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The tree was bigger than necessary.
Ostentatious, taking up nearly the entire bay window in the living room.
“El . . .” She shook her head. “Really?”
He only smiled back. “It’s our first Christmas as a family. I want it to be special.”
“Special,” she echoed and reached out to finger the fine fir needles. There was a magic to the moment. She’d always done her best to make the holiday special for Noah, but now—it wasn’t just Noah. It was the whole combined Stabler-Bemson family.
They’d never had a tree before. She’d only ever done stockings, and though she insisted on perpetuating the idea of Santa, she knew Noah was only going along with it to humor her—a folie a duex.
She thought back on the McCanns’ picture-perfect, Woodstock Christmas, and how captivated Noah had been.
He wanted the very normalcy and domesticity that scared her.
And it seemed to be what Elliot wanted, too. She wondered sometimes if they were conspiring against her.
“You know I don’t have any ornaments,” she said. She needed to level set, to manage expectations. Christmases in her childhood had been awful and painful—hopes raised and hopes dashed. Serena Benson loved to overpromise and underdeliver.
So she did her best to keep things special, but also to ensure that her son knew what to expect.
He looked at her with an expression somewhat akin to a scientist studying a new bacterium under a microscope. “No ornaments?”
She shrugged. “We never had a tree,” she said as though it should be self explanatory. “Stockings were good enough, and we exchanged presents.”
He shook his head. “No, there always has to be a tree.” He paused. “And lights, and ornaments.”
At the mention of ornaments, her hand drifted up to her breastbone and the compass that rested against it. It had been just over eighteen months, and yet felt like a lifetime ago. He’d given her a precious piece of jewelry along along with an unspoken declaration of love and a piece of his heart.
She’d returned two of the three—quietly flirting, opening up to him in a way she would never have imagined possible, and then giving him the box. It was an unknown, it was a symbol of normalcy, and she was trusting him with it.
That he took it and turned it into another declaration of love had been enough to nearly break her. Instead she stood and let him walk away, clutching his compass like a lifeline.
“There’s one ornament,” she finally said, breaking away from the woolgathering and returning to the present.
He cocked his head slightly. “There is?”
“What did you do with the ornament from the McCanns?” She could feel herself blush just a little bit, the memory of the broken E and the way he looked at her came rushing back with all the associated emotion.
He slid his hands into his pockets, and looked down as though suddenly feeling shy. “I kept it with me,” he said. “The whole time I was out of town, it was either in my pocket, or hanging from the mirror in the motel room. I had you with me the whole time.”
Goosebumps rose on her arms and she reached for the compass again. “El . . .” His name came out on a breath and she reached for his hand. “Where is it now?”
He squeezed her hand and closed his eyes again. “It’s in my glovebox,” he admitted quietly. “I take it out every morning.”
Her breath caught, and she reached again for the compass at her neck. She barely trusted herself to give voice to the words in her head, but she did so anyway. “Maybe that can be the first thing we hang on the tree.”
It was a frightening and yet precious proposition. She loved him so much that she felt it like a physical ache sometimes, but giving that love voice meant exposing herself.
He’d seen her body. He knew every curve, every inch of skin, exactly how how and where to touch her—but knowing her body and knowing her soul were two different things. And, she wasn’t quite sure she was ready to be laid bare, not in that way, and yet—he knew her. There was no hiding anything from him.
He turned, just a fraction, and met her eyes, speaking volumes without saying a word. Her breath caught again, and she looked up at him through her lashes.
“Noah’s gonna be home soon,” he broke the silence. His voice was rough, harsh, and she wondered if he was saying it for his sake or for hers.
“Yes,” she agreed, breathing in deeply through her nose and licking her lips. “It’s a beautiful tree,” she added, leaning into him. “Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you for making our first Christmas as a family so special.”
He wrapped an arm around her, his hand grazing her ribs just below her breasts. She wanted him to go higher even as she was acutely aware her son—their son—could walk through the door at any minute.
“Christmas is special,” he finally spoke, barely above a whisper. “And so are you.” He swallowed. “God, Liv.” His fingers tickled her ribs and traced the gentle curve of her waist and she shivered.
She reached up to cover his hand with hers, cementing their connection. “You should go get it,” she said. “I want it to be the first ornament we put on.”
“No,” he said, and shook his head. “I want it to be the last.” He pulled her closer, leaning down to kiss her deeply. She returned it, scraping her teeth over his lower lip and sighing against him.
The sound of Noah’s key in the front door brought her back to the present. She met Elliot’s eyes, but didn’t step away.
Noah walked in and froze. “There’s a Christmas tree!”
Elliot grinned, and Olivia’s heart quickened again. “Do you like it?” she asked
“Yes!” her son exclaimed enthusiastically.
She looked between him and Elliot again. The resemblance between the two never failed to astound her. They had the same eyes.
“We’ll decorate it this weekend,” she promised, and Elliot’s fingers danced over her ribs in punctuation. “We just have to find the right ornaments.” Her mind drifted again to the ridiculous red slogan that he’d customized and carried with him through his entire undercover life.
There was so much magic in the moment. She closed her eyes, trying to preserve it. Her family. Everything she loved—sustaining her.
End