Charlie lingered at the edge of the room, silent, pretending to sort through something on a table.Every time I glanced up, I caught him watching me.And every time his eyes met mine, my lips tingled, my heart gave a traitorous little flutter, dragging me back to the moment when his mouth had crushed against mine, when the fire had burned hotter than the storm outside.
I bent over a shelf, forcing myself to hum, to scribble notes, to act as though nothing had happened.But the truth gnawed at me.I couldn’t forget.I didn’twantto forget.
Because every glance, every shared breath in that dim room, reminded me of how much I’d felt in those kisses—how much Istillfelt, even now, standing only a few feet away from him.
The stacks of books were supposed to be my anchor, my way of proving to him—and to myself—that I belonged here for more than just… whatever this was between us.
But the truth pulsed steady in my chest: I was in deep now.Too deep.
And no matter how hard I tried to steady my hands or slow my heart, I couldn’t pretend otherwise.
At first, I told myself I’d keep my eyes on the books, on the task in front of me.But the longer I worked, the harder it became to ignore him.
It wasn’t just the scars, though they drew the eye—the jagged lines across his jaw, the burned skin that tightened when he frowned.It wasn’t just the gruffness either, the clipped words and the sharp edges he wielded like armor.
It was the moments in between.
The way he’d straighten a crooked stack of books after I’d moved on.The way his scarred hands brushed the dust away before he set a volume back down, as if he couldn’t stand to leave it uncared for.Those little gestures, subtle and almost hidden, whispered of a tenderness he probably didn’t even realize he still had.
I found myself wondering how much of that tenderness he’d buried.How long had he been hiding it away, convincing himself the world would never look past his face long enough to see it?
The question sat heavy in my chest.
When I looked up again, I found him at the window, broad shoulders silhouetted against the pale spill of daylight.The snow drifted thick and soft beyond the glass, covering everything in quiet white.And yet, the way he stood there—rigid, jaw tight—it felt like he was staring at a world that had no place left for him.
My heart twisted.
This man, who the town called a monster, a madman, a ghost—he was the same man who made sure a fragile spine was handled gently, who fussed over crooked stacks when he thought no one was watching.He was the man who’d lit a fire to keep me warm, who’d rummaged out cocoa powder just because I’d asked.
How could I reconcile the Charlie I was coming to know with the rumors whispered on Holly Ridge’s streets?The stories didn’t fit anymore.They were a cruel costume draped over someone who didn’t deserve it.
I bit my lip, watching him.He looked so alone standing there, staring at the storm like it was a wall between him and everything else.
And I couldn’t help but wonder: how long had he been punishing himself like this?How many years had he spent locked away in this house, convincing himself the shadows were safer than the light?
A lump rose in my throat.
Part of me wanted to cross the room right then, to touch his arm, to tell him he didn’t have to carry it alone.But I stayed where I was, fingers clutching my pen tight, because I knew he’d only retreat if I pushed too hard.
Still, one truth burned steady inside me: I wanted to coax him out of the shadows.I wanted to show him that light could find him, even here.
And maybe—just maybe—I wanted to be the one who led him there.
As I stacked another row of books, the quiet pressed too close.My thoughts filled it, looping the same memory over and over until it stole the air from my lungs.
The kiss.
Gosh, I couldn't stop thinking about the kiss.What was going on here?Why was I reverting back to my middle school crush days?
And he knew my father.Was in the army with him.
What was I thinking?
And yet…
I could still feel it if I closed my eyes—the rough urgency of the first, the hesitant tenderness of the second.The way my heart had soared, convinced for one fleeting moment that I’d slipped past his walls and touched something true.
But the doubt crept in like frost at the edges of a window.
