Had it meant the same to him as it had to me?Or had I been a fool, seeing more in the heat of the moment than was really there?
Was it desire, or regret?Passion, or weakness?
I glanced toward the window where he stood, broad-shouldered and silent, eyes turned outward as though the snow held all the answers he refused to give me.He hadn’t spoken of it since, hadn’t so much as brushed against the memory.He hadn’t even looked at me the same way—not fully, not without shadows chasing across his face.
And the silence gnawed at me.
I feared I’d misread everything—that to him; the kiss was a mistake, a lapse in judgment, something he’d already buried beneath a new layer of brick and barbed wire.That he would retreat behind his fortress and shut me out completely, leaving me clutching at echoes while he disappeared deeper into his solitude.
The thought hollowed me.
But even with the fear, even with the ache of his distance, there was something else inside me.Something steady.A flame that refused to be snuffed out.
Because whatever else that kiss had been, it had revealed something—if only for an instant.A glimpse of the man beneath the scars, the bitterness, the silence.A man who could be gentle, who could burn, who could want.
I wanted to know him.The real him.
Maybe he thought the world had turned its back.Maybe he thought the scars were all anyone would ever see.But I couldn’t stop thinking: if I just kept showing him, in small ways, that he was more than that—more than his pain, more than the whispers—then maybe, someday, he would believe it too.
I didn’t know where this was going.I wasn’t naïve enough to think it would be easy, or that hearts broken as deeply as his could be mended with a few kind words.But I knew I couldn’t turn away now.Not when I’d seen those flashes of tenderness, not when my heart beat faster every time he entered the room, not when the thought of him shutting me out felt unbearable.
No matter how heavy his shadows, I’d already chosen to step inside them.
And somewhere deep down, I hoped he’d let me bring the light.
Chapter12
Charlie
The old habits woke me before the sun had a chance to.They always did.Years of routine didn’t vanish just because there was snow outside instead of sand.
First thing, I checked the locks.Fingers grazing cold metal, bolts set in place.The world stayed outside, where it belonged.
Next, I fed the heater, coaxing the old beast to life with kindling and a few muttered curses.It clanked and rattled but obeyed, same as it always had.
Then I stood at the window, watching the horizon bruise from black to gray, listening for the quiet.I always listened for it.Silence meant safety.Silence meant nothing creeping through the cracks.
But that morning, silence wasn’t what I got.
At first it was faint—tinny carols bleeding through from Main Street, carried on the cold air.The town’s damned radio.Holly Ridge never shut up this time of year, and even from here the cheer leaked through.
I was about to curse it and turn away when something worse—no, not worse,different—reached me.
Music.But not the kind you could switch off.Not the radio.
Singing.
Her singing.
Belle’s voice rose from downstairs, warm and clear, threading through the bones of the house like sunlight through cracks.She was untangling a mess of lights—I knew the sound of cords slapping against the table—and singing along to “Silver Bells” like she belonged here, like this house had always been hers to fill.
It should’ve annoyed me.Hell, itdidat first.Too early, too cheerful, too much.This place wasn’t made for carols and soft voices.It was meant for silence and shadows.
But then I heard it again, the way her notes curved, the way her voice settled against the old wood of the walls, and something shifted.
It fit.
Like a missing puzzle piece I didn’t know was gone until it slid into place.
