The tree is beautiful, and Landon tries to take a picture with his phone so it looks like he’s holding the tree in his hand, but every shot looks ridiculous. I post the pictures anyway, and our friends assist in giving us a scavenger hunt of things to take pictures with. On our walk back to Times Square, Landon finds a Santa to sit on. (He asks for a candy cane, which he gets, but the thing is so bendy and moist like it’s been waiting in Santa’s pocket for years. I tell Landon to throw it away, but he saves it for our collage wall.) I get a picture with the Naked Cowboy, and since I have no money to pay for a tip, he says he’ll let me have a free one if I give him a kiss. Landon promptly hands him our last five and rushes me out of there.

The train ride back to Long Island is full of kisses and snuggles, and Landon hums off-tune as I doze in his lap. Even though I’m exhausted, I sort of want the train to turn back around so I can relive this night one more time.

I fall asleep on the car ride home. It’s not the full sleep, but enough to not want to move even when the car is in park. Landon’s light touch caresses the skin along my hip as he unbuckles me.

“Ugnnnn…”

“Don’t whine,” he whispers against my cheek. “I’ll carry you, lazy girl.”

It’s a slow and cautious journey across the parking lot, one where Landon curses when he slips on yet another patch of ice. I somewhat jerk out of the sleepy trance I’m in and accidentally grab his face, leaving a scratch mark along his left cheek. More curses follow, but he never sets me down, even after getting inside. My butt hits the mattress and he sort of falls on top of me. Sleepy laughter flies from my lips and he catches it with kisses.

“Let’s get you in your jammies,” he says.

“I want to wear one of your shirts.”

“You can wear the Batman.”

“I want to wear the Jack one.”

“No.”

“But it smells like you.”

“It’s the only one you haven’t put boob marks in.”

“Can I have the Bazinga one?”

“If I can cop a feel while putting it on you.”

I raise my arms over my head and let him undress and re-dress me, giggling when he squeezes my boob as he slips his shirt over my chest. He tucks me in and kisses my forehead.

“Good night.”

“You’re not coming to bed?”

“I’m not tired.”

I frown, and he tugs on my bottom lip.

“I love you.”

“Why?” I ask, eyes drifting closed already.

“Because I can’t picture a life without you,” he whispers so low I barely catch it. “I don’t want to.”

I smile as much as I can with how sleepy I am. He didn’t even rehearse that one.

His lips graze my forehead. “Why do you love me?”

“Because you say things like that.”

“Wow. My answer was so much better than yours.”

I playfully bat at him, and then return his sweet kiss to my lips.

“Landon?”

“Yes, Lizzie?”

“Thank you for waking me up. That was…” I start drifting when I can’t find the word to do the night justice. So I just mumble, “I love you so much.”

He squeezes my hand. “You’re welcome.”

And I fall into perfect dreams of Landon kissing me in the snowfall under the New York City lights, me in my wedding gown and him in his tux. Even in my sleep, the angel butterflies celebrate for the day that we get to do it for real.

Chapter 23

I wake from my dreams and it’s still dark. Landon’s side of the bed is unusually cold and empty. Rubbing the gook from my eyes, I pad my way to the glow coming from the living room. When I peek around the corner, Landon’s head is buried in his hands, and he’s shaking, glasses dangling between his pointer and thumb.

I blink a few times and move a step forward. Maybe he needs a snuggle or something, but his voice stops me.

“Hey, um, God? I don’t know what to do, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got it figured out in that big plan of yours.” He blows out a breath and looks up at the ceiling. “Pops always told me to ask for help when tough shit like this comes up, even though asking for help is really not my thing. And damn it, I just said ‘shit’ in a prayer, and now I’m not sure if you even want to give me what I’m asking…if I ask for it. And damn it, I said damn, too. And again. Sorry, God. Let me start over.”

My heart thuds dully in the pit of my stomach. I back around the corner and lean against the wall. Landon and I go to church once in a blue moon, and the only time I’ve heard him pray was when he was kneeling at the toilet and asking God to free him from whatever flu-devil possessed his body so he could nail his movie pitch the next morning.

“Okay, here it is,” he starts, and I push my ear toward the sound. “I’m not good at asking for things, but I sort of need your help. Liz wants to be a mom someday, and I want to give that to her, but the way things are going, I can’t…financially. It’s no secret she’s the one saving our asses…sorry, uh…hindquarters…and it kills me when she gets off work and collapses on the couch, and yet she’s still the one cleaning the place and cooking and taking care of my sorry…hindquarter. And I don’t want to crawl to my parents for money. I want to strap on a pair and find something that’s going to support her dream, even if that means giving up mine.”

“No,” I whisper, then smack my hand over my mouth. He can’t give up directing. He’s going to make it someday. I know it. And I won’t let him give it up, and now I’m sending out prayers that Landon’s movie takes off tomorrow so he knows just how talented he is.

“So, I guess I’m asking, help me find a job? Something stable and with benefits and something that’ll get us to the point where we won’t need Liz to work. If you could do that, I’d really appreciate it. Uh, thanks. Amen.”

He sighs, and I bite my lip and stare at the hallway carpet for a few minutes. We always seem to freak out at opposite times, and maybe that’s why we’re good together. When I’m losing it, he’s there to pull me back. Now he’s struggling, and I just want him to know that tonight was everything to me, just what I needed now, especially since I feel like we’re losing our spark.

And the fact that he wants to support my dream as much as I want to support his just reaffirms in my heart that he is my person, regardless of what course we are in the sex meal.

And I’m his.

I lean over and push on the bedroom door hard enough to announce that I’m awake. I step around the corner and gently press the laptop closed.

“I’m coming to bed, I promise,” he says, but I shake my head and slowly crawl onto his lap. My nails lightly scratch his chest, my lips graze his throat, and his arms engulf me as he adjusts to a more comfortable position.

“Say something romantic,” I whisper into his chest, which vibrates with soft laughter.

“Put me on the spot.”

“Come on.” I grin and shake him, hoping that I can take his mind off money and onto the important things.

He laughs again, eases into the couch cushion, and pulls the throw blanket over me. And then he starts singing. Badly.

I Get a Kick Out of You.

Guess we do have a song.

—

3:45 a.m.

I wake up again and it’s still dark. I’m resting in Landon’s arms on the couch, and he’s watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. He doesn’t notice I’m awake, and I sort of blink out of my sleep, wondering if I’m dreaming because tears are stroking quietly down his cheeks. I must be dreaming. He can’t be crying to this movie. He’s seen it a million times. But I feel very much awake, and when I feel his gaze shifting from the TV to me, I let my eyes drift closed. A soft, damp press of his lips grazes my forehead. And yeah, I’m dreaming, because now I feel fast asleep.