Forever Wild(17)

“Um … we’ve been kind of busy. Remember, there was that thing about you crashing your plane and almost dying, and then we were renovating the cabin, and I was neck-deep in Winter Carnival planning and getting ready for Christmas.”

“I know, I just—”

I collect his face in my palms, forcing his gaze to mine. “I have never been more sure of anything than I am of wanting to marry you,” I say slowly, clearly, to ensure he hears it.

“Then why does it seem like you keep avoiding making any decisions?” he asks softly, but there’s the slightest touch of something in his voice. Accusation, maybe. Hurt, possibly.

“I’m not. I …” My voice drifts. Does it really seem like that? If I am avoiding setting a date, it’s not for any doubts I have about Jonah. “Maybe I’m just having a hard time deciding where it should be. I mean, you know my mom is hell-bent on Toronto. And my whole life was back there until this year, and now so much of it is here, but that’s still my past. My family, my friends. None of those people are going to fly all the way here to see me get married.”

Maybe that’s what I’m having a hard time with. Not sharing one of the biggest days of my life with the people who know me best. “It’s just … I don’t know how I could pull it off in a meaningful way. Believe me, I thought about it.” All afternoon, I dwelled on it, weighing the pros and cons. “And don’t get me started on dealing with my mother.”

“Susan’s had two weddings of her own,” Jonah says dryly.

“I know. And I don’t know why I’m putting so much stock into her opinion here.” Other than that she’s my mother and I feel like I’ve already taken something away from her by moving across the continent.

“You know that none of that stuff—the flowers, the cake, whatever else there is—none of it matters to me.” He scoops my palm and brings it to his mouth for a kiss, his beard tickling my skin. “But I know it matters to you.”

“We’ll figure something out that works for everyone,” I promise. I just don’t know what that looks like yet.

Reaching behind, he pulls me forward, flush against his body. “You have to admit, it would have been perfect, though.”

“How so?”

“Christmas wedding in Alaska.” He dips his face into the crook of my neck. I close my eyes and revel in his lips against my throat and the feel of him growing hard against the apex of my thighs. “Me, marrying Frosty the Elf with Santa officiating.”

I snort.

“You wouldn’t even need a dress when you’ve got this.”

“Are you kidding? I’m burning this costume in the fireplace tonight. Seriously. And I’m going to round up all the others tomorrow, and burn them, too. I’ll order new ones for next year.”

“I think it’s cute.” He inhales deeply. And pauses. “Is that you that smells like mothballs?”

“See? Ugh!” I peel off the felt potato sack and toss it next to the fireplace, leaving me in the red-and-green-striped pants and the black Lycra top I wore underneath.

Jonah makes a sound, his excited eyes roaming the material that’s stretched across my chest like a second skin. “You still smell.” He tugs on my shirt.

“Not here!” I hiss, nodding toward the upstairs where Astrid and Bj?rn are tucked away.

“Why not? They took sleeping pills. They’ll be dead to the world until at least four. Come on, arms up.”

I hesitate but then reach over to turn off the table lamp, leaving us in darkness save for the white lights on the tree, the fire, and a small over-stove light in the kitchen. I lift my aching arms high above my head, allowing him easy access to strip my shirt off me. Warmth from the fire radiates against my back, but there’s still a chill in the air, made all the more obvious when he unfastens the hook of my bra.

“Jonah,” I admonish softly, but the mood in the room is shifting quickly, his hands eagerly slipping over my bared chest. Heat courses through my body beneath his skilled touch.

I don’t utter another word of complaint as I shift and shimmy to help him work off my striped pants.

“Cute,” he whispers, noting the mistletoe print on my panties before also sliding them off. That we’re not alone in the house seems to goad us into moving swiftly, peeling off his shirt, pushing his sweatpants and boxers down his thighs. His erection stands at attention. “Something’s missing.” He looks around. “Oh, yeah.” Grabbing the elf hat, he positions it on my head. “There. Perfect.”

My mouth is on his, my tongue teasing the seam of his lips as he reaches down between us to grip and line himself up, when the bottom step creaks.

With a startled gasp, I peel away from Jonah’s mouth and look over to find a shirtless Bj?rn ambling toward the kitchen, his eyes half-closed, his steps heavy with sleep.

Fumbling for the wool blanket stretched across the back of the couch, I quickly wrap it around our naked bodies, and then offer Jonah a scathing glare.

Jonah tips his head back to watch his stepfather dig a glass out of the cupboard and go to the fridge to fill it with water from the Brita. “I don’t think he saw us,” he whispers, a hint of amusement in his voice as we huddle on the couch, naked other than the blanket, and in a compromising position.