So fucking pretty.
“Be careful next time. Or, better yet, ask for help.” Jerking my chin toward her home, I don’t outright spell it out for her, but I can only hope she understands what I’m offering.
I can help her. Hell, she can ask me to hold the ladder for her, or catch her the next time she loses her footing. I don’t want to have to leave my home every time she decides to do something reckless to make sure she can finish her task in one piece.
Looking at me like I’ve grown a second head on my shoulder, she slowly nods. “I’ll keep that in mind. Though I’ll try not to annoy you too much.”
She could never. It’s more frustrating that I can’t just help her without being asked to make myself feel better.
Throwing a thumb over her shoulder, she murmurs of getting back home. The air is freezing, and I’ve been too focused on her lips to notice her teeth chattering.
Instead of inviting her inside like I want to, I’m stepping back and forcing my body to shut the door as soon as I wish her a good night. I might look strong on the outside, but I’m terribly weak on the inside.
It’s a miracle I don’t cave. Still, I linger long enough to hear her leave. Once she’s tucked back into her cabin, I remind myself how bad I’ve got it before returning to my silence.
3
Nova
I have a problem. It’s a hereditary condition, this obsessive love for all things Christmas. But as I stand in my living room on Christmas Eve, surrounded by an explosion of red and green that would make Santa’s workshop look minimalist, the magic feels thin.
This is supposed to be my joy, my sanctuary. But as I soak in the glittering lights, a hollow ache echoes in my chest. It’s a void all the tinsel in the world can’t fill.
When I lived with my parents, the decorations were just a backdrop for their love. Dad would pull Mom under the mistletoe, his laughter a low rumble as she melted against him. Their stolen kisses in the glow of the tree were more radiant than any star on top.
My home is just as bright, but it’s silent. The only thing under my perfectly decorated tree is empty space.
My hands lift, almost of their own volition, and my palms press flat against my lower stomach. The emptiness there is a physical pain, a deep, yearning pull. A family. A future. But before any of that, I’d need a man who looks at me the way my dad looked at my mom.
A man like Mason.
Just the thought of him sends a shiver straight to my core, a sudden, liquid heat that makes my breath catch. My bar is set impossibly high, and he is so far out of my reach it’s a special kind of torture.
But then I remember the way he looked at me when I took him his mail. Up close, the usual sternness was softened. His gaze… it was heavy. Intent. It stripped me bare right there on his doorstep. Was he aware of what he was doing?
Sneaking glances from afar gives me butterflies. Being the sole focus of his complete attention? It took every ounce of my willpower not to squirm, not to give away my feelings. If he could read my mind, he’d see this hollowed-out feeling in my chest and see what I wanted to fill it with.
He wouldn’t have asked how I was doing; he would have run.
A flush creeps up my neck, my skin suddenly too warm and too sensitive. I need a distraction. I flee my festive prison and head for the shower, deciding on an early night. Tomorrow morning, Hope Peak is going to throw an awesome parade. I don’t want to miss it.
Slipping off to take a shower and call it an early night so I can wake up early enough to make it in time, I run through my same routine every time I get under the hot stream of water. First, taking care of the throbbing between my legs, then washing away all of today’s evidence.
I get to enjoy all of ten minutes of relaxing heat before my whole world goes dark. Literally.
The lights shut off, and I can’t even hear the music coming from the living room anymore.
Hurriedly washing the soap from my hair before the water can cool, I’m out and fumbling blindly to get dressed. Can’t exactly solve my issue naked, can I?
Once I’m out of the bathroom, more darkness surrounds me. Accepting that the power has gone out, my hands go out to protect myself from crashing into anything.
Finding a light switch, I give it a flip with a little hope still resting in my chest. When light doesn’t flood my home, I curse under my breath. This isn’t good.
Out of all the times the power could cut out, it had to be now? Talk about terrible timing.
Moving through my home, the darkness makes it impossible. It’s like I’m walking through a foreign place. Somehow, I’m able to get through each room without stubbing my toe a single time. Finding my coat, I throw it over my body and grimace at the wet strands of hair clinging to my skin.
Seriously, the best timing.
