“I know,” I manage.
He studies me for a long, still moment. A moment that feels like it’s holding its breath. A moment that feels like the center of something shifting.
Then he nods toward the living room.
“Come on,” he says. “Help me finish rearranging for the cocoa bar.”
I exhale shakily. “Yes. Cocoa bar logistics. That’s smart.”
We move together again, easy and close, brushing past each other more often than necessary.
The snow thickens outside.
The tree glows faintly in the firelight.
And every second feels like something pulling tighter, drawing us closer, threading something between us that neither of us is ready to name.
But it’s there.
Oh, it’ssothere.
And the next storm hasn’t even fully arrived.
TEN
CALDER
By early evening, the second storm has fully settled in—not with the violent edge of the first one, but with a dense, determined snowfall that whispers against the windows and piles up silently on the porch. The power still hasn’t come back. The generator still isn’t cooperating. The only light in the cabin comes from the fire and a few candles scattered around the room.
It should feel dim.
It should feel cold.
Instead, it feels…warm.
A lot of that is because of her.
Natalie sits cross-legged on the rug in front of the tree, sorting ornaments into neat groups. She’s humming something I don’t recognize—something soft and low and possibly designed in a lab to make me lose concentration.
I try to fix a stripped screw in one of the kitchen cabinet hinges and fail for the fourth time in five minutes.
“I’m starting to think you’re sabotaging that cabinet so you have chores,” she says without looking up.
“I’m not sabotaging anything.”
“You keep mumbling at it.”
“That’s called troubleshooting.”
She grins, still not looking up. “Pretty sure the cabinet can sense your frustration.”
I shake my head, grab the screwdriver again, and make a minor adjustment that doesn’t solve anything. My attention keeps drifting—toward her hands, her hair, the little crease in her forehead when she’s concentrating. I’m not used to sharing space with someone who fills a room without trying.
Especially someone who fills my attention without trying.
“Okay,” she says suddenly, sitting up straighter. “I need your opinion.”
“On what?”
