“God, yes,” he groans. He eases inside me, as we lay on our sides, facing each other, one hand low on my back, the other between us, rubbing my clit. I cling to him, riding his length, staring into his eyes, bathed in firelight and tangled sheets and the heat of his body against mine.
It’s not frantic this time, but deliciously slow and patient, drawn out so long because we’re desperate for it not to end. Jonathan’s hips roll with mine, his grip tightens. And when his thumb circles my clit just right, I start to come around him.
Holding my eyes, Jonathan clutches me tight and buries himself in me as he finds his own release. And afterward, we lay tangled in each other’s arms, breathless, bathed in firelight and the tiniest Christmas tree’s twinkling lights.
My hand over his pounding heart, his hand over mine, I kiss the man I love. My happiest happy ending.
He kisses me, too, soft and cool as falling snow, and whispers what I already know, down to my bones— I’m his happy ending, too.
Epilogue
Jonathan
Playlist: “Merry Christmas, Marry Me,” Crofts Family
She leans out of the doorway, winter wind caressing her honey-brown curls, whipping her red sweater dress against her lush body. I was never much for presents, but I now have even less use for them—Gabriella is gift enough.
“Merry Christmas!” shouts her latest customer from down the sidewalk, a kid bundled up and wearing fuzzy white earmuffs that evoke old, sweet memories and a pang of nostalgia.
“Merry Christmas!” Gabriella calls back, waving and smiling brightly.
And just like always, her radiant joy hits me like an arrow to the heart.
And just like always, she stands outside too long in nothing but a flimsy dress to keep her warm.
“Mrs. Frost.”
She glances over shoulder, curls swinging, sparkling hazel eyes, and deep, sweet dimples in her cheeks. God, she’s beautiful. “Yes, Mr. Frost?”
“I’d like my wife and I to ring in the new year tonight without a case of hypothermia on our hands—”
“Oh, good grief. I got a little shivery on that solstice hike. I was not hypothermic.”
“Not what June said.”
She rolls her eyes, turning back and waving once more to the kid outside. “You and June are two overprotective peas in a pod.”
“Also known as pragmatists who love you despite your impractical attachment to wading through hip-high snow.” Stepping behind her, I wrap my arms around her waist. “How about you join me in the heat?”
Sighing, Gabby lets me spin her around and tug her inside, then shut the door behind us. And don’t you know, she’s shivering. Slipping her arms around my waist, she burrows against my chest for warmth.
“Freezing your ass off for customers,” I mutter.
“Seeing off a patron makes them feel appreciated and special,” she tells me primly. “It’s this thing called a positive customer service experience, which our market research indicates is a leading reason customers report returning to the brick-and-mortar store. Someone around here has to make it happen, seeing as the other guy who hangs around the place is a real grinch.”
“Mm.” I run my hands along her arms, warming her up. “You oughta give him the boot.”
Her smile’s back in full, breathtaking force. “I think I’ll keep him. He might look like he’s doing more harm than good, scowling at patrons while they thumb through his books—”
“Our books. And this isn’t a library. They browse it, they buy it.”
“Our books,” she concedes, her fingers slipping through my hair. “This guy, though, he’s deceptive. At first I thought, ‘He’s such a Scrooge!’ Turns out, he’s got a heart of gold. He invested well and made this bookstore solidly profitable over the past ten years, then guess what he did? He started donating money!”
I boo-hiss because I know it’ll make her laugh.
“Even worse,” she says around fits of laughter, “he had the gall to co-found a charity with me dedicated to—wait for it.” She leans in conspiratorially. “Wintertime needs. People who could use help paying to heat and light their homes. Coats, boots, hats, and gloves for those without them. And a massive fund to buy gifts for kids whose families can’t afford them.”
“Sounds like a real piece of work.”
“Oh, he is.” She wraps her arms around my neck and sways us side to side. “But I love him. So very, very much.”
My hands slide down her waist, and I walk her back until she’s pressed against the door. “Jonathan!” she hisses. “What are you doing? We’re going to traumatize some poor kid who just wants to come in and buy a book—”