The coffee was strong and bitter, exactly the way he liked it. I took another sip and felt it burn all the way down.
“You keep watching me,” I said finally.
He did not apologize. Linc never apologized for wanting to protect me, and that had annoyed me at first; later, it started to feel like the only thing that made sense in the world.
“Just making sure you’re really here,” he said.
“I’m here.”
That simple truth hit hard. I was still here. I was breathing. My feet were on the floor. The house was ours.
Something in his shoulders loosened at that. Just a fraction. Just enough for me to see, feel, and hold onto it.
After breakfast, we cleaned up the kitchen. He wiped down the counter with slow, even strokes while I gathered the few wrapped gifts we had finished earlier in the week from the sideboard in the hall. They were plain, practical things. A set of work gloves. A shearling-lined vest. Coffee beans that were nearly impossible to find in town unless you knew who to ask and how to ask in the right way. A small leather case for tools that I had stitched myself on a quiet afternoon. Nothing fancy. Nothing wrapped in more than brown paper and twine.
But it felt good to have something ready to give.
When I set them in a basket by the door, Linc came over and rested his hand at the small of my back. The weight of it was solid and familiar. He had touched me like that before, yes, but it felt different now. Protective without pressing. Claiming in a way that did not make me feel trapped. Maybe that was what safety had started to mean.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, with an enthusiastic smile on my face.
His thumb dragged lightly through the fabric of my shirt, slow and warm at the base of my spine. “Then let’s go.”
We pulled on our coats and stepped outside. The cold met us in a clean rush, biting at my cheeks and filling my lungs in a way that woke me the rest of the way. The air smelled of snow and wood smoke, with the distant sounds of livestock. Morning on a working ranch. Familiar. Honest.
The path to Kipp’s house ran straight along the fence line. It was a path worn down by years of footsteps, boot treads, little kids’ tracks, and dogs who never respected a property line in their lives. It was not far, only a few minutes on foot. Linc carried the basket of gifts in one hand, steady and easy, like it weighednothing. I matched my pace to his without having to think about it.
We didn’t talk much as we walked; we didn’t need to. The rhythm of our boots on the packed ground filled the quiet between us in a way words could not have. Every so often, he glanced over to check that I was keeping up. I pretended I didn't notice, but I always did, and it warmed my heart that he was worried.
By the time we reached the main house, the sound of voices floated out through the cold. I could pick out almost everyone just by tone. Fallon’s fast, animated rhythm. Nash laughing from his chest instead of his mouth. Ryder is talking too loudly, like always. And underneath it all, coming from the porch, that deep, familiar laugh I had known half my life.
Kipp’s laugh.
I hadn’t realized how much I had missed that sound until then. Hearing it settled something in me that I had not been able to settle on my own.
He opened the door before we could knock.
“About time you two showed up,” he said, like we were late for a meeting he had scheduled three days ago and not just walking into his house on Christmas.
Linc smiled, and it reached his eyes for the first time in longer than I wanted to admit. “You start without us?”
“Wouldn’t dare.” Kipp looked from Linc to me, his gaze quick and assessing in the way of someone who had seen a lot of storms roll through and knew how to read the sky. He didn’t ask how I was. He didn’t make a scene. He just reached out, took the basket straight out of Linc’s hand, and stepped back to let us in. “Food’s in the kitchen. Coffee’s fresh. Grab a plate before the others clean it out.”
The warmth hit as soon as we stepped inside. Heat from the stove, body heat from a house already full of people, the smellof biscuits, ham, cinnamon, and strong coffee. The living room glowed with lamplight and the soft twinkle from a tree that leaned a little to the left but had more heart than any store-bought one. There were boots lined up against the wall and jackets thrown over the back of chairs in no particular order. It felt like walking straight into a held breath that finally let go.
Kipp set the basket near the tree, nodding at it once like he was already mentally organizing who would get what and who was going to pretend not to cry about it.
I slipped off my coat and followed Linc through the crowd. Shoulders brushed mine. Josie nearly ran into me and then circled back around my legs like a puppy. Julie called from the other room for more snacks and got three different replies at once.
Ryder was by the stove, arguing with Griffin over gravy like the fate of the ranch depended on it. Griffin was holding a wooden spoon like a weapon, and Ryder was gesturing with a fork that still had food on it. Nash was in the corner trying to keep one of the dogs out of the pie table and failing. The dog’s tail was going like a metronome. It all felt alive and ordinary, the way Christmas was supposed to feel.
Linc handed me a plate. “Eat,” he said again.
“You’re always so convinced I’m starving.”
“You usually are,” he replied, and I really smiled for the first time in longer than I wanted to admit.
