Page 46 of Unwrapped

I have no idea how we could make a life together without turning both our worlds upside down. And I can't bring myself to think through the consequences today.

Besides, it’s easier to honor a commitment I’ve already made than to confront everything that cancelling it would mean.

So I settle for the most noncommittal response I can manage. I type:

Don’t worry about bringing anything. Hope you had a good Christmas too.

I have time to figure it out, I tell myself. Just not now.

I slip my phone into my pocket and settle back against the cushions. Sophie rests her head on my shoulder again, and I turn my attention to the movie.

Thirteen

DECEMBER 27

Sophie

The path along the lake is packed snow, and our boots crunch in rhythm as we walk.

It's gorgeous out here. A winter wonderland. The trees are loaded with snow, their boughs bending under the weight, and the sunshine makes everything glitter. It's also freezing. My cheeks are burning from the cold.

We walk along the edge of the water holding hands, our mittens pressed together, and I feel so impossibly safe and secure with my hand held in Vince’s big, strong one—as I always have. It's strange how something as simple as holding his hand can make me so happy. We've always been close, but there's a new freedom between us now, and I love being able to reach for him without having to think twice about it.

The path follows the curve of the shoreline, past the neighbors’ docks buried under snowdrifts. Vince points out a hawk circling over the trees, and a little farther along, I spot a pair of deer picking their way through the snow at the edge of the woods. We stop at the point where the path turns back toward the house and take in the view. It’s perfect from here—the lake spread out before us, the mountains beyond, everything still and white. Vince stands behind me, his arms around my waist, his chin resting on top of my head. I lean back against his chest and feel the solid warmth of him through our layers of coats and scarves.

We stand there for a while in silence, watching the light change on the ice. When we finally turn back toward the house, our footsteps fall into sync without either of us trying. Vince's hand finds mine again, and he doesn't let go until we reach the front steps.

When we get back to the house, Vince makes hot chocolate. I raid the refrigerator for snacks and finally decide that chocolates are fine—it’s still the holidays, after all. We take our chocolates, liquid and solid, to the living room.

I curl up on the couch with my hot chocolate while Vince gets the fire going. He joins me a few minutes later, and I tuck myself against his side, pulling the blanket over both of us.

I could get used to this.

In fact, I already have. It's been a wonderful couple of days, and I'm beginning to feel quite spoiled by all the attention Vince has been giving me. I snuggle a little closer, take another sip of hot chocolate, and turn to him.

“What's that look for?” he asks.

“Nothing.” I smile and lean in to kiss him.

He smiles against my mouth and pulls me a little closer.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “You know the effect you have on me.”

“You’re insatiable,” I tease, lifting a hand to the back of his head.

“For you, yes.”

“Well . . .” I pull away and grin. “We could always heat up the hot chocolate when we come back downstairs.”

He laughs, letting his head fall back, and it fills me with warmth. I love seeing this side of him—soft, affectionate, and relaxed. For a moment, I take in the long line of his neck, the pronounced bulge of his Adam’s apple, the sharp line of his jaw and chin. He’s beautiful, like a Roman sculpture. Perfectly chiseled. Exquisitely masculine. When he turns his head to look at me, gray eyes twinkling, soft lines crinkling around the sides, there’s an undeniable heat in it—one that’s matched by the rising heat of my own body.

“You’re trouble, little one,” he says, and I lace my fingers under my chin, tilting my head to give him an adorably-innocent pose.

He grins, and reaches for one of my hands.

“Let’s go upstairs. There are no more condoms down here.”

I let him pull me up, and lead me up the stairs to his bedroom, the bed still unmade from this morning, sheets rumpled from the sex we already had this morning.