“But what if there are things that I’m not ready to tell you yet? What if you change your mind? The more you get to know about me. What if I’ve finally found someone I want to be with, and it’s a swift pull of the rug?”

“I’m fucking here, aren’t I?” he says. “I’m standing right here. I’ve been here.”

“You’re here now. But I can’t make you stay.” My mouth floods with my own tears, and snot probably. Yeah, it’s mostly snot. “I hate this. I feel naked. And not in a fun way.”

From inside the house, a chorus of voices starts counting down.

He wipes my tears away with his thumbs.

“Are you going to kiss me?” I ask him. “I’d kiss you but you’re too tall for me to initiate. I need a step stool or something.”

He laughs, lifting me up by the waist. It’s a nose musher in the best way. I sink into him, and the bells become whimsical instead of obnoxious. Amazing, how that happens.

He puts me down.

“Will you take me home?” I ask him.

“I’m just gonna get my coat. Did you have one?”

“Nah. I run hot.”

“Can confirm,” he says, kissing me again. “I’ll be right back.”

When he’s gone, I barely resist the urge for a triumphant howl.

“Have you been naughty? Or have you been nice?” Santa asks me.

Wouldn’t he like to know.

—

Ian comes out of the house a minute later, carrying his coat.

“You sure you don’t want this?”

“I’m sure.”

We start the walk to his car. He takes my hand, threads his fingers through mine.

“This okay?” he asks me.

“Yes,” I say. “But no pet names.”

He laughs. “Not a problem.”

We get to the car, and he opens the door for me like he always does. He starts it, puts the heat on.

“So far this has been a pretty good year,” he says.

If I were to set a resolution, it would be to make this work. So next year we’re together, like we are now. On our way home.

—

He pours us root beer in champagne coupes, and we curl up on the couch in the glow of his Christmas tree. It’s a little sad-looking, since it’s lost most of its needles, but the lights are nice.

“Do you want to talk about what happened with Mia?”

“Not really,” I say.

He nods.

“It wasn’t about you. Well, it wasn’t just about you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I saw her. I should have mentioned. But when you showed up that night, I just . . . She wasn’t even a thought in my mind.”

I sip my root beer.

“She’s blond,” I say after a while.

“Yeah?”

“So is your ex. I found a picture when I was looking through your books. You and some pretty blond girl. Thought maybe you liked blondes.”

“I like you, Rory. You don’t need to worry about anyone else. You’ve never had to worry about anyone else.”