Her question still hung in the air, soft as snow:Will you take me?
I swallowed hard, my throat dry, words like gravel when I finally forced them out.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” I muttered.
She only tilted her head, that stubborn, luminous smile tugging at her lips.“I think I do.”
And damn me, but I believed her.
I didn’t mean to reach for her, but my hand was already there—scarred palm cupping the soft curve of her cheek.She leaned into it without hesitation, eyes shining like I’d hung the stars myself.
“Tomorrow,” I murmured, the word rasping out of me before I could drag it back.A promise.A surrender.
Her face lit up, brighter than any string of bulbs they could hang in that town square.She beamed, and then she was in my arms, wrapping herself around me like she’d known all along I’d give in.
I should’ve let go.Should’ve reminded her what I was, what I wasn’t built for.But I didn’t.I held on.Tighter than I should’ve, tighter than a man with scars like mine had any right to.Because for the first time in years, the weight in my chest eased.For the first time in years, I wasn’t just a shell propped up in an empty house.
The record player sputtered, the last notes fading into soft static.She pulled back just enough to smile up at me again, and I knew I was done for.
For her,I thought, fierce and certain,I’d face the whole damn world.
Chapter15
Belle
Istood in my room, tugging hangers across the closet rod until I found it—a simple dress, one I’d worn to Christmas Eve service a few years ago.Not extravagant, not the sort of thing anyone in town would fuss over, but it was soft and festive, the kind of dress that made me feel… seen.I smoothed the skirt over my hands, nerves buzzing in my chest.
From the doorway, my grandmother’s voice came, amused and knowing.
“All this for a library project?”
Heat rushed to my cheeks.“It’s not—” I began, then faltered, fumbling with the zipper.“I just thought, you know, the fundraiser’s important.First impressions matter.”
She leaned against the frame, arms folded, watching me the way only she could—gentle but sharp, her eyes glinting with truth I couldn’t sidestep.“Mm.Funny, I don’t recall needing a holiday dress for cataloguing.”
I ducked my head, pretending to fuss with the hem.“It’s just nice to feel… festive.”
Her smile softened, but her tone dropped lower, carrying weight.“Be careful, Belle.A man like him… he carries shadows.”
The words settled between us, heavy and familiar.I turned, dress clutched to my chest, and met her gaze.My voice trembled but didn’t break.“Maybe what he needs is someone to bring him light.”
She shook her head, a sigh threading through the air.“Light doesn’t erase scars, darling.And you must remember—he was your father’s best friend.”
The reminder struck like a cold hand at the back of my neck, but I straightened anyway.My father’s name had lived between Charlie and me since the first day I walked into his house, and it would always linger.But I wasn’t about to let it define everything.
“I don’t care,” I said, firmer than I expected.The words surprised me even as they left my lips, but they felt right, truer than anything else.“Whatever happened then… it doesn’t change who he is now.Not to me.”
For a long moment, she just looked at me, her eyes bright with something complicated—worry, yes, but maybe a glimmer of pride too.Then she nodded, slowly, as though conceding to a battle she couldn’t win.
I turned back to the mirror, slipping the dress from its hanger, my pulse quickening with a mixture of fear and anticipation.Tomorrow wasn’t just about Christmas lights.Tomorrow was about stepping into his shadows—and daring to believe I could coax him back into the glow.
I pulled the tights carefully up my legs, smoothing them as though neat seams could calm the flutter in my stomach.My favorite boots came next—scuffed at the toes but still cute, the kind of thing that made me feel put together.I slipped them on and stood in front of the mirror, tilting my head from side to side.
Earrings, or no earrings?My hand hovered over the little jewelry dish.Too much, maybe.But without them, would I look too plain?I clipped on the small pearl studs, then yanked them off again, heart racing.Coat or shawl?The coat was practical, the shawl prettier but thin.I draped the shawl over my shoulders, then caught sight of the frost clinging to the windowpanes and swapped it out for the coat.Back and forth, coat, shawl, coat.
It was ridiculous—just clothes.Just details.But every choice felt magnified, charged, because I wasn’t just dressing for me.I was about to step into town at Charlie’s side.
I caught my reflection again and pressed a palm to my stomach, forcing a deep breath.If he can face the town tonight, then I can face the whispers.
