snuck in here, he may drag you back to the woods himself.”
“I think I’m growing on him, but I’ll take my chances.”
I wake fully and shift my eyes to where his hand is still cupping my breast and back to him. “I thought I was dreaming,” I blurt without thinking.
His lip tips in a sideways grin and his eyes light up. “Seems only fair since I dream about you every night.”
“Lawson—”
“Shhh.” He lowers his mouth to mine. “It’s Christmas, Greer, nothing was keeping me away this morning.”
I grin against his lips, sliding my hand around his neck. “Merry Christmas.”
He shifts so I have a full view of his face and the soft warmth in his eyes. My chest and stomach tighten at the same time, reminding me of the familiarity of waking in his arms. When he doesn’t immediately kiss me again, I realize there’s something on his mind.
“When I was little, Mom used to wake up early on Christmas morning, come into my room, and crawl into bed with me. She’d whisper ‘Merry Christmas, my precious Lawson,’ and kiss me on the cheek to wake me. I’d roll into her with wide eyes, excitement bursting inside with one thing on my mind and ask ‘Did Santa come?’ She’d always nod with a bright smile and snuggle close. I’d squirm and squirm, trying to get loose, and she’d smother me with kisses under protest, all while I begged for her to stop. When she had thoroughly covered my head and face, she would let me free, but only after I’d promise to wait in my room until Dad gave me the signal. She’d slip out of bed, and a few minutes later, I’d always hear Clay begging for mercy as she treated him to the same wake-up ritual.”
A lump clogs my throat as I picture the scene in my mind.
“I was always ready, waiting with my hand on the knob, and when Dad would whistle, I’d fly out of my room, straight to the tree and dive in, not waiting for Clay. He’d stumble in after me, and together, we’d demolish the living room, screaming and shouting as we ripped through wrapping paper and plastic packaging. Mom and Dad would watch, her curled into his side, and him with his arm draped over her shoulder.
“One year, I asked Mom if she was sad that Santa didn’t leave presents for her. Do you want to know her answer?”
I nod, holding my breath.
“She said ‘Joshua, you’re wrong, baby. Santa does leave me presents. Every year, I ask him for the same thing, and he always gives it to me. I have you boys and your dad and that’s all I ever want. Someday, you will understand what I mean.”
Tears pool in my eyes, and my bottom lip begins to quiver.
“I asked her the same question every year and always heard the same answer.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I never understood that answer until this morning. It’s been a lot of years since I woke up with the excitement of that young boy on Christmas Day.”
Something in the way he’s looking at me changes, and his hand moves from my chest to cradle the back of my head. “Since my mom died, I buried that memory, but you brought it back. Thank you for that,” he tells me softly.
My heart bursts, and tears spill onto my cheeks. I suck in a deep breath trying to find words.
“I love you, Greer.” He swipes my cheek with the pad of his thumb.
“I believe you,” I croak.
“Tell me you forgive me.”
“I forgive you.”
“Tell me we’re moving forward.”
“We're moving forward.”
“Tell me you still love me.”
“You know I do.” I don’t hesitate because, even though I haven’t said the words, it’s useless to deny.
His gaze locks with mine, his eyes glowing with intensity. “Tell me you’ll marry me.”
“I’ll marry— Wait!” I freeze, all the blood draining from my face and an icy chill racing up and down my spine. The tears dry instantly. My hand falls, and I push against his chest to put some space between us. He doesn’t budge.
I press harder, grunting when he still doesn’t budge.
“Back away,” I finally say.