Truman is ready for the dance, dressed in a suit and tie like he always is. Steady. Stable. Reliable. A preacher.

He would make my father proud.

I wish I knew why Hunter really left, all those years ago.

But I know it doesn’t matter.

He is here now. Claiming me the way I’ve needed him to do.

“Is that true, Holly?” Truman asks, shock in his voice. “You betrayed me?”

I know whatever I say never will change my life. And I’m glad. I’ve been waiting for a change ever since Hunter left.

“I love him.”

It’s simple. It’s true. It’s destiny.

It is what I’ve always been waiting for.

“You love me?” Hunter asks, stepping toward me, disregarding Truman altogether.

“I always have,” I admit. “I just never know why you left.”

Truman throws his hands in the air. “Are you kidding me with this crap?”

In the past I would have wanted to placate him -- but in the span of one afternoon my entire world has shifted. The pieces of my life are finally beginning to fall into place.

The words send dark shadows across Hunter’s eyes. “Your father … he told me things that made me … doubt my worth, that made me think that I wasn’t enough for you; for anyone …”

“What did he say?” I ask, covering my mouth as tears fill my eyes.

“I don’t want to discredit the man you idolize--”

I cut him off. “I know my father wasn’t perfect. He was …”

“What?” Hunter and Truman ask at the same time.

“He saw the world in black and white,” I say. “He didn’t understand that there could be gray. That being flawed didn’t mean you were broken. It meant you had lived.”

“This is ridiculous. Your father was a pillar of--” I cut Truman off.

“My father did many good things, but he judged harshly. His gospel was picked over, he took the pieces that worked for him. But that isn’t me.”

“And what are you, Holly?” Hunter asks.

I let my shoulders fall, the truth plain and simple and mine for the taking.

“I’m yours.”

Truman shouts, angry at me, at the way I’ve dragged him along. He wanted to get married, to start a family -- I wouldn’t even give him more than a kiss. And none of our kisses were like the kiss I just shared with Hunter.

My body longs for the man I’ve always wanted. If he chose me, I would give him the world.

Still, things need to end with Truman before I can fling myself into the arms of another man. I look at Truman, wanting him to know I’m sorry. Because I am. If this could work, it would have.

“I never meant to hurt you,” I tell him, knowing my words must sound hollow.

“But you did,” he shouts. “We were supposed to get married, to be the perfect--“

“I’m not perfect. I’m scared to ask for what I want. I’m scared of being alone. And I’m scared that people will realize that I’m a mess.”

“A mess?” Truman scoffs. “But you are the perfect little Christmas present. You were supposed to be the perfect wife--”

“You see what you want to see, Truman.” I step toward him, feeling genuinely sad for him. “But you only see the pieces of me that make you happy. Deep down, we both know I’m not the one for you.”

“And he is?” Truman’s eyes flash with hurt. He might have really believed I could play the part as the preacher’s wife.

“Yes,” I say, not knowing what Hunter does for a living, where he lives, or what his life is like. Not needing those details. Because having him in my life is more than enough.

It’s everything.

“This is ridiculous,” Truman says. “Good luck with your life, Holly. I’ll pray for you.”

He leaves the room then, down the stairs, out the door. And then it’s just Hunter and I. Alone.

“I didn’t expect …” I start.

Hunter steps toward me. “You love me?” Tears fill his brown eyes and they aren’t tears of sorrow. They are tears of hope.

I take a deep breath, knowing there is no going back. Which is fine because I don’t want to.

“I always have,” I tell him.

His smile then, lights up the room. Brighter than the Christmas tree downstairs and capable of setting my heart on fire. It’s the smile that made me fall in love with him all those years ago.

Instead of fading, it only grew brighter. One day I prayed he’d return.

Now here he is, two days before Christmas.

“What happens now?” I ask, my heart hoping for the ending I always dreamed about. Us, here, in this house. Happily ever after.

Hunter’s hand is on my waist and cupping my face. “We could dance.”

I shake my head. “We can’t go there, what if Truman--“

He cuts me off. “I was thinking we could stay here. Put this on,” he says, lifting the mix-tape. “You have a cassette player somewhere?”

Twisting my lips I think about the old stereo system still hooked up in the living room. “Actually, I might.”

I take the tape and we head downstairs. In the living room I close the curtains and then look for the tape deck as Hunter starts a fire. The sky outside the single pane windows is dark, and when the music begins I take him in, silently. His stature so solid and sure. A man in his own right -- a man who loves me.

My body burns for him. The lyrics of In Your Eyes send a smile across my face as Hunter turns to me, the fire burning behind him.

In your eyes, the light the heat.

The lyrics may have been immortalized by Peter Gabriel, but right now they aren’t his. They’re ours..

Hunter takes me in his arms again and this time love has been declared and there is no one stopping us from having what we want. This. Tonight. Finally.

“I’ve waited for you,” I tell him as I press myself against him. “I’m still as pure as I was when you left.”

“You and Truman, you never…”

I shake my head. “I’m a virgin.”

“God, Holly, I knew you were too good for me. You’re so--”

“I’m just a girl, who has always been in love with a boy. And so I waited.”

“Why did you always believe in me? Believe in us?” he asks.

“When we would lie on my roof and look at the stars, you could always point out constellations.”

“And?”

“And I knew a boy who could point out Cassiopeia, who could hold my hand and kiss my lips and make me feel so seen, in the midst of such a great, vast galaxy, was one in a million. I knew finding you was a shot in the dark, yet there we were.”

“Until I left you, all alone.”

“We all have our reasons for the things we do. I went to that bible college because my father asked me to on his deathbed. It sounds like you left for the same reason.” I pause, looking into his eyes. “What matters is that you came back.”

Hunter nods and then pulls me into his arms. This time there is no hesitation, no fear, no doubt. We’ve both confessed how we feel, and now it is time for action, not words.

“I love you,” he growls in my ear, his thick beard scratching my neck and sending a trail of desire through my veins.

I whimper against him, my flesh aching for the carnal display of our emotions. He kisses me, hard, hard enough for me to gasp, to part my lips, to find his tongue. He feels so strong as he holds me, his muscles stretching the seams of his flannel, but other things growing too.

Against me is his cock, pressed against my belly, and I need to touch it, taste it, suck it. Him. His thick length needs to fill me up and I arch my back as his fingers lift the hem of my candy-striped sweater.

“God your skin is so soft,” he whispers in my ear.

I smile, my hair loose around my shoulders, my eyes closing as he tosses my sweater aside, as he massages my breasts in the palm of his hand. My white lacy bra cups are in the way -- I want his calloused hands to touch bare skin, my hard nipples, I want his mouth to suck my tits. I want him to take me, claim me, own me. Now and forever.

“I love you,” I moan as he unclasps my bra and begins to fondle my breasts with his fingers. I drop my head and his big hands shimmy down my pants, my panties. I am a present, already unwrapped. His.

“You’re the cutest elf in the fucking world, Holly Saint Claire.”

I smile, shaking my head. Not in the least insecure. I want Hunter to see me. Naked and wanting. His.

“I don’t think any of Santa’s elves walk around naked in the North Pole.”

“Lucky for us,” he says with a grin, pushing down his pants. “We aren’t in the North Pole, we’re in Mistletoe.”

I nod. “Will you let me see your candy cane?”

He chuckles. “You were always so sugary, I was the spice. But with a mouth like that you’ll end up on the Naughty List.”

There is heat on my cheeks but I don’t care. I am being flirty and sassy and saying all the words I’ve always held back. Always dreamed of uttering.

“I may have been a preacher’s daughter, but I’m no nun.”

“I see that,” he says, pulling off his flannel and stepping out of his boxers. “And I’m not Saint Nick.”

“No?” I ask with a smile. “Then who are you?”

He takes my hand and places it on his big, thick cock. “I’m yours.”