“Merry Christmas!”
I jump, then burst out laughing.
“Who said that?” His head whips around.
“Mr Jingles, the parrot.” I roll my eyes.
He groans. “I forgot this was a crazy menagerie.”
I clink my mug against his. “And Merry Christmas.”
I take a sip. It’s strong enough to wake the dead.
I make a face and he grins, unrepentant. “What? Cabin coffee.”
“It’s liquid asphalt.”
He crooks an eyebrow. “How else should it be?”
I laugh, the sound spilling out easily. “Just wait till the blizzard’s done—I’m going to introduce you to the wonder of a flat white down at that little coffee shop in town.” Saying it out loud sends a rush of happiness through me. I’m already making plans for our future, and it feels wonderful.
He rummages through the grocery bags I hauled in yesterday, muttering commentary under his breath: “Cranberry sauce, mystery tins, approximately forty cookies…”
“You’re welcome,” I say.
Then his hand closes on something at the bottom. “You brought pancakes in a can?”
He holds it up like an artifact.
“Never said I could cook.”
He shrugs, flips the gas back on, digs out a pan, and starts whistling—off-key, cheerful, utterly at ease. The smell of batter and butter begins to mix with the coffee and woodsmoke until the whole cabin smells like comfort.
By now, the dogs are waking up, yawning and stretching elaborately. I open the door and let them out, then fill their bowls when they barrel back in, snow-dusted and ecstatic.
Holt slides the first pancake onto a plate and sets it in front of me with a flourish.
“Gourmet dining, mountain edition.”
I grab the fork from his hand before he can make it worse and take a bite. It’s lopsided… absolutely perfect.
He watches me, waiting for a verdict.
“Ten out of ten,” I say through a mouthful. “Michelin would weep.”
He laughs, the sound low and warm. “You’re just saying that because it’s Christmas.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “Or maybe it’s because I’m deliriously happy.”
He sits across from me, cross-legged on the floor, plate balanced on his knee.
The dogs sprawl near the hearth, bellies full of breakfast.
We eat until we’re full, too, then just sit there for a while, leaning against each other, mugs cooling in our hands.
Eventually, I remember the little paper bag still sitting by the tree. It’s nothing much, but I reach for it anyway and set it in his lap.
He looks at me, puzzled. “What’s this?”
