The thought steadied me.Just barely.
Snowflakes swirled in the air as I climbed the path to his house, icy crystals stinging my cheeks.I knocked with fingers gone stiff and red; the sound muffled against the heavy wood door.My breath puffed white in the cold, my heart beating too fast, too hard.
The door creaked open.
Charlie filled the frame, shoulders broad, shadows curling around him like they always did.But when his eyes found me—when they dragged over me slowly, hungrily, reverently—I nearly forgot how to breathe.
He froze.For a moment, the storm outside could’ve swallowed us whole, and I wouldn’t have noticed.His gaze moved from my boots to the hem of my dress, up to the flush on my cheeks, lingering like he was trying to memorize every detail.
I wanted to tease him, to break the tension, but I couldn’t.The weight of his stare rooted me to the step, every nerve alive.
Finally, his voice came, rough and low, like gravel underfoot.“You’ll make me regret this.”
My pulse jumped.I opened my mouth to argue, to ask what he meant, but before I could, he leaned in.
The kiss was hard, sudden, possessive—the kind of kiss that left no space for doubts.Heat surged through me, melting the cold from my skin, from my bones.His mouth on mine wasn’t careful or tentative; it was claiming, fierce, full of everything he wouldn’t say out loud.
I gasped into it, my hand rising instinctively to his cheek.My fingertips brushed the scars there, rough and ridged, and instead of pulling away, I cupped him tighter, pressing closer.
He shuddered under my touch, and for a moment, I swore the world narrowed to just this: the storm raging behind me, the fire in his kiss, and the certainty that regret was the furthest thing from his mind.
And I—I didn’t ever want him to stop.
His mouth left mine too soon, though the warmth of the kiss still lingered, shimmering through me like heat in winter air.For a heartbeat, I almost asked.The questions throbbed at the edges of my tongue—the letters, my father, the truth that had gnawed at me since the day I found those singed pages.
But when I looked up at him, really looked, I saw the tightness etched deep into his jaw, the way his eyes had gone distant and dark.Haunted.The ghosts weren’t gone; they were crouched just behind his ribs, ready to strike if I pressed.Tonight wasn’t the night for secrets.
So I swallowed the words, tucking them away into the same hidden drawer I’d kept them in for days now.Instead, I whispered, soft but sure, “Ready to see the lights?”
Something flickered in his eyes then—not relief exactly, but maybe gratitude, rough and wordless.He gave a small nod, muttering under his breath, “Let’s get it over with.”
We stepped out into the snow, the crunch of it crisp under our boots.Without thinking, I slipped my arm through his.His muscles stiffened instantly, every line of his body rigid, but I didn’t let go.I held on.
The town stretched ahead of us like something from a snow globe—garlands looped across the lampposts, wreaths gleaming on shop doors, windows spilling golden light into the frosty dark.Bells chimed faintly from the church tower, carrying on the wind.Children’s laughter spilled from somewhere near the bakery, sharp and bright as crystal.
Beside me, Charlie looked like a man bracing for battle.Shoulders hunched, jaw locked, eyes fixed on the ground as though the cobblestones might rise up and judge him the way the townsfolk had for years.My heart ached, but I tightened my grip on his arm, refusing to let him fold back into himself.
So I filled the space with my voice.
I pointed at the garlands, told him how my grandmother used to make me string popcorn chains for hours until my fingers were sore.I laughed about the ornaments I’d broken as a child, glass shattering like tiny bells.I described my favorite decoration in the town square—a lopsided angel with crooked wings that I adored because she looked like she was flying, anyway.
He didn’t answer much at first, only grunted here and there, his stride too quick, too clipped.But after a few blocks, I noticed the way his pace began to match mine.His shoulders loosened just slightly, his head lifting enough to let the glow of the lights touch his face.
The sight sent a little bloom of warmth through me.He was trying—for me.
And in that moment, with the snow glittering at our feet and the town alive with holiday cheer, I let myself believe we could do this.That maybe, just maybe, I could hold him steady against the ghosts of his past until he realized he didn’t have to fight them alone.
The closer we drew to the square, the louder the town became—until, suddenly, it didn’t.
It was like someone had dropped a stone in the center of a pond.Conversations faltered mid-sentence, laughter thinned, and the whole square seemed to ripple with one shared realization: Charlie Archer was here.And I was at his side.
I felt it instantly—the weight of eyes.Curious, wary, some openly hostile.A few mothers tugged their children closer.Shopkeepers leaned over their counters, whispering into cupped hands.A hush swelled, filled with the scrape of disapproval and the rustle of gossip.
My throat tightened, but I refused to let it show.Instead, I slipped my hand more firmly into the crook of Charlie’s arm, giving it a deliberate squeeze.He was rigid as iron beside me, braced for the blow, but I tilted my face up to him anyway and smiled like I had every right to be there.Like I was the luckiest girl alive.
He muttered something under his breath then—gruff, sardonic, probably meant to push me away.But it made me laugh, bright and unrestrained, the sound ringing into the frozen air like a bell.
The reaction was immediate.Gasps broke out, sharp as the crack of ice.A few people stared outright, scandal clear in their eyes.They weren’t just seeing him anymore—they were seeingus.
