I had expected Ryder to fall asleep on the drive back to his place. Well, our place, I guess.

His cabin on the lake had been feeling less like home over the last couple months he’d been gone, and me more like a stranger drifting through it.

But not tonight. Tonight, it was the only place I wanted to be.

I didn’t know how we went forward from here. Maybe we would drift like this, sometimes together, sometimes at a distance.

Maybe our relationship would be caught in the pause between right now and forever and that was okay.

Maybe it didn’t matter that he’d never told me he loved me, never said those three words.

I knew what I saw in his eyes when he looked at me, I knew what I heard when he laughed with me, I knew what I felt when he touched me.

It was love.

I parked the Jeep, and we sat there in the dark for a moment, the porch light glowing warm and yellow, inviting, waiting.

“So, it’s officially Christmas morning,” Ryder said.

I glanced at the dash clock. Twenty minutes after midnight. “Yes.”

“That means I can give you your present.” He pushed open the door, grunting as he carefully slid out of the seat.

It was probably time for him to take more painkillers.

I followed him to the porch. It was cold out, like the thermometer had suddenly dropped ten degrees.

I shivered and my breath came out in clouds.

Ryder worked the lock, but turned around before opening the door, his body blocking the threshold. “Close your eyes.”

“Didn’t have time to buy wrapping paper?”

He grinned. “Close your eyes.”

It was late, and we were both tired, but there was a feeling in the air, a kind of timelessness and peace that made warmth bloom inside me.

I didn’t care what gift he had gotten me. Would be just as happy with nothing but his arms around me. He was what I wanted in my life. He was my gift.

I smiled and closed my eyes. “Don’t run me into a wall.”

I felt him step closer, then his arms wrapped around my waist, his mouth so close to mine, I could feel his breath on my cheek.

“Promise.” He kissed me gently, once on the center of my lips, then took hold of both of my hands in one of his.

I heard the door open, heard Spud and the dragon gallop toward us, felt them both nosing around like we’d hidden treats or welcome mats in our pockets.

Ryder drew me deeper into the house. I had pretty good spatial awareness, knew we were standing in the middle of the living room, facing the tree.

He must have left my gift under the tree.

“Now?” I asked.

“Hold on.” He let go of my hands. “Don’t peek.”

He moved away, and I heard him reach for something with a slight grunt.

I shook my head. “If you didn’t buy wrapping paper, you could have just thrown a blanket over whatever it is.”

“Hush.” A little more fiddling. “Okay.” He stood in front of me again, and linked our hands together. “Open your eyes.”

I opened my eyes.

Stars.

Hundreds of paper stars hung from the ceiling, fluttering on thin strings of tinsel and winking lights.

Silver and gold, blue and white, red and green, the stars were a constellation of wonder, a childhood memory, a wish come true.

Because across every star was written three words in Ryder’s bold, sharp handwriting.

I love you.

He’d written it in the stars. Literally.

This. This. What we had right now, this connection, this need, this warmth, this love was enough.

Would always be enough, words or no words.

Tears gathered behind my eyes, and I pressed my hand to my mouth on a small, incredulous laugh.

“You did this?” I asked.

“I did.”

“For me?”

“For you.”

“All of it?” My voice came out small and a little shaky.

“You don’t like it?

I shook my head, because I couldn’t find words under all of the emotions inside me. But then I caught the worry in his eyes.

“No!” I said, “I mean yes. I do! It’s...it’s amazing. Perfect.”

He cradled my face with his free hand. His eyes were the color of sunlight through deep green waters, his smile soft, his body strong and sheltering and familiar and inviting.

“Delaney.” My name fell from his mouth like a caress. “I love you.”

My breath caught on another laugh and this time I couldn’t stop the tears.

“I love you too.” I sniffled.

He smiled, and drew me into him, stepped into me, pulling our bodies together as if we were two parts of one whole, complete on our own, but so much more together.

His thumb brushed my lower lip, his eyes focused on my mouth as he bent, just slightly, and lowered his head.

I stretched up, just slightly, our breaths mingling, our lips finally touching, sliding into that soft rhythm of give and take, of taste and sensation and joy, and promise, and yes, love.

I savored him, the quiet catch of his breath, the shifting of his wide shoulders as he erased every millimeter of distance between us that he could.

Nothing had changed with those three little words.

Everything had changed with those three little words.

I was dizzy with bliss.

When we finally pulled apart, it was only an inch, as if neither of us could stand the thought of letting the other go.

We stood there, holding each other beneath the paper stars, as the light of the tree twinkled with memories and promises.

And just beyond the window, it started to snow.

Jean.

I groaned, and he chuckled. “It is kind of romantic,” he said.

“Say it again,” I whispered.

“It’s kind of romantic?”

“The other thing.”

“I love you.”

I sighed. “I love you too.”

I slipped my fingers between his and stared out the big window at the softly falling flakes and the lake beyond.

“Think it will stop snowing by morning?”

He lifted one shoulder. “Maybe. Or maybe we’ll be snowed in. Together.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder, an immense relaxation settling in me. As if I’d been holding the weight of something, waiting on tip-toe, stretched too thin, hoping for more than just those three words. Hoping for him.

Which I supposed was true. I’d been wishing for him every Christmas since I was a child.

And he had, no, we had, finally come true.

“How about we enjoy tonight, together, alone, and worry about tomorrow tomorrow?” He pressed a kiss into my hair.

“That sounds perfect,” I said.

We kissed again, and then made our way to the bedroom, slowly shedding our clothes.

“Merry Christmas, Ryder Bailey,” I whispered against his lips as he pulled us both down onto his huge, soft bed, while the snow gently tapped the windows, and the dragon and dog curled up in front of the fire.

“Merry Christmas, Delaney Reed.”