“Same.”
This time, his smile molded into mine as he pressed my body into the wall with his own and proceeded to make up for every day we’d been apart. I was consumed by him and his overwhelming presence in front of me. His arms pulled me close, and his fingers messed up my hair. He drew heated kisses all down my jawline and cheeks before I clasped his neck and brought his mouth back to my lips. When I felt myself almost on the verge of losing control, I pulled away from him and took a deep breath, trying to think of something to calm our nerves.
“You’re going to have to find a different name than Spanks. Especially at school.”
He seemed affronted. “I will not. That’s my favorite memory.”
I leaned in closer. “Your favorite?”
“Well, one of them.”
Then, we were kissing again. My plan didn’t work. To an outsider, I was sure we really were disgusting in that twitter-pated, obsessed-with-each-other, cheesy-grin stage, but I didn’t care. What a difference a couple of weeks could make.
I pulled away from him, wiping my lips, my chest heaving. “I gave back the edits for ‘The Mating Habits of the Dung Beetle.’”
“How’d it turn out? Was there anything good?”
“If I tell you, you can never go back to a time where you didn’t know.”
“Good point.”
He moved to kiss me again before I stopped him. “And for your information, Harvey paid me for a job well done.”
He reared his head back, looking at me in surprise. “Really? That’s good. If you’re interested, I made a couple of adjustments to my next book. I wondered if you’d be willing to go over it for me?”
“Well, I’m charging for my services now, so you’d better be prepared to pay up.”
He pulled me in closer, his hands roaming my back while his lips hovered tantalizingly close to my own. “Are you open to alternative forms of payment?”
I smiled and pretended to think. “I could probably be persuaded.”
“I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“Okay.” I leaned back into him, fully intent on resuming our makeout session.
“Down, Spanks. I’ve got to show you something.”
“What?”
He lifted his arm. I looked up to see him holding a tiny, green, parasitic plant above us. “Thought I’d give you a chance to remedy the whole mistletoe debacle.”
A smile bit my lips. “There was no debacle. It counted.”
“It didn’t.”
“Well, either way, we lost the bingo game. It doesn’t matter if we finish or not.”
“Not technically, but…” He held out a card in front of my face.
“The bingo card?” I laughed.
“I know how much you love to cross something off your list.”
I was almost to his lips. “I do love a good checkmark. But I don’t plan to ever be finished with you.”
“Prove it.”
So, I did. Under the mistletoe in my classroom next to his, I gave him my lips and my heart. The moment was ripe for the picking, and I was finally ready to live it.
He pulled back from our kiss and grinned at me as his fingers found the light switch.
“Blackout.”
EPILOGUE
“The future has not been written. There is no fate but what we make for ourselves.”
The Terminator
It was summer now. We were lounging on the porch swing at my little butter-yellow house. Miles was sitting upright and I lay across the swing, my head on his lap, rereading my favorite parts of Jane Eyre. A cool summer breeze ruffled my hair as we rocked gently. This was a favorite spot of ours—when he was home. He’d been off and running for what would be his last year of teaching with Outward Bound, trying to make the most of his white-water-rafting trips and rock climbing adventures while he could. He’d been picked up by his publisher to write a whole new adventure series and would need the extra time to write. The last book had come out in May, and so far, it was a smashing success. I liked to think that was due in large part to the last minute addition of a small love story featuring a charming heroine nicknamed Spanks.
Miles and I had made it through a whole semester as a couple. We tried to keep it professional in the workplace, but every so often, he would walk into my classroom while I was in the middle of teaching and plant a huge kiss on me before walking back out again—to the utter delight of my class. And me.
He might never love Jane Eyre. I might never understand his obsession with skydiving or The Terminator, but he also never lets me get away with a fake smile. My laughs were real and heartfelt around him. He was my wings, and I was his nest. He continued to help me see the best in Russ. He taught me to see that I had so much more love to give, and none of it deserved to be locked away.
He also pushed me to get out of my comfort zone, while still being respectful of the fact that my comfort zone was different than his. Together we discovered a love of kayaking. I kept us to more gentle parts of the river, but I found that I liked being in water. I was a decent swimmer and he planned to take me on a white water rafting trip later this summer. I might never become a full adventurer–I meant what I said about never going skydiving. Or rock climbing. Thankfully, he had good friends who enjoyed both.
It turned out I had been wasting my talents as an editor. After I returned Harvey’s thesis, Miles helped me set up a website where I offered my services for a fee. I became the first editor for his new book, and while he didn’t exactly pay me in cash, we managed to come up with an arrangement that suited us both.
I turned the page, almost to the part where Rochester admits his feelings, when something dropped out of my book. A clanking sound on the concrete followed. I slid off the porch swing, confused, and looked around for whatever it could possibly have been. Something glinted in the sunlight underneath the swing, and I tentatively reached out and picked it up.
It was a silver, oval-shaped ring, exactly from my dreams. A smile bit my lips as my heart began to race. I stole a glance at Miles.
He was now kneeling before me, an apprehensive smile on his face. “Spanks—”
He cut off when I glared at him and tried again. “Olive, I love you. So much. Will you marry me?”
I spent the next long moments thoroughly convincing him that I would. There were no more questions in my mind. No more doubts. I had given him my timid heart, and he made it soar. And in the words of the great Charlotte Bronte, from my second favorite book, “Reader, I married him.”
The End
Read the next book in the series!
A Newport Christmess
By Jess Heileman
Love can be downright messy.
Read the rest of the Christmas Escape Series!
All standalone, clean, closed door romances that can be read in any order.
Christmas Baggage
Deborah M. Hathaway
Host for the Holidays
Martha Keyes
Faking Christmas
Cindy Steel
A Newport Christmas
Jess Heileman
A Not-So-Holiday Paradise
Gracie Ruth Mitchell
Later on We’ll Conspire
Kortney Keisel
Cotswolds Holiday
Kasey Stockton
Author’s Notes