My hand shot out to grip the doorframe.
I could see it so clearly: Holly here in this house, not just for today but permanently. Her things mixed with mine. Her voice filling these empty, silent rooms. Waking up every morning knowing that she was here.
The wanting was so intense it bordered on painful. We barely knew each other, and already the idea of her leaving once the storm passed felt wrong in a way I couldn’t articulate.
I wanted her here. Not just today. Not just until the power came back on.
I wanted her to stay forever.
The thought should have sent me running. Should have triggered every defense mechanism I’d spent years perfecting. It didn’t. Instead, it settled in my gut, true and unbreakable and somehow inevitable.
I pulled in a breath and released the doorframe, forcing my feet to propel me forward. “The couch might be more comfortable,” I managed, my voice coming out sounding more steady than I actually felt.
She turned to look at me over her shoulder, a smile playing at her lips. “The couch is too far from the fire.”
“Fair point.”
I set her bag down and grabbed the pile of blankets and pillows I’d pulled out earlier. “Here. Let’s make you a nest.”
“A nest?” Her voice came out strangled, her eyes going wide. I watched her throat work as she swallowed.
I paused, blankets in hand. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No! No, you didn't. It’s just—” She pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. “That term means something very specific in certain … contexts.”
“Contexts?”
“Romance books.” Her face was getting redder by the second. “A particular type of romance book where ‘nest’ refers to something, um, instinctual and … not just blankets and pillows.”
I blinked at her. “Is this one of those things I should know but somehow missed?”
“Absolutely not,” she said quickly, shaking her head so hard I was worried about whiplash. “Please proceed. Blankets. Pillows. Totally innocent nest-making. I’m completely normal about this.”
I couldn’t help smiling at how adorably flustered she looked. For once, I wasn’t the one being awkward.
“You don’t seem completely normal about this.”
“I will be in approximately thirty seconds if you stop talking about it.” She stuck her tongue out at me, and I decided not to point out that she was the one who’d brought it up.
Though I did file away this information for later, since whatever this nesting was had made her blush that particular shade of pink I was rapidly becoming obsessed with.
Idefinitelywanted to know more about that.
But for now, I kept my mouth shut and started arranging the pillows and blankets on the floor in front of the fireplace, creating what was essentially an indoor camping situation. When I was done, she looked at the setup and then at me.
“This is perfect. Truly.”
She started peeling off layers, and I busied myself checking my phone so I wouldn’t stare at her like a creep. There was nothing even remotely sexual about what was happening, but I didn’t want to be that guy.
My screen was full of notifications.
Messages from Nate saying someone had reported seeing my car skidding around a corner and asking if I was okay. Messages from Graham Whitlock, my friend who ran the Mistletoe Bay Preservation Society, and a man who had a few choice words for me when he learned I intended to replace a few rotted-out single-paned windows with double-paned historic replicas. And finally, a flurry of messages from a group chat I’d been added to for the Candlelight Walk Committee.
I quickly scrolled through those to see that the event was being rescheduled for the day after Christmas.
“Hey,” I said, looking up from my phone. “The Candlelight Walk’s been postponed.”
Holly, now down to a reasonable number of layers and burrowing into the nest of blankets, looked up. “Not canceled?”
