I blink.
She’s standing in front of me, concerned. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t look okay.”
“I’m fine.” I need distance. “Just… the smells.”
“Emma.”
“Yeah.”
She bites her lip. “I should’ve thought about what baking would?—”
“You did. I said it was fine.”
“But it’s not.”
I meet her eyes. “It is. And it’s not.”
“Cole—”
“She loved baking.” My voice cracks. “The cabin used to smell like this every December. She’d make enough cookies to feed the whole ridge. Box them up with ridiculous bows. Insisted on it. Said Christmas wasn’t Christmas without sharing.”
Holly’s eyes gleam. “She sounds wonderful.”
“She was.” I lean against the counter and cross my arms. “Drove me nuts half the time. Too cheerful. Too optimistic. Believed the best in everyone, even when they didn’t deserve it.”
“Sounds like someone else I know.”
I look at her pink cheeks and hopeful eyes, wanting to see good in a grumpy hermit who didn’t want the cookies she brought, even if I’ve snuck a few of the snickerdoodles she made for me. Damn tasty too.
“Yeah,” I admit.
The timer buzzes. Holly pulls out the tray. Golden brown with crisp edges and sugar crystals sparkling on top.
She sets them on the counter to cool and turns to me. “I want you to know…”
“What?”
She wraps her arms around herself. “I’ve never…” She stops, then tries again. “I’m not good at this. Talking about personal things.”
“You told me about Mark.”
“That was easy. He’s history. This is…” She shakes her head. “Harder.”
I wait.
She glances at the window. “You trusted me with Emma. With your grief. With why you stopped celebrating.” Her voice drops. “I want to trust you with something too.”
My palms heat. “Okay.”
She takes a breath. “I’m thirty. And I’ve never… I’m a virgin.”
Her words land quietly. Final.
I go still. My grip tightens on the edge of the counter. She’s trusting me with this. The weight of it settles in my chest. Not only desire, though there’s plenty of that, but something fiercer. The need to protect what she’s offering. “That’s your choice.”
