All Chapters of Her Christmas Wish: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The door opened just as Laila finished taping the last box shut, the sharp rip of tape echoing through the quiet house. She straightened slowly, brushing her palms against her jeans, flexing her fingers as if grounding herself before she even turned around. Her chest tightened the moment she saw Jordan step inside with Malaya at his side, as if her heart recognized the significance of the moment long before her mind was ready to catch up.Cold air followed them in, bringing with it the crisp bite of winter and the faint, clean scent of snow. A few stubborn snowflakes clung to the hems of their coats, melting into darkened spots along the fabric and dripping quietly onto the floor. The sound of the door closing behind them felt heavier than it should have, sealing the moment in place. Malaya’s cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, the color bright against her warm brown skin. Her curls had escaped her hat in soft, unruly spirals that framed her face, some still dusted with melting sn

Laila stood in the doorway of Malaya's room long after the soft glow of the nightlight turned her daughter's walls the color of warm honey. Laya was curled beneath her blanket with Zizi tucked under her arm, one hand resting on the stuffed unicorn's belly like it was a real living thing she needed to protect. Her breathing was deep now—steady, slow—like the world hadn't just shifted beneath her feet in the last week.But Laila's chest still felt tight.She eased the door shut, careful not to let it click. The house was quieter than it had been all day. Even her father's laughter downstairs had faded into low conversation. Everyone had gone to bed—everyone except her.She padded down the hall in socked feet, moving toward her parents' room on instinct like she'd done since she was a teenager with a broken heart or a problem too heavy for her shoulders.Before she could second-guess herself, she knocked."Come in," Amelia called.Laila stepped inside and found her mother sitting up in b

Jordan paced the length of his hotel suite for what felt like the hundredth time, the plush carpet doing nothing to calm the restless energy coursing through him. It was Christmas Eve, and the city outside his windows glowed with holiday lights—strings of white and red reflecting off the glass—but inside his chest was a restless collision of excitement, fear, and hope. He kept checking the clock, half-expecting it to move backward, half-terrified it would move too fast. He was waiting for his girls to arrive—waiting for Laila to walk through that door with Malaya at her side—and a quiet, stubborn part of him feared she might still change her mind.He stopped near the windows and looked out again, trying to steady himself. This wasn't a game. This wasn't something he could prep for with film study and practice reps. This was his daughter. His family. The stakes felt higher than any playoff game he'd ever played.He'd gone over everything at least three times already. Snacks were lined

Jordan quickly devised a plan the moment he noticed how relaxed Laila looked, how Malaya had already kicked off her slippers and curled up like she belonged there. The knot in his chest tightened—not from nerves this time, but from fear of losing the calm before it could fully settle. This fragile peace felt borrowed, temporary, and he wanted to protect it with everything he had.As they walked farther into the suite, past the soft glow of the Christmas lights and the towering tree in the corner, he cleared his throat. His heart thudded louder than the holiday music playing faintly from the speakers."Hey, so… I was thinking," he said, keeping his tone light even though his thoughts were anything but, "maybe we make tonight a phone‑free night. I’ll text my family the hotel number, you do the same, and then we just turn everything off. No news. No notifications. No outside world. Just us."Laila stopped walking and looked at him. For a moment, Jordan wondered if he’d pushed too far—if

“Laila, I know we can’t go back,” he replied quietly, his thumb brushing her cheek in a slow, grounding motion. It was as if his thumb was trying to anchor her to the present moment before it slipped away from them. His touch was careful, reverent—nothing like the reckless confidence he’d once had at seventeen. “But we can choose what happens next. We can decide what we do with what we have now. I’m not asking to rewrite history. I’m asking to be here.”His nearness unraveled her in a way she hadn’t been prepared for. The warmth of him, the familiarity of his presence, the way he still fit so easily into her space—it all cracked something open inside her that she’d spent years reinforcing and locking down. It felt dangerous, standing this close to him again, feeling how natural it still was. His lips brushed hers once more—tentative and restrained, as if he were asking permission rather than taking it this time. When she didn’t pull away, the kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, carefu