can see love and happiness lighting up her face. “I dream of changing the world.” she says, her voice gentle and full of passion. “I dream of making it better.”

Again…of course.

That’s who she is. Good to her core.

When I don’t say anything right away, a soft blush creeps up her neck, and the pink spreads across her cheeks like a warm and pretty sunshine. “I know my dream it’s silly…even childish.”

I shake my head and meet her gaze, my voice steady. “I don’t think it’s silly, Willow. Not at all. I think you’re going to change the world. One day.”

Her breath hitches and her eyes grow soft.

What I don’t say— what I can’t— is that she’s already been changing my world, little by little, and I didn’t notice until today. Because I woke up one morning feeling numb— like I was just existing— and then, suddenly, with her…I feel it all.

And I’m fucking scared—fucking terrified.

Because for so long, all I’ve ever known is pain. It’s been my loyal companion. So, what the fuck do I do with the one thing I’ve been running from for years… love?

Willow and I step out of the restaurant, the cool breeze wrapping around us like a soft blanket. The path ahead is alive with twinkling lights overhead, casting a magical glow that dances across the cobblestones beneath our feet.

“God…” Willow breathes, her voice full of wonder. “I think I’m falling in love with this place.” I turn to look at her, unable to stop myself. Her beautiful face lights up under the moon and her eyes wide with awe as the stars above seem to reflect in them. “How beautiful…” she whispers to no one but the night itself, but it feels like she’s speaking to me. To us.

While she looks at the twinkling lights, I can’t help but focus only on her. She’s all I see lately, All I ever want to see.

Shit.

As we continue walking without a destination, the path curves, revealing a beautiful archway draped in strings of lights, each one glowing like the stars in the night sky.

“Willow,” I whisper as I guide her beneath the arch. The lights flicker above us, and I stop, turning to face her.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.

She looks up at me, brows furrowed in confusion. “For what?” she asks, her voice gentle but curious.

I swallow hard, my throat tight, and for a moment, I can’t find the right words. How do I say everything that’s been building inside, the strange feeling inside my chest whenever she’s near, without sounding like a damn fool?

Thank you for being here. Thank you for being you. Thank you for lighting up my life with your sweet light when all I ever saw was darkness. Thank you for chasing the bad shit away.

But I chicken the fuck out and instead I say, “Thank you for joining me for dinner.”

Fuck. Out of everything I could say, that’s what comes out.

Willow tilts her head back, laughing softly, and I swear I hear angels sing. The sound of her laugh is like music to my ears. I can’t get enough of it.

I smile at the sound, my chest warming, feeling lighter than I have in a long fucking time. “What?” I ask, pretending to be offended but the smile on my face shows that I’m anything but.

Her laugh is kind and genuine— never mocking.

She ducks her head shyly and shrugs. “N-Nothing.” Her eyes soften. “It’s just that you’re adorable when you’re awkward.”

Faking fake outrage, I frown. “I’m not adorable.”

She smiles wider, looking less shy. “You’re pouting.” She points to my face. “Now, that’s just cute.”

Cute.

Should I take that as a compliment?

I remain quiet, and with each passing second, I watch the flush on her cheeks deepen, a pretty pink that draws me in even more. Her slow, breathy intake of air has me leaning in closer, helpless to resist.

Then, she glances up at me. Her eyes are shy but bright, and my heart stutters skipping a thousand fucking beats. “Thank you for inventing me,” she whispers, her voice soft and sweet. “I had the best time.”

She bites her lip, a nervous habit I’ve started to become obsessed with. I watch the flush from her cheeks spread down her neck to her chest.

More silence settles between us, and for a split second, I swear I can hear both of our hearts pounding in sync.

Then, with the faintest tap of her fingers, Willow taps her chest three times—something she’s done since she was a little girl. It’s her way of trying to calm her heart that beats wildly but at times she also did it to lessen the pain in her heart. I don’t think she’s in pain. No. She’s feeling the same rush of emotions running through her as I am.

I look down into her eyes, those deep, soulful pools of emotion that make everything else fade away for me—the lights, the laughter, even the stars above. All I can see is her, and I lose every ounce of control I’ve been holding onto.

Because all I want— all I crave is to lose myself in her— this sweet, wild, enchanting woman with a heart that calls out to mine.

Without thinking, I lean in. My lips brush hers, soft and tentative, hesitant to push her too far too soon. But she responds, her lips seeking my own with an urgency that takes my breath away. The kiss deepens, slow and gentle at first, but then it grows— igniting something wild and beautiful like her between us.

And just like that, with just one kiss under a thousand twinkling stars, the girl with a wild heart stole what was left of mine.