And just like that, warmth burst through the ice that had settled in my chest. He remembered. Cavil had picked those books with such care, crouching beside me as we talked through what kids might love, how stories could make them feel seen and brave and safe.
Even when he wasn’t here, hewas.
I swallowed hard, offering the boy a smile as I crouched beside him. “I’ll tell him,” I whispered, more to myself than to him. “I’ll tell him you loved it.”
My heart ached in that full, unbearable way joy sometimes brought—the kind that cracked you open with its quiet beauty. Tears welled in my eyes, not from sadness but from the weight of everything Cavil had unknowingly given—a spark, a story, a piece of himself left behind in the pages of a dragon book. That gentle, guarded man had no idea how deeply he could touch lives simply by showing up, by caring in his quiet, intentional way.
Without hesitation, I dropped to my knees and wrapped the boy in a tight hug, burying my face against his messy hair. “I’m so glad you liked it,” I whispered, letting that warmth settle deep in my chest, chasing out the cold I’d been carrying.
Something inside me—something I hadn’t realized had been locked away—began to thaw. It wasn’t just about Cavil or the ache of missing him. It was aboutthis. This impact. This joy. This reminder that the little thingsmattered.
“I want to be a knight when I grow up,” he said proudly, pulling back with a grin that made me laugh through the lump in my throat.
“A knight?” I echoed, smiling wide. “That’s amazing.”
“Yeah! And then maybe dragons will be real.” His eyes sparkled, full of belief, and for a moment I wished with everything in me that the world would always stay this magical for him.
I wished Cavil could see this. I wished he could hear that tiny voice and realize what he’d helped build—not just for this boy, but for me. I’d spent so long feeling afraid of what could go wrong, of the messiness and the fallout. But maybe… maybe lifewasmessy. Maybe love was too. And maybe that didn’t make it any less worth chasing.
The boy bolted off, already lost in his next adventure, and I stayed there for a breath longer—knees on the floor, hands trembling slightly over the books we’d brought.
When I finally stood, I felt different. Steadier.
Hopeful.
I looked down at the waiting box and smiled, brushing a hand over the cover of the dragon book like it was sacred.
I barely made it to the delivery truck before the tears spilled over, hot and unstoppable. They blurred my vision as I collapsed into the driver’s seat, fingers clutching the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. The sharp sting of winter air clung to my coat, and the lingering scent of cinnamon from a bakery bag on the passenger seat wrapped around me—but it couldn’t touch the ache blooming deep in my chest.
The grief wasn’t just about missing him. It was everything—everything we’d started to build, and everything I’d pushed away. It was the look in his eyes that night in the kitchen, the way he held silence like it was sacred, not awkward. It was how he saw me—reallysaw me. Not as someone broken, or someone Leo had left behind, but as someone worth staying for. Cavil listened like each word mattered. He remembered the smallest details, the ones no one else thought to ask about. And when he looked at me, I didn’t feel like a collection of past mistakes. I felt…known.
A sob escaped before I could swallow it down. I wiped at my cheeks, breath hitching as I tried to calm the storm inside. But it only got worse when I realized how much of this was my own doing. I’d told him to go. I’d closed the door on something that could have been good—on someone who had done nothing but show up for me when I least expected it.
“I was scared,” I whispered to the empty car, voice cracking. “God, I was just… scared.”
Because falling for someone again meant risk. And with Cavil, it wasn’t just about me—it was about Leo, about loyalty, about the fear of everything blowing up in our faces. But wasn’tnottrying its own kind of failure?
I stared out at the windshield, fogged and streaked with the residue of tears and indecision. My heart ached with the weight of it all. But somewhere beneath that pain, something stirred—a tiny ember of courage.
I didn't know what I was going to do with it. But I knew I would do something. Sometimes, you had to create your Christmas miracle, and I was determined to create mine.
Chapter17
Cavil
Isat on the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, staring blankly at the wall across from me. The place was a mess—mugs from who knew how many mornings ago, unopened bills piled up like they might disappear if I ignored them long enough. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was loud. Crushing. Every breath echoed in the stillness like it didn’t belong. Outside, snow was falling—quiet and steady—but the softness of it didn’t reach me. Nothing did lately.
A knock shattered the quiet.
“Cav! Open up!”
Luke.
I let out a slow breath through my nose, already regretting everything. Still, I dragged myself off the couch, trudged to the door, and pulled it open.
Luke grinned like a fool, holding up a ridiculous Santa hat with a jingle bell at the tip. “Thought you might need this festive touch.”
Behind him stood Christian, and further back, Claire and her grandmother, Mrs. Bennett.
