She breathes in, shaky and soft.
There’s a beat of silence—just us, just this—and then my dad calls us to help set the table.
Alicia squeezes my hand once before letting go.
Later, after dinner, after Stella curls up on the couch between Linda and my father, after the dishes are done and the house settles into its nighttime hum, Alicia and I step outside into the cold. Our breath clouds the air between us.
“Walk with me?” she asks.
I lace my fingers through hers and lead her down the driveway. The trees overhead are bare silhouettes against a silver sky. The world is quiet—just the crunch of leaves beneath our boots and the soft rhythm of our matching steps.
Halfway down the block, she stops.
Turns.
Looks up at me with that expression that still knocks the breath out of my lungs—like she’s letting herself hope.
“I didn’t expect any of this,” she admits. “Not you. Not your family. Not…falling in love again.”
I cup her cheek, brushing my thumb over the curve of her jaw. “I didn’t expect you. But I’m damn glad I found you.”
She leans into my touch. And I know what’s coming before she says it.
“Noah?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m really glad you walked into my life.”
I smile, but it feels like something breaking open. “I’m not walking out.”
A breath catches in her throat—small, undone, beautiful.
I lower my forehead to hers.
She exhales, soft and warm, and her hand curls at the back of my neck, tugging me the last inch closer.
The kiss is slow.
Deep.
Certain.
The kind of kiss a man gives a woman he sees a future with.
“You know, we talk about everything.”
“Yeah.” I keep my voice neutral, waiting.
“We haven’t talked about kids.”
My hand stills on her back. “Okay.”
She pulls back slightly, needing to see my face. “Being here over the holidays…seeing the Christmas tree, the stockings, your family…you want all that, right?”
“I’ve got all that. We’ve got stockings at your place. Stella?—”
“A child of your own,” she interrupts quietly. “You’d be a good father, Noah. And I can’t…” Her voice catches. “I’m in my forties. The chances are?—”