He made me think of roses opening after winter, buds tentatively unfurling and testing the light before embracing a bloom. He made me feel sixteen again, heady and breathless and losing myself in daydreams and fantasies. I was gone. Ass over head, my boots well in the air, hungry for more of Noël. I wanted everything: the man who’d eaten both our burgers and poured his broken heart out to a strange cowboy, and the man who’d snuck a bottle of vodka onto a plane and chugged a homemade screwdriver while smirking at me like we were partners in crime.
