“I like her too.”
Her voice gentles. “And… I like being around you.”
I freeze.
She rushes to add, “Not like that. I mean—well—maybe like that, but also not?—”
I turn. She stops talking. Her cheeks flush. I walk back to her—slow, steady, controlled. She looks up at me, breath catching. I lean down just enough that she can feel my warmth.
“Be careful with what you say,” I murmur. “I’m not great at pretending I didn’t hear something.”
Her heartbeat stutters in her throat. “I didn’t mean?—”
“Yeah,” I interrupt softly. “You did.”
Her lips part.
Something inside me pulls—hard. She’s inches away. Sleeping kid between us. No room to get closer, no reason to stay. But I stay. Because I want to. Because part of me—big, stupid, dangerous—likes the way she looks at me. Like whatever she sees doesn’t scare her off.
Finally, I straighten. “Let her sleep,” I say quietly. “I’ll take her home in a few.”
Lucy nods, brushing Holly’s hair again, voice low. “Okay.”
I force myself to step back. One step. Two. Then I turn and walk out of the room before I do something I’ll regret. Like reach for her. Like touch her face again. Like kiss her.
Because if I ever touch her like that?
I’m not sure I’ll stop.
And that?—
That’s what scares me most.
Chapter Six
Lucy
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Devil’s Peak in my short time here, it’s that everything feels a little louder at night.
The snow crunches sharper under boots. The wind whistles through the pines like a warning. And every emotion—every thought—every stupid, useless craving for a certain firefighter—feels amplified. I should be home grading book club entries. Or alphabetizing the donation cart. Or doing literally anything that doesn’t involve walking down Ash Calder’s driveway with a plate of cookies like a woman who has lost all self-preservation instincts.
But here I am. Because Holly asked me to stop by. Because Ash didn’t say no fast enough. Because something about the way he looked at me earlier—like he was fighting something he might lose—has been looping in my head like a broken holiday song.
I climb the steps and knock. There’s shuffling inside, a thud, and then Ash opens the door with a tired scowl that does terrible things to my insides. His voice is rough. “What are you doing here?”
Not exactly welcoming.
I lift the plate. “Holly wanted me to bring the cookies we made at the library today.”
He sighs, rubbing his forehead. He looks worn—edges dulled, shoulders heavy, eyes shadowed in a way I haven’t seen on him before. “She’s in the living room,” he mutters. “Come in.”
I step inside. Warmth hits me instantly—wood stove crackling, soft pine-scented candles, Holly humming to herself from the couch as she colors. Her little reindeer slippers kick happily in the air. “Lucy!” she squeals. “You came!”
“Of course I did.” I smile, setting the cookies on the coffee table. Ash drops onto the armchair with the kind of exhausted groan that suggests the world is sitting on his back tonight.
Holly doesn’t notice. “Look, Lucy! I made Uncle Ash a Christmas picture for the fridge!”
I kneel beside her. The drawing is scribbled but heartfelt—three stick people holding hands beneath a huge, sparkly Christmas tree. One is Holly. One looks suspiciously like me. And the tall one with messy brown hair?
