The food was simple but good. Better than I expected. We ate in comfortable silence for a minute before she spoke.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"The Christmas decorations. The stockings on the mantel." She gestured with her fork toward the fireplace. "There's only one name. Yours."
I set down my fork, suddenly uncomfortable. I looked at the mantle where my stocking hung beside three empty ones. I'd put them up two weeks ago, same as every year.
"Optimism," I said quietly. "Or stupidity. Haven't figured out which yet."
"What do you mean?"
I met her eyes. "I built this place for a family I don't have yet. Decorated it for people who aren't here. Every year, I tell myself that maybe this is the year things change. I'll meet someone. That those empty stockings will have names on them by next Christmas."
The vulnerability in my own voice surprised me. I didn't talk about this. Not to anyone.
But Demi didn't look away. Didn't laugh or offer empty reassurances. She just held my gaze, something soft and understanding in her expression.
"I think it's nice," she said finally. "That you're ready. That you built something worth sharing even before you found someone to share it with."
The air between us shifted. Thickened. Her eyes dropped to my mouth before darting away, color rising in her cheeks.
I stood abruptly, grabbing both plates. I needed distance before I did something stupid—like close the space between us and find out if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.
"I should check on the truck." My voice came out rougher than intended. "Before I lose the light."
She nodded, standing too. "Right. And then you can drive me to the inn. I'm sure you're ready to have your space back."
I turned from the sink, frowning. "The inn?"
"Yeah, the Wildwood Valley Inn? An organizer was supposed to drive me over from the fairgrounds, but I'll just text her that I'm here instead—" She pulled out her phone, squinted at the screen. "Oh. Right. No signal."
"There's no signal anywhere up here. You'd have to drive back down the mountain."
“Maybe you could give me a ride?—“
"Demi." I dried my hands on a towel, trying to figure out how to say this. "My truck's still down the mountain. Where I left it when I got out to help you."
Her face went blank. "Your truck."
"Yeah. Parked on the side of the road about two miles down."
"So we're…"
"Stuck here. At least until I can fix your truck.” I glanced out the window. The sun was already sinking behind the mountains, shadows lengthening across the snow. “Hopefully, I can do it, but if I need a part…”
She stared at me. "So I'm spending the night here."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Yeah. Looks like it."
The implications hung in the air between us—one cabin, one bed, and a pull I was already fighting hard to resist.
"I'll take the couch," I said quickly. "You can have the bedroom."
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"I can't kick you out of your own bed,” she said.
