Page 132 of Such Sharp Teeth

“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.”

“Say that again.”

“I shouldn’t,” he says. “But you already know. You’re it.”

I hold him, my anchor. His presence a salve. His scent like magic to me.