Sorcha smiled back automatically, but a hollow feeling spread through her chest. She’d spent so many years convincing herself that independence was preferable to connection, that thefreedom to leave was worth more than the comfort of staying. But watching that couple, seeing their easy intimacy, their shared joy, she wondered if she’d been running from the wrong things all along.
Her mind drifted back to Christopher, to his cabin, to the way he’d moved around his kitchen with such confidence, to how natural it had felt to wash dishes beside him. To the moment when they’d almost kissed.
What if she’d leaned in? What if she’d allowed herself that one moment of connection? Where would they be now?
Probably right here, she thought,but together. Holding hands like that older couple, maybe falling down together and laughing, or him steadying her with those strong arms.
Sorcha made another circuit of the ice, her movements more mechanical now as her mind continued to race. Her entire adult life had been built around the premise that leaving was better than staying, that new experiences were more valuable than deepening existing ones.
But what if that wasn’t true? What if the real adventure was allowing yourself to put down roots, to build something lasting with someone who saw you…really saw you?
Christopher saw her. Not just the professional façade she presented to the world, but the woman beneath. The one who still took a childlike pleasure in sledding down a hill, who marveled at feeding gentle reindeer, who longed for connection even as she ran from it.
A child whizzed past, breaking her reverie. Sorcha realized she’d slowed almost to a stop, lost in her thoughts. She pushed off again, trying to recapture that earlier sense of freedom, but it remained elusive.
The truth was, she felt incomplete. As if she’d left an essential part of herself back at Bear Creek Cabins, with a quiet man whose steady gaze had somehow seen straight through to her soul.
Chapter Eleven – Christopher
Deflated. That was how Christopher felt as he watched Sorcha drive away.
Dumped,might be a more appropriate word,his bear said miserably.
How can we be dumped when Sorcha never knew we were mates in the first place?Christopher asked.And with her leaving town so soon, she might never know.Christopher’s chest tightened at the thought, a dull ache spreading under his ribs like frost cracking through wood.
Follow her,his bear urged, the words rumbling low in his mind.
But chasing after her now would only push her further away. She’d made it clear she didn’t want company for this skating trip, even though he’d expressed obvious interest.
Obvious interest in ice skating,his bear said.But not her.
We nearly kissed,Christopher countered.How much more obvious can a man be?
An actual kiss,his bear huffed. However, they both knew that would have been a step too far. He needed her to close the space between them. Because only then would he know that she wanted him. Wanted them.
To her, yesterday had probably been nothing special. She’d probably seen it as just another local buttering up a journalist for good press. Everywhere she traveled, people likely did the same, parading their town’s best spots in hopes of glowing wordsthat drew more visitors. She probably figured he’d tagged along just to score a favorable mention for the cabins, to pull in more guests. His bear let out a miserable huff at that.
Yeah, you’re probably right. I need to be more obvious in my feelings toward her,Christopher admitted. An admission that sat heavy in his gut as he felt the bond between them stretching thinner with every mile she drove, like a thread pulled taut and fraying at the edges. What would happen when she left for good? Would that connection snap clean through, leaving nothing but a raw, empty tear in his soul?
“Christopher!” Gretel’s voice cut through the chill morning air, pulling him back as she trudged toward the office, her boots crunching on the packed snow.
He waved, forcing a smile that felt stiff on his face, and headed her way. “Morning.”
“Wow, you look like Santa skipped right over your chimney,” she said, eyeing him with that sharp gaze of hers.
He shrugged, the motion dragging through him like lead. “Something like that.”
“Come on, let’s brew up some fresh coffee, and you can spill it,” Gretel said, pushing open the office door and stepping inside, the bell jingling behind her.
“Not much to tell,” he muttered, following her into the familiar surroundings, but it did little to ease the knot in his stomach.
“That bad, huh?” She bustled over to the coffee maker, scooping grounds into the filter with practiced flicks of her wrist.
“Couldn’t be worse,” he admitted, moving to the fireplace. He kneeled and poked at the embers, the faint heat warming his fingers as he added kindling. The dry twigs caught witha crackle, flames licking up until the glow turned cherry-red, chasing some of the cold from his bones.
Gretel switched on the coffee maker, the machine gurgling to life. “This about Sorcha?”
He nodded, not looking up from the fire, the flames blurring a little in his vision. How did Gretel always know? Probably from years of watching folks come and go through these cabins, picking up on the tells like she did with leaky faucets or drafty windows.
