We stay like that, suspended between a choice and a fall, breaths tangled, bodies nearly touching. Then a soft creak from the hallway. Holly rolls over in bed. We freeze. Our foreheads still touching. Our breaths still shared. But neither of us moves another inch.
Her fingers slip from my chest. My hands loosen on her waist. The spell breaks—not because we wanted it to, but because reality nudged in just enough to stop us from crossing the line we’re both desperate to cross.
Lucy exhales shakily. “I should… go.”
I nod, slowly, chest tight. “Yeah.”
She stands, pulling her coat tighter, cheeks flushed, lips parted in a way that almost destroys me.
I walk her to the door.
She steps out onto the porch, snow swirling around her. She turns back, meeting my gaze.
“This was…” She trails off.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “It was.”
She bites her lip, breath fogging the air. “Goodnight, Ash.”
“Goodnight, Lucy.”
She walks down the path, boots crunching softly in the snow. I watch until she reaches her cabin, until her light switches on, until I’m sure she’s safe. Only then do I close the door and lean back against it, pulse still wrecked.
Because Holly’s letter wasn’t wrong.
I’m lonely.
But not anymore. Not when Lucy Snow is turning my whole damn world upside down. Not when she looked at me tonight like she wanted to stay. Not when I can finally admit—I want her to.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lucy
The knock comes soft and early, the kind of gentle, deliberate tapping that’s meant to wake someone without startling them.
I’m already half-awake—if you can call it that. I’m warm under my blanket, curled against the mountain of pillows I always swear I’ll scale back, blinking up at the ceiling while my heart decides it’s morning enough to beat again.
It’s my first Christmas on Devil’s Peak.
My first one in this tiny cabin with its crooked beams and mismatched charm. My first one with Ash just a few steps away. The knock comes again, quiet but unmistakable.
My pulse jumps.
I toss aside the blanket and hop into my fuzzy socks, pushing the hair out of my face as I pad across the wooden floor. The cold air seeps under the door, brushing my ankles with a shiver. I tug my robe tighter and crack the door open.
And there he is. Ash Calder.
Big, broad, impossibly attractive at six in the morning, standing on my snowy porch like he belongs there. Snow dusts his hair and shoulders. His breath clouds the air. His cheeks are pink from the cold. He holds two steaming cups of coffee in one large hand.
But it’s the smile that hits me. Not his smirk. Not his teasing half-grin. Not the rare, reluctant curve of amusement. This one is shy. And on him? God help me—it’s lethal.
“Merry Christmas, Sparky,” he says, voice warm enough to melt the icicles hanging off the roof.
My whole chest glows. “Merry Christmas, Ash.”
He holds up a cup. “Peace offering.”
“For what?” I ask, stepping onto the porch with him. The snow crunches under my socks and I immediately regret all my life choices. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
