13
SIERRA
Istand in the cabin’s kitchen, arms wrapped around myself as the last of the daylight fades into night. The snow has stopped, leaving everything outside dusted in what looked like powdered sugar. It was Christmas Eve, and I’d never felt less merry.
The roads still weren’t clear, so I was stuck here—and Hunter had avoided me like the plague since I turned my back on him. I hadn’t exactly gone looking for him either.
I blink hard, pushing down the ache in my chest. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe men like him, men who had been through so much, didn’t change after all. Maybe a few stolen nights were all they were capable of.
Deciding to pour myself one lonely glass of wine on this Christmas Eve, I just sat down when there was a knock on the side door of the cabin.
“Hunter?” I call out, but was met with only silence. I get up and walk to the side door, gasping when I open it.
Hunter stands there, snow in his beard, cheeks wind-chapped, eyes soft in a way I’d never seen before. And behind him, he’s dragging a tree.
“You forgot something,” he says gruffly.
I cross my arms, trying to mask the thump of my heart and the lump in my throat. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
He steps forward, dragging the tree in behind him. “Me.”
My breath catches. I stare at him, then at the tree. “You? Or the tree?”
He glances down at the trunk he’s holding in his gloved hand, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I guess both. It’s Christmas Eve, and I know you wanted a tree to decorate.” He swallows hard. “But I was hoping you’d let me do it with you.”
Tears well, but I refuse to cry. No, I wasn’t giving in to whatever this is.
“I don’t have flowers,” he says, his voice low. “Or a big speech. I don’t know how to say the right thing, but I know I was wrong.”
I look into his bright blue eyes, barely able to breathe.
“I was pushing you away because I was scared. Not of you, Sierra—of what you made me feel. And I haven’t felt anything like that in years. Not since…” He shakes his head. “Actually, not ever.”
He steps closer.
“I want to be the man who deserves to spend holidays with you—the guy who cuts down the tree and brings it to your door. I want to be the man you give a hard time to because I tease you about your pink boots. I want to be the man who earns all your moans. I don’t want the silence of these mountains anymore.”
I don’t say a word. I can’t. I have no idea what to say back. And everything I’d told myself I wouldn’t give in to? Gone. Because he’s saying all the right things—and doing the best thing—tonight, on Christmas Eve.
I launch myself at him, my arms wrapping around his neck as my mouth crashes into his.
He catches me—of course he does—and kisses me back with all thesorryin the world.
I pull back and whisper against his lips, “You’re lucky I love decorating trees.”
He chuckles, brushing his nose against mine. “I’ll even let you put lights on it.”
As if on cue, the snow begins to fall around us once again, and it feels like a homecoming. This wrong turn had come full circle—and I welcomed every future storm that came our way.
14
HUNTER
Christmas morning snow had covered the earth once again. Icicles hung from the porch roof, and snowflakes clung to the windows. But inside the cabin, everything still smelled like cinnamon, cedar, and her.
Sierra stands barefoot in my small kitchen, wearing one of my flannels—hers now, officially—while stirring something warm on the stove. Music plays softly in the background, and her hair is tied up with a red ribbon she’d pulled from who knows where.
I watch her from the doorway, arms crossed, and a smile on my lips.
