I sit up, heat tightening behind my ribs. “What’s that?”
Holly opens it. The photo shows her in my kitchen yesterday, wearing my thermal shirt, her hair damp, and smiling at something off-camera. The caption reads:Our Holly looking cozy in mountain man fashion! Glad she’s safe. #LushHollow #StormSurvivors
Seven likes already. Three comments: hearts, relief, and one questioning if that’s Cole Hart in the background.
My chest tightens. I can’t get air.
Holly’s face is carefully blank. She doesn’t blink. “This is the selfie I sent to Sophie yesterday. When I texted to let her know I was okay.”
I stare at the screen. When people see Holly in the oversized shirt, it’ll be obvious. She looks like she’s mine.
My jaw locks. Heat climbs the back of my neck. “That picture is all over the volunteer group chat. Why would you post that?”
The words come out sharper than I intended.
She flinches, pulling back like I’ve slapped her. “What? No! I only sent it to Sophie. Like I said I would.”
“And now the whole town has seen it. Holly, youpromisedme. You said it was just for Sophie.”
“Ididn’tpost it! Sophie must have. I didn’t think to tell her to keep it private. But Cole, I would never?—”
“It doesn’t matter who posted it! It’sout there.” My voice is flat. “You in my kitchen. In my clothes. Holly, I don’t… People don’t?—”
“Don’t what?” Her voice could cut glass. She’s pulling away, physically and emotionally, wrapping her arms around herself. “Don’t take pictures in your space? Don’t tell anyone they were here? Don’t exist publicly in your clothes, looking like they belong to you?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
My throat closes. “I wasn’t expecting people to?—”
“Know about me.” She finishes for me. “To see me looking like I’m yours.”
Damn. That’s exactly what I meant. And it’s exactly the wrong thing. “Holly?—”
“I should get ready. The plow will be here soon.” She slips out of bed and grabs her clothes with quick, jerky movements.
“Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She won’t look at me, keeping her back turned as she pulls on her panties and jeans. “You’ve made it clear how you feel about people knowing I’vebeen here. About people seeing me in your clothes. About anyone thinking we’re together.”
“It’s not you. The photo?—”
“Isn’t the problem.” She finally looks at me. “The problem is what happens now. When we go back to town and everyone’s watching.”
I go still. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been here before, Cole. Someone says the right things in private. Then the second it’s public, the second people are paying attention, they’re gone.”
“I’m not Mark.”
“Logically, I know that.” Her voice cracks. “But I also know what it feels like to be picked in private and dismissed in public. And I can’t go through that again.”
“Holly—”
“I need space. I need to think. And I need to see what happens when we’re not trapped together.”
“Okay,” I say. “Take your space. But this isn’t a cabin thing. Not for me.”
