Page 79 of Big Santa

I can see it in every line of him. In the way he’s standing all the way across the room, one hand still locked around the towel, like he’s holding himself in place as much as the cotton.

He would let me walk away. He would make it easy.

And something in my chest goes very warm and very sure.

Grandma used to say that the best way to know a man was to pay attention to the things he wants. Not what those things are, but what he’ll do to get those things. If he wants something, does he just take it because he can? Or does he try to earn it?

This is who he is.

“Section seven,” I say.

He blinks. “What?”

“Of the agreement. Section seven. Physical relationship.” I fold my hands in front of me so he won’t see them shake. “The parties acknowledge that no physical or romantic relationship is expected or required as a condition of this marriage.”

He stares at me.

“You memorized it.”

“I read it three times before I signed it, and I’ve read over that part multiple times since. It’s a very well-drafted document.”

“Bryant will be thrilled.”

“I’d like to propose an amendment.”

The silence that follows is extraordinary.

Maverick Kane, who builds things out of nothing, who negotiates with city councils and bankers and contractors and walks out of meetings early because he wants to be home, looks at me like I just spoke to him in an ancient, forgotten language.

“An amendment,” he says.

“Yes.”

“To section seven?”

“Yes.” I take a step toward him.

He swallows. “What kind of amendment?”

My face is on fire. I keep going anyway. “The parties acknowledge that no physical or romantic relationship is expected or required,” I say. “But it is allowed.”

His hand tightens on the towel.

“If both parties want it,” I add. “And either party can say no. Any time. For any reason. No notice period.”

“Noelle.”

“I’m not finished.”

His mouth opens. Then closes.

I think I might be the first person in a very long time to tell him that.

“I’m not grieving,” I say. Then I wince. “I mean, I am. Obviously. You saw. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m not confused. I’m not lonely and looking for the nearest warm body. I’m not doing this because I think I owe you, or because you pay for the groceries, or because I’m afraid you’ll send me away if I don’t.”

I take a breath. “I’m doing this because I want to,” I say. “I’ve wanted to since you walked into the kitchen the very first time. I’m choosing this, Maverick. Not the contract. Me.”

He doesn’t move.