I let out a growl as I stalk toward the door, every nerve in my body still humming.
I don’t know who the hell’s dumb enough to hike this far up Devil’s Peak in the middle of a snowstorm, but unless they’re carrying a bottle of whiskey and a shovel, they better have a damn good reason.
I yank the door open—and there’s nothing.
No one.
Just a gust of wind and snow and a cardboard box sitting on the front step.
Noel sidles up behind me. “Ooooh, a mystery. I love mysteries.”
She brushes past me to grab the box.
Of course she does.
I let the door slam shut behind her as she rips the top off and peers inside.
Her eyes light up.
“Oh my God,” she gasps. “They overnighted the garland! Thegoodstuff!”
I groan. “There’s more?”
“There’salwaysmore.”
She sets the box on the couch and starts unpacking ornaments like a kid on Christmas morning.
And me?
I watch her.
Watch the way her mouth twists as she concentrates. Watch the sway of her hips as she digs through decorations. Watch the way she hums again—this time to herself, quieter, like she forgot I’m still here.
I should stop this.
Ishould.
But I don’t.
Because if I’m honest?
Part of me wants to see what happens when the storm traps us.
When the power flickers and the fire’s all we’ve got.
When those bells end up hanging over the bed instead of the window.
Because for all her chaos and color and completely uninvited presence…
Noel Hart just turned my quiet little mountain into a powder keg.
And I’ve got a match.
***
Snow drums steady on the tin roof, wind sighing through the pines. The kind of quiet that used to feel like peace.
Not tonight.
