I freeze.
His sister murmurs something back, but her words are too soft to make out.
Calder answers, voice tight.
“She’s doing a job. I’m not dragging her into family expectations. I don’t want her getting the wrong idea.”
Something cold bolts through me.
Wrong idea.
Job.
Not dragging me in.
I swallow hard, turning the spoon in the pot mechanically. My vision blurs slightly around the edges. Behind me, laughter bubbles from the living room. The fire crackles. The tree glows softly.
But inside me, the warm feeling evaporates.
I paste on a smile I don’t feel when the kids ask for more cocoa. I dodge Calder’s eyes at dinner. I make myself small in a room that felt perfectly safe an hour ago.
When it’s finally winding down—kids in pajamas, stockings hung, dishes soaking in the sink—I slip out onto the porch to breathe.
Snow drifts down in soft spirals. My breath fogs the cold air.
He doesn’t want me thinking this is anything.
He doesn’t want complications.
He doesn’t want…
Me.
The door creaks behind me.
I stiffen.
“Natalie?”
His voice is gentle, cautious.
I swipe my sleeve across my cheek, hoping he can’t tell. “Hey.”
He steps onto the porch, letting the door fall closed behind him. The cabin light glows warm across the snow. He stands a few feet away—hands in his pockets, shoulders tense beneath his flannel.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say too quickly. “Just needed air.”
He exhales, thick and heavy. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’m not avoiding you.”
“You haven’t looked at me in two hours.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Nat.”
