Free Christmas Catch: A Holiday Novella by The 12 NAs of Christmas, Chelsea M. Cameron Page B

kissed him right now, he’d taste of the ocean.
    “This is the best present I’ve gotten, Sawyer. I love it and . . . I love you. I never stopped. Never for a single second. I carried it with me when I left and I brought it back. I tried to get rid of you, but I couldn’t. You’re too much a part of me.” I’ve never said any of this out loud. Not even when we were together. I didn’t have to say it, we both just knew.
    “And you’re a part of me and I love you.”
    Our dual declaration makes us both smile and Sawyer picks me up and kisses me.
    He tastes like the ocean.

 
     
     
     
     

     
    I don’t start panicking about how our relationship is going to work like I thought I would. Instead, I bask in the fact that Sawyer’s hand is in mine and when I go back to my house, he’s coming with me and we will keep holding hands.
    “Is there any mistletoe in your house?” he asks as we park back in my driveway. When we left the house I was sweating, but now I’m freezing. And starving. And I REALLY need coffee. I grumbled at Sawyer about that not being part of his plan, but he said he was so nervous he forgot that part.
    I forgave him.
    “Uh no. But there should be. Not that we need it to kiss. I’m sure Mom is going to cry when we tell her. Like, actual tears. And my mother doesn’t cry in front of people.”
    We hold hands and enter the house. Oops.
    “Well, look who decided to make an appearance,” Mom says, glaring, but when she sees our joined hands, the cup of coffee she’d been holding crashes to the floor.
    “What the hell?” Dad says, staring at the cup. Mom just runs over and envelops Sawyer and me in the huggiest of hugs.
    “This is the best present ever!” And then my mother does something that I didn’t think was possible. She squeals. Like a little fangirl at a vampire movie premiere. She squeals and claps her hands and then she wipes her eyes. Dad is looking at her as if she has lost her damn mind, which I’m pretty sure she has.
    “Can’t you see it? Sawyer and Ivy are together. It’s a Christmas miracle.” She squeals again and goes to get the broom. Dad just shakes his head.
    “Congrats you two. Knew it would work out in the end. You’ve certainly made your mother happy.” He shakes Sawyer’s hand, gives me a rough kiss on my forehead and goes to help Mom clean up the mess.
    “Merry Christmas,” I say to Sawyer, tilting my face up.
    “Merry Christmas. Who needs mistletoe?”
    “Not us.”
     

     
    Sawyer leaves right after Mom forces a cup of coffee, eggs, bacon, pancakes and some toast onto him. He says he’s just going to get his mother and then he’ll be back.
    Meanwhile, I eat and then my siblings descend with their spawn, who are all hopped up on sugar and toys and Christmas magic.
    Mom lets them go straight for their stockings, and about five seconds later the floor is strewn with paper and wrappers and they’re all silent because their mouths are full of candy and so forth. Wow. Not a bad idea. I write that one down for when I potentially have children. I’ve always thought that I would, and now that Sawyer and I are . . . whatever we are, I can almost see it. Our children. They’d be much less noisy and irritating, of course.
    I go take a quick shower and let my hair dry naturally so it curls for when Sawyer gets back. I know he likes it better that way. I also put all of the things for his present in my car so we can drive over to his place later. I haven’t told Mom that’s what I’m doing, but something tells me she won’t mind.
    As soon as the kids are busy with their new things, the “adults” (I use that term loosely) go for their presents. I’m just unwrapping a pair of hand-knitted (by my mother) mittens when Sawyer and his mother come back.
    “Where’s my present?” he says as he sits down with me in the recliner. I stick my tongue out at him as Mom opens the shampoo and things I got her.
    “Patience, McCallister.