“I’m trying,” Christopher sighed. “But she’s…guarded.”
Gretel paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Of course she is. She’s spent her life running from one place to the next. Staying would mean giving up the identity she’s built.”
The insight startled him. “How did you know that?”
“People who travel constantly are usually running from something or searching for something,” Gretel said with the wisdom of her years. “Sometimes both.”
Christopher considered this as Gretel opened the door, letting in a blast of cold air.
“Just remember,” she added, “home isn’t a place. It’s a feeling. Show her that she’s already found what she’s been looking for, and the place won’t matter.”
With that, she was gone, leaving Christopher alone with her words echoing in his mind. Home isn’t a place. It’s a feeling.
He settled into the chair behind the desk, staring out at the snow-covered cabins. Tomorrow was Sorcha’s last full day in Bear Creek. Tomorrow would be his last chance to show her that she belonged here…with him.
His bear stirred restlessly.We need a plan.
Christopher nodded to himself. Yes, they needed a plan. Something that would show Sorcha everything she could have here in Bear Creek—not just the beauty of the place, but the depth of connection, the sense of belonging.
But he had no idea how to accomplish so much in so little time.
Chapter Eight – Sorcha
What just happened? Or what nearly happened might be the more accurate question!
Sorcha really needed to get started on her article about the joys of the holiday season in Bear Creek, but all she could think about was her near kiss with Christopher.
He had meant to kiss her…hadn’t he?
Sorcha covered her face with her hands as she leaned back against the cabin door. Had she read too much into it? But the look in his eyes, the way he’d lowered his head…
Dammit! How was she meant to write a single word, when all she could think about was how much she’dwantedhim to kiss her?
She pressed her fingertips to her lips. She could almost feel his lips against hers. Could almost taste him.
If only she had…
Heat rushed through her, pooling low in her belly, making her skin prickle under her sweater. If she were being completely honest, she’d wanted more than a kiss!
Sorcha pushed away from the door, her legs unsteady as she crossed to the kitchenette. The cabin’s wooden floor creaked faintly under her boots. She needed to shake off these feelings. To ground herself somehow.
The kettle sat on the counter, and she filled it with water from the tap, the cold stream splashing against the metal, helping to steady her hands. She set the kettle down on the stovetop, and as the burner clicked to life, she drew in slow breaths, forcingher mind away from that almost-kiss, away from all thoughts of Christopher.
Instead, she needed to focus on work. That would keep her mind occupied. She had an article to write and a deadline that didn’t care about holiday distractions. But Christopher was more than a distraction. So much more.
But he was not hers. Her feelings were not real. But her job, her ambition was.
She breathed in slowly through her nose and let it out through her pursed lips. It was a trick she’d used plenty of times to calm herself, to get a grip on her nerves. And it did not fail her now.
By the time she poured the boiling water over a tea bag, the steam rising with a comforting chamomile scent, her pulse had slowed, and her thoughts were back on the task at hand. Her article about Christmas in Bear Creek.
Mug in hand, she moved to the living room, where the fireplace waited dark and empty. She set the tea on the side table and kneeled before it, stacking kindling and logs the way she’d seen Christopher do it so effortlessly in his own cabin. Her fingers fumbled with the matches, striking one after another against the box, only for the flames to sputter out before catching. Frustration built in her chest, tightening like a knot. Why couldn’t she get this right? Part of her imagined callinghim, hearing his voice through the phone, watching through the window as he strode over to light the fire with that quiet competence.
But no, that would just be an excuse to see him again, to risk another moment like the one in his kitchen. Would that be so bad…?
Yes.
She struck another match and held it steady this time as she touched it against the kindling. Finally! The kindling caught, and flames licked upward until the logs crackled to life. Satisfaction bloomed in her chest, the same quiet triumph that washed over her whenever she hitsendon a finished piece, knowing she’d shaped chaos into something coherent.
