Page 32 of Home for the Holidays

She shifts. “What about Josh?”

“Yeah, he’s one of my brothers…” I study her face. “Does that make you uncomfortable? Seeing him again?”

“No, I don’t care about him,” she says, and I believe her. She waves a hand. “Just that if we’re…”

My eyebrows go up. “If we’re what?”

She swallows and straightens her shoulders. “If we’re going to continue sleeping together,” Rachel says bluntly, “We’ll have to tell him. Especially before he comes to visit.”

“Do you want to keep sleeping together?” I don’t know that I want to know the answer. I mean, I do, but only if it’s going to be a yes. I don’t want there to be any other option.

She takes a breath. “I’d like to, yes,” she says. Her eyes flick up to mine and then away. “I’m not ready for more.”

“Am I pushing you for more?” It’s an honest question. I really don’t think I am. Maybe I’m doing something subconsciously.

“You’re not,” Rachel says. “I know you want more, but you’ve respected that I’m not able to give it.” She exhales heavily. “I’m working on myself. I want to get to a place where I can be open to more. I’m just not there yet.”

“There’s no rush,” I tell her, taking her hand. “When we have forever ahead of us, a little bit of time is easy to give.”

She gulps. “Forever?”

“That’s what I want. Forever. With you.”

Rachel goes tense.

“But I know you’re not ready, I’m okay with taking it a day at a time,” I’m quick to add.

“One day at a time,” she agrees.

Snow falls steadily over the next few hours. Because we’re so high up, we can see the snowfall swirling around us and dropping to the street below. We’re well and truly snowed in.

After we clean up the breakfast dishes, we take showers—separately—and curl up on the couch. Rachel puts on a Chanukah Hallmark movie and I make hot cocoa for both of us, with plenty of marshmallows for her.

“I can’t believe you’re watching this,” she comments as she lays on my chest, my hand threaded though her hair.

“Why?”

“I thought you’d want to watch sports replays or an action movie.”

Laughing, I kiss her temple. “Way to stereotype.”

She’s not wrong.

But when the alternative is holding her in my arms? Yeah, I’ll do whatever she wants.

After the movie ends, I pull out the box that lives in my linen closet. I don’t have a lot of holiday decor. I have more flamingo summer decorations than Chanukah.

Rachel takes my phone and opens the online shopping app. Together, we scroll through the site. She picks garlands to hang in front of the mantle and a set of Chanukah gnomes that I kind of want to display year round. There’s a frosted winter gingerbread-style house with a menorah in the front window. I have a menorah already, so she one-clicks on candles to fill it.

I never would have thought I’d need this. As soon as I see her eyes light up, we add it to the cart. Whatever she wants, we add it to the cart.

We spend two days on the couch, buried under a pile of blankets. We make out, take breaks for snacks, and play cards and board games. She cheats. Blatantly. Every time.

And I let her, like the lovesick fool I am.

When the snow starts to clear and the impromptu vacation comes to an end, I’m almost sorry. Does it suck to have missed a game? Yes. I love playing, and I’ll happily do it every chance I get. But these last few days… I wouldn’t change them for the world.

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