Page 181 of My Unfinished Heart

“Enough to decorate a Christmas tree and deal with these people for the next few hours?”

“Even enough to wait ten years for the chance.”

“Fuck, I love you, too,” I sigh. “Like so much.”

“It’s just my opinion,” Eliza says as she passes by us. “But you can do all that later.”

Tristan sighs. “Wow, she really hates me.”

“You’ll grow on her.”

Around then, West and Kate come in with the tree. Joey is already clearing a space by the window for it, and Connor is coming down the hall with several large shopping bags in his hands.

“I need a drink,” Tristan says. “Anyone else need a drink?”

“White Russians in the fridge,” Joey says as she puts my fiddle leaf fig in a corner. “And there’s egg nog, too, if that’s your thing. The girls like it, so be sure to notate somehow if you spike it.”

Tristan looks up at me. “Want some spiked egg nog?”

“If I’m ever gonna like egg nog, it’ll be tonight.”

Tristan gives me his brilliant smile and takes my hand, leading me to the kitchen where he kisses me until we’re both breathless and tries to tell me the rest of them won’t miss us for fifteen minutes.

I don’t give him the fifteen minutes, but he has my full attention a few hours later when everyone’s gone and we’re admiring my first Christmas tree from the couch.

The lights are multi-colored, and the decorations are a mishmash of various items from a ballerina to a squirrel holding an acorn. There are lots of Santas and words like Peace and Joy and there’s even a set of glass paint brushes and a very nice replica of a violin. Everyone is represented by a little something.

Tristan’s ornament is a porcelain quill, which immediately annoyed him, but eventually made him smile.

I ask him about it now while he stares at the beautiful tree with his arms around me and his legs in my lap. Everything is tied together with crystal and white balls, the occasional pop of red from a well-placed poinsettia bloom, and glass icicles.

“I like to write,” he says. “Sometimes I’ll think of a story that feels like it’s worth following through.”

“You ever finish anything?”

“Oh, all the time,” he says. “I have a computer full of short stories and a notebook full of ideas for longer ones.”

“So…fuck law school?”

“I’m not prepared to go that far,” he says. “I’m still honing my craft.”

I slide my hand through the short strands of hair on the back of his head. I miss his careless waves, but I love him like this, too. All put together like a damn model with perfect everything. He still looks young, but he also looks polished and more confident. More comfortable in his own skin, though I’m willing to bet his skin care routine is more regimented than ever, and this hair didn’t style itself.

He brushes a fingertip down my nose, and it makes my dick get hard. “I have such a thing for your nose,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“It’s like this weird fetish for Roman noses I’ve had since I was a kid. Crazy, huh?”

“It’s my mother’s nose.”

“Well, then that’s one nice thing she did for you. We’ll start a tiny list and burn it in the fire pit out back.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He gets closer to me until he’s nearly on my lap, and we’re chest to chest. “You’re happy,” he whispers.

“Are you?”