Shit. Why did I say that?
She finally looks back down at her book.
And doesn’t start humming again.
Fuck.
I just made it weird.
I force my attention back to my own book. Try to focus on the words. They blur together into meaningless shapes. I have no idea what the fuck this book is about. Something about a tailor and a tiger and some fucking coins.
All I can think about is the absence of her humming.
How much I liked that sound.
How much I want to hear it again.
Time passes.
Maybe an hour.
Maybe more.
Hard to tell when every moment stretches on.
I can’t read my own book worth shit. My eyes keep drifting to her... to Sorrel.
She finally shifts on the sectional and sets down the book. Then she pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. She stares into the fire.
“Christmas Eve,” she says quietly. Not to me specifically. Just to the room. “It’s Christmas Eve. I can’t believe... you know, my parents are probably losing their minds right now. I alwaysspend Christmas Eve with them.Always. Every single year since I was born. This is the first time I’ve ever missed it.”
Her voice cracks on that last part.
Something in my chest cracks with it.
“We always opened all the presents on Christmas Eve,” she continues. “Not Christmas Day. That’s our tradition. We’d pile them all under the tree, and it didn’t matter that most of them were cheap. My mom would wrap chocolates separately. My dad would put ties in individual boxes. Anything to make the pile look bigger.” She laughs, but it sounds wrong. Hollow. And breaks my heart. “We’d make this huge mountain of presents, and it always felt so magical. Like we had everything in the world.”
She wipes at her eyes quickly. Trying to hide it. “It’s one of my favorite holidays. Was. Is.” She shakes her head. “And I’m sitting here in the middle of nowhere, wearing someone else’s clothes, and mom and dad don’t even know if I’m alive.”
“We’ll call them tomorrow,” I say. “Once the storm clears. We’ll find a way to let them know you’re safe.”
She looks at me. “You think it’ll clear tomorrow?”
I shift in the chair. “If not tomorrow, then the day after. It has to eventually. Storms like this burn themselves out. Two days. Three at most.”
I’m making that up. I have no fucking idea how long this will last. Hell, she’s the environmental sciences student. If anyone would know, it’s her.
And yet, she’s askingme.
Because she needs hope right now.
And I find myself wanting to give it to her.
Even if it’sbullshithope.
“Thank you.” She says it so quietly I almost miss it. “For saying that. Even if you’re just being nice.”
“Don’t get used to it.” I try for my usual gruffness. But it comes out softer than intended.
