Snowed In
The cabin was exactlywhat my parents had described—rustic charm with good bones, nestled in a clearing surrounded by towering pines that were currently being decorated with what looked like Mother Nature’s most ambitious Christmas display. Snow was falling so heavily now that the world beyond the windows had turned into a swirling white curtain.
“This is beautiful,” Holly said, standing in the main room and turning slowly to take in the stone fireplace, the exposed beam ceiling, and the large windows that would normally offer spectacular mountain views. “Your parents have good taste.”
“They do,” I agreed, though what I was thinking was that bringing Holly here might have been a spectacularly bad idea. The cabin was cozy in a way that made maintaining appropriate distance challenging, and the storm outside was getting worse by the minute.
I forced myself to focus on the reason we were supposedly here instead of how much I wanted to drag her to the sad-looking sofa and ravage her. I pulled out my checklist and ticked off ‘new sofa’.
I started with the obvious things—checking the rest of the sitting area, the kitchen, and flicking on lights as we went around. Holly followed me, ostensibly interested in the assessment process but more likely avoiding the conversation we both knew we needed to have about why she’d panicked at the sight of me leaving this morning.
“Water pressure’s good,” I said from the kitchen sink, trying to maintain normal conversation while hyperaware of how small the space felt with both of us in it.
“That’s important,” Holly agreed, leaning against the counter in a way that made my concentration falter. She was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read—part amusement, part nervousness, and part something else that made my pulse quicken. “Declan,” she said softly. “You don’t have to keep pretending this is just about property inventory.”
I stopped pretending to examine the ceiling fixtures and looked at her directly. “What do you think it’s about?”
“I think we both know why I asked to come with you today,” she said, moving closer. “And it wasn’t because I’m fascinated by home inventory.”
The space between us felt charged with the tension we’d been carefully ignoring for days. Outside, the wind was picking up, rattling the windows and reminding us that we were increasingly cut off from the outside world.
“Holly,” I said carefully, “we agreed to keep things friendly.”
“That was before I realized how hard it would be,” she admitted, stepping closer still. “I can’t stop thinking about the other night. Under the mistletoe.”
Neither could I. The memory of kissing her had been playing on repeat in my head, making every subsequent interaction feel loaded with possibility and frustration.
“The storm’s getting worse,” I said, though what I meant was that my resolve was getting weaker. “We might be stuck here for a while.”
“I know,” Holly said, and the way she was looking at me suggested that being stuck here together wasn’t entirely unwelcome.
A particularly strong gust of wind shook the cabin, and the lights flickered ominously.
“We should probably get the fire going,” I said, grateful for a task that would give me something to do with my hands besides reach for her. “In case we lose power.”
“Good idea,” Holly agreed, though she made no move to help with the fire preparation, instead watching me arrange kindling with the kind of focused attention that was making simple tasks unnecessarily difficult.
The fire caught quickly, filling the room with warm light and the kind of cozy atmosphere that belonged in Christmas movies and romance novels. Exactly the kind of atmosphere that made maintaining distance feel increasingly artificial.
“There,” I said, standing back from the fireplace and immediately regretting the way the movement brought me closer to where Holly was standing.
“Much better,” she said softly, and when I looked at her, the firelight was dancing across her face in a way that made rational thought challenging.
“We should probably check the bedroom,” I said, then immediately realized how that sounded. “For the inventory. Check the bed and the curtains...”
“Of course,” Holly said with a smile that suggested she was enjoying my discomfort. “For the inventory.”
The bedroom was at the back of the cabin, dominated by a large stone fireplace and windows that would normally look outover the forest. It was also dominated by a single bed that we both stared at for a while.
“A single bed,” Holly observed, looking around the room. “That was unexpected.”
“No shit,” I muttered, checking the rest of the room out as quickly as possible, making notes of things my parents would have to buy. It suddenly occurred to me that this was a fool’s errand. Somehow, someway, this was a set-up. I could feel it in my bones.
The sight of Holly sitting on the bed made my mouth go dry. This was dangerous territory—isolated cabin, snowstorm, one bed, and rapidly failing resolve to keep things platonic.
“We should head back to the main room,” I said, backing toward the door. “Check on the fire.”
But Holly didn’t move from the bed. Instead, she looked at me with an expression that was part challenge, part invitation, and entirely too tempting to resist.
