Naughty or Nice

18. Rora

18

RORA

DECEMBER 25

I should’ve known Noelle wouldn’t let me skip Christmas Day while I was in Wintermore. And there are worse ways to be woken up than by a six-five man who smells like chocolate plucking you out of bed.

I expected Henry to be more reserved around his family, but he hasn’t stopped touching me since I got here—or rather, since he presented me to them. If he doesn’t have an arm around my shoulders, he’s holding my hand under a blanket or twirling my hair around his finger.

Only once have I been coerced into spending Christmas Day with the Whittens, when I got a mild concussion after slipping on ice and hitting my head on a fence in tenth grade. My parents were out of town, and Charlie and Kate insisted it wasn’t safe for me to be home alone with a concussion. I couldn’t argue with them, considering standing up to go to the bathroom made me dizzy.

But they’ve followed the same Christmas Day routine since long before they moved to Wintermore, and today is no exception: breakfast followed by presents, one at a time, so everyone can see each other’s reactions, then Christmas music, movies, and so much food there’ll be leftovers for a week.

Breakfast was delicious, and I appreciate the boozy hot chocolate for taking the edge off now that I have to watch Henry open his Christmas present. Thankfully, we saved exchanging gifts for last, and the rest of the Whittens are only half paying attention.

What exactly is the etiquette for giving gifts to the man you’re technically just hooking up for the season but have definitely caught feelings for? Finding something he would like wasn’t the problem; I’m pretty sure I could just give him a handwritten card with a copy of the picture he took of us at the cabin and he would love it. But finding something that balanced “I know this is just for now, and I’m totally okay with that!” and “I’m pretty sure walking away from you is going to break my fucking heart, and I’m actually not okay with it at all!” was decidedly trickier.

I hold my breath as Henry carefully unwraps the box in his hand, hoping like hell I’ve made the right call. His eyes widen when the paper slips away, revealing the red and black Switch box, and I immediately go into over-explaining mode. “I thought it would be good while you’re listening to albums, you know? When you can’t paint, instead of solitaire. Actually, you can play solitaire on it, but I figured you might want to mix it up.”

A soft smile stretches over Henry’s face, the kind that makes my heart skip and my brain conjure up all kinds of alternative endings that won’t completely gut me.

“It’s perfect. I love it. Thank you.” His fingers twitch like he wants to reach for me but is conscious of his family sitting in the same room as us. “You’ll need to teach me how to use it properly.”

“I will,” I promise. “You’ve already picked it up pretty quickly. And maybe…” I trail off, and Henry raises a curious brow. I almost chicken out because his reaction to what I say next has the potential to split me in two, and I’ve never been good at hiding my reactions to things. I take a deep breath. “Maybe we could play together. When we’re traveling.”

Henry just stares at me for a moment, his eyes slowly widening, and I’m sure I’ve fucked up, come on too strong .

But then he blinks, something else that I don’t recognize crossing his expression. “I would really love that, sugar.”

I don’t even realize how knotted my nerves are until his words sink into me and loosen them. Henry reaches a hand down the side of the couch and picks up a wrapped present. My name is written on the box in his handwriting, but it’s wrapped differently to the gifts he gave his family; they were wrapped in red and green paper with foiled Christmas ornaments, and tied with striped ribbon, candy canes, and jingle bells. The Whittens don’t half-ass Christmas wrapping.

And Henry hasn’t half-assed the wrapping on my gift either, but it’s not Christmassy. The wrapping paper is deep purple with a gold sheen and matching gold ribbon, tied with a single white rose and a little pouch filled with my favorite sour candy.

I swallow down a lump in my throat. He went to all that extra effort just because I don’t like Christmas ? Fuck.

“Merry Christmas, sugar,” he says, handing it over.

The box is weighty, the paper silky beneath my fingers. I look from the present to Henry. “You literally just bought me a camera; you didn’t need?—”

“I wanted to get you the camera, and I wanted to get you a Christmas present,” he replies so quickly that I’m sure he was just waiting for me to protest. “You can’t expect Santa not to get you a present. Open it.”

I gingerly unwrap the paper, revealing a sleek golden box inside. I’m hyper-aware of Henry’s fingers drumming silently on his thigh. Is he nervous ? I suppose I can’t judge, considering how I felt all of two minutes ago handing him his present.

The lid lifts easily, and I brush away the crinkled paper on top. I can’t tell what it is at first, just that it’s brown and looks like leather. Reaching into the box, I pull out the gift, and my breath catches in my chest.

“Oh my god.”

I run my finger lightly over it, surprised by the tears that threaten my eyes. It’s a new camera bag, just big enough for my essentials. It’s something I’ve desperately needed—the bag I have now is great but bulky, and not ideal for smaller shoots. But the practicality of the bag isn’t what has me choking up. It’s hand-painted, my happy place front and center: the cabin. Above the painting of the cabin, the aurora borealis has been painted, almost identical to my tattoo, except it flows all the way up the bag strap. On the front flap, my name has been embroidered in shimmering golden thread. It’s beautiful.

“Henry, I…” I can’t find the words. How am I supposed to thank him for something so perfectly me ?

“There’s something inside,” he replies softly.

God, this is already so much.

I unclasp the bag and open it to find a matching camera strap painted with the same aurora borealis design. It’s a harness style, my name embroidered on the back in the same gold thread.

“I spoke to Bobbi, and she recommended that style since your neck has been getting sore.”

“It’s perfect. Did you paint these?”

“Yeah…” Henry sounds nervous, and I look up to find him rubbing the back of his neck. It’s only been a week since we went to the cabin, and he somehow found time to do this? “I got the bag and strap from Bobbi and painted and embroidered them. I thought it would be good for you to have your place with you, you know, when you’re traveling again. It was my first time doing the embroidery, so it’s not the best. I wasn’t sure if the gold…” he babbles nervously.

Understandable, I suppose, considering the fact that I’m sitting here silently, feeling so fucking seen , wondering how I’m supposed to just say thank you when… Fuck .

I run my thumb over my name, embroidered perfectly considering it was Henry’s first time, and clear my throat. “I’m going to need everyone to cover their eyes for a second.”

Charlie groans, and Felix mutters, “Gross,” under his breath, but I couldn’t care less. I count to five before setting the bag and strap carefully aside and climbing into Henry’s lap.

I clasp his face, pressing my nose to his. “Thank you,” I say, softly enough for only him. “This is the nicest, most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me. I love it, and I…” I lose a shaky breath. “I love that I’m going to have my place with me when I’m traveling, yes, but I love that I’m going to have a little piece of you even more.”

Henry’s eyes are blazing into mine when he cups my face and pulls my lips to his. It could be described as a chaste kiss, if not for the way we desperately grip each other. A split second isn’t long enough, but it’s all we have at the moment. In the grand scheme of things, it’s all we have, period.

I don’t want to let him go, but I do. Henry has other ideas, though, clinging to me when I try to climb out of his lap.

Stay. Don’t go. He doesn’t have to say it; it’s written all over this face.

And I want to. God, I want to, but this is already weird for the rest of the Whittens, and me sitting in Henry’s lap is probably pushing it.

Henry sighs and loosens his hold on me. I climb out of his lap and snuggle into his side, resting my head on his shoulder instead. It’s close, but not so close that it feels like a step too far. He winds his arm around my shoulder and presses a kiss to the top of my head just as Felix grumbles, “Can we open our eyes now?”

“Yeah,” I reply, reaching for my new camera bag and taking it in.

The realization is deafening, clanging through my brain like thunder. No matter how much of a lost cause this is … I want to keep him.