Paper Stars(13)

Because across every star was written three words in Ryder’s bold, sharp handwriting.

I love you.

He’d written it in the stars. Literally.

This. This. What we had right now, this connection, this need, this warmth, this love was enough.

Would always be enough, words or no words.

Tears gathered behind my eyes, and I pressed my hand to my mouth on a small, incredulous laugh.

“You did this?” I asked.

“I did.”

“For me?”

“For you.”

“All of it?” My voice came out small and a little shaky.

“You don’t like it?

I shook my head, because I couldn’t find words under all of the emotions inside me. But then I caught the worry in his eyes.

“No!” I said, “I mean yes. I do! It’s...it’s amazing. Perfect.”

He cradled my face with his free hand. His eyes were the color of sunlight through deep green waters, his smile soft, his body strong and sheltering and familiar and inviting.

“Delaney.” My name fell from his mouth like a caress. “I love you.”

My breath caught on another laugh and this time I couldn’t stop the tears.

“I love you too.” I sniffled.

He smiled, and drew me into him, stepped into me, pulling our bodies together as if we were two parts of one whole, complete on our own, but so much more together.

His thumb brushed my lower lip, his eyes focused on my mouth as he bent, just slightly, and lowered his head.

I stretched up, just slightly, our breaths mingling, our lips finally touching, sliding into that soft rhythm of give and take, of taste and sensation and joy, and promise, and yes, love.

I savored him, the quiet catch of his breath, the shifting of his wide shoulders as he erased every millimeter of distance between us that he could.

Nothing had changed with those three little words.

Everything had changed with those three little words.

I was dizzy with bliss.

When we finally pulled apart, it was only an inch, as if neither of us could stand the thought of letting the other go.

We stood there, holding each other beneath the paper stars, as the light of the tree twinkled with memories and promises.

And just beyond the window, it started to snow.

Jean.

I groaned, and he chuckled. “It is kind of romantic,” he said.

“Say it again,” I whispered.

“It’s kind of romantic?”

“The other thing.”

“I love you.”

I sighed. “I love you too.”

I slipped my fingers between his and stared out the big window at the softly falling flakes and the lake beyond.

“Think it will stop snowing by morning?”

He lifted one shoulder. “Maybe. Or maybe we’ll be snowed in. Together.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder, an immense relaxation settling in me. As if I’d been holding the weight of something, waiting on tip-toe, stretched too thin, hoping for more than just those three words. Hoping for him.

Which I supposed was true. I’d been wishing for him every Christmas since I was a child.

And he had, no, we had, finally come true.

“How about we enjoy tonight, together, alone, and worry about tomorrow tomorrow?” He pressed a kiss into my hair.

“That sounds perfect,” I said.

We kissed again, and then made our way to the bedroom, slowly shedding our clothes.

“Merry Christmas, Ryder Bailey,” I whispered against his lips as he pulled us both down onto his huge, soft bed, while the snow gently tapped the windows, and the dragon and dog curled up in front of the fire.

“Merry Christmas, Delaney Reed.”