"I didn't want you to be alone," I finish. "Even if you wanted to be. Nobody should be alone at Christmas."
"You're alone too,” he says, leaning back.
It's not a question, but I answer it anyway.
"Yeah," I admit. "My parents died in a car accident.” A lump rises in my throat. “I’m an only child, and uh, my friends are all with their families. Beth invited me to spend Christmas with her and her boyfriend, but I couldn't—" I stop, surprised by the tightness in my throat. "I couldn't be the third wheel watching everyone be happy while I pretend to be."
"I’m sorry about your parents.”
“Thank you.”
“So, you put on a Santa costume and drove up a mountain."
I love how he can switch things up like he does. No time for tears and sadness here.
"It seemed better than sitting in my apartment eating takeout and watchingLove Actuallyfor the fifteenth time."
"That movie's terrible."
"It's perfect, and you're wrong."
His mouth twitches. "So, you want to spend Christmas in a cabin with a stranger instead of alone in your apartment. That says something about you."
"That I make questionable life choices?"
"That you’re kind." His voice goes rough. "That you value company. You’re human in ways most people aren’t.”
I can't inhale a full breath. Nobody's ever said it like that before—like being kind is worth something. Like I'm worth something beyond jokes and cookies.
"You’re kind too," I say quietly. "You could've left me on your porch or sent me away. But you let me in."
"Didn't have much choice."
"Youalwayshave a choice, Red."
His eyes hold mine across the table, and the air between us shifts into something heavier. Something that has nothing to do with power outages or Christmas or being stranded.
No, it’s something dangerous.
"We should get some sleep," he says finally, breaking the moment. "It's late."
I glance at the mantle clock, seeing its way past ten. "Yeah. Okay."
We move around each other in the lamplight, the darkness making everything feel more intimate. I brush my teeth with my fingers in the small bathroom while he sorts the fire. When I come back out, he's standing by the bed, his arms crossed, looking uncomfortable.
Is he waiting for me to get into bed? That’s… polite.
It seems like he is, so I climb into bed first, staying close to my edge, pulling the quilt up to my chin. He kills the remaining lamps until only firelight remains.
The mattress dips when he settles on his side, and suddenly the enormous bed feels impossibly small. I can feel the warmth radiating from his body and hear every breath he takes.
I close my eyes, aware of every sound, every shift of the sheets. The space between us thrums with tension made up of want and fear and something neither of us knows how to name.
Outside, the storm howls.
Inside, neither of us sleep.
Chapter Six
