The following morning slips in quietly. We've been snowed in for four days now. It feels strange—the silence. There’s no traffic or shouts from people going about their day. Just pale, cold light slipping around the curtains and Bear’s tail thumping the floor.
I’m warm under the quilt, still wearing his sweater, and I smell coffee before I open my eyes.
“Is that for me?” My vocal cords are still asleep.
“Yup. Sit up.” Red’s voice sounds low and scratchy. He’s by the bed, mug in hand, steam rising.
Coffee. The nectar of the gods. Even this sludge.
I push up on my elbows, hair a mess, my neck tilted at an angle no doubt. He hands me the mug, and his fingers brush mine.
I can’t help but gaze up at him, and what a sight he is.
“Thanks.” I wrap my hands around the mug. “If you tell me you baked fresh croissants, I’m proposing.”
“Nope.”
“Rude.” I inhale the coffee and give him a once-over. He’s showered—hair damp, in a clean shirt, with that cautious look back in place. His eyes linger on me for half a second, but I notice, and my heart does a stupid victory dance.
He turns away quickly. “The storm’s letting up, but the road’s still bad.”
Translation: I’m not going anywhere.
My stomach flips for reasons that have nothing to do with hunger pangs.
“Do you—” I stop because my brain tosses in images from last night.
How close we got in that bed.
I sip to buy some time. “Do you eat in the mornings? Or do you just brood until noon and call it intermittent fasting?”
“I like eggs.”
“Wild.” I slide off the bed and tug the sweater down over my bare thighs, before padding to the kitchen. “Let me cook. Payment for the coffee.”
He doesn’t argue, but his shoulders relax. The cabin soon smells like onion and butter, and pretty soon, I’m plating them up.
“It’s the moment of truth.” I set a fork in his hand and watch as he takes a bite, then he goes in for another.
“Good.”
I clutch my chest and gasp. “You flatterer!”
We eat at the table. Bear sprawls between us, his chin on my feet. Red’s quiet, but it isn’t the serious kind anymore—it’s nice.
I take a breath. “Can I ask you something? And you can tell me to mind my business.”
His eyes lift. “Ask.”
“Do you hate Christmas, or do you hate what it asks from people? The pretending and stuff.”
He looks at me for a long beat. “I don’t like crowds, and I don’t like noise.” He pauses. “I definitely don’t like pretending.”
“Yeah.” I swallow. “Same.”
He huffs quietly. “You don’t pretend?”
“I do.” The confession drops between us, and I feel his gaze on me. I stare at my plate. “I mean, I’m good at it. Being cheerful and making a joke before anyone else can.” I force a smile. “People see big smiles and big hips and decide I’m the entertainment. So, I am.”
