The holiday decorations are up in full force—twinkling lights lining the streets, wreaths on every door, and snowmen dotting the lawns, giving the town the kind of small-town Hallmark movie charm I’ve come to associate with cheesy Christmas specials.
The entire town looks like it’s waiting for someone to kiss someone else under the mistletoe.
Yet, I feel more out of place than ever. The weight of the past few weeks has kept me locked inside, tangled in my own confusion and heartbreak, my own spiraling thoughts. I’ve tried to avoid the world, to let myself fade into the background of my own life.
But then there’s Christina.
“You’re going, Dove. I don’t care how much you whine, you’re going,” she says, her voice full of unrelenting cheerfulness as she stands in front of me, blocking my path to the couch. “Fresh air, some exercise, and maybe a little hot chocolate. It’s not up for debate.”
I stare at her, my chest tight with the panic of facing the world again. The idea of stepping outside, interacting with people, it feels too overwhelming, too raw.
“I can’t,” I mutter, my voice small. “I’m not ready, Chris. Not yet. I just want to stay here. It’s easier, you know?”
She tilts her head, eyes narrowing with determination. “You think I don’t know how hard it is right now? You think I don’t see how much you’re struggling? But you can’t hide from the world forever, Dove. You need to take a step. Just one. For me, please.”
I shake my head. The thought of walking through the town—of everyone seeing me, judging me—makes me want to crawl back under the covers. “I’m not ready for the world to see me. Not after… everything.”
Her expression softens. “Okay, I get it. I do. But you have to do this. For yourself. I’m not going to let you shut yourself away. I won’t.”
She presses her hands together, pleading with those puppy dog eyes of hers. And I know she’s right. Somewhere deep inside, I know I can’t keep avoiding it. So, reluctantly, I pull the blanket off and sit up, rubbing my tired eyes.
“Fine,” I grumble, standing up with a heavy sigh. “But if you see me run back to the apartment, you’re not allowed to stop me.”
Christina beams at me like she’s just won the lottery. “Deal,” she chirps, taking my hand and tugging me towards the door. “We’ll take a walk. And if you can’t handle it, we’llhead straight back to the couch and watch cheesy Christmas movies, okay?”
I nod, though I know it’s not going to be that easy. As we step out onto the front porch, the cool air hits my face, crisp and fresh, but it doesn’t stop the heavy ache that lingers in my chest. Every step feels like a mountain I’m climbing, but I keep moving, if only for Christina.
We walk down the sidewalk, the sound of our boots crunching over the frost-covered ground as we pass through the town square. The Christmas lights on the lampposts twinkle against the dusky sky, and the streets are dotted with families—some rushing in and out of stores, others stopping to admire the giant Christmas tree in the middle of the square. The smell of pine and cinnamon from the local bakery drifts on the breeze, mixing with the scent of fresh snow.
Christina’s rambling on about her plans for Christmas—how she’s hoping for a new winter coat, maybe a cozy pair of socks—but I can’t quite focus. My thoughts are a million miles away, stuck in a loop of memories I don’t want to relive. Thoughts of Ashton, of his touch, of his words that still echo in my mind, haunting me, suffocating me.
I try to push the thoughts away, forcing myself to pay attention to Christina’s words, but they slip through my fingers like sand. As we walk, the tension in my chest grows, the feeling of being watched creeping up my spine, turning my stomach into knots.
Suddenly, a familiar smell hits me—coffee, rich and dark. And I realize, without meaning to, we’ve ended up at the small cafe on the corner, the one with the mismatched chairs and the warm, inviting glow of the sign in the window. The bell above the door jingles as we step inside, and the warmth immediately hits me, wrapping around melike a hug.
I hesitate at the entrance, not sure if I’m ready for this—ready for people. But Christina’s already at the counter, ordering two lattes with extra caramel, her back to me, so I take a deep breath and walk in.
The cafe smells like roasted beans and sugar, the air thick with the hum of quiet conversations and the clink of mugs being set down on tables. The walls are adorned with local art—paintings of snowy hills, little cottages, and the town square at dusk. It’s charming, cozy, and somehow safe, a small slice of normalcy.
Christina’s chatting with the barista, but I’m not listening anymore. The buzz of the cafe fades, replaced by a strange feeling in my gut. Something is off.
I glance over my shoulder, my heart pounding. The moment the door jingles behind me, I catch a flash of dark eyes watching me from the window. My breath catches, and I turn back, trying to brush it off. Maybe it’s just a trick of the light. Or maybe I’m imagining things. But it’s not the first time I’ve felt this way since I left Ashton’s house.
“Do you think we’ll get snow soon?” Christina’s voice brings me back to reality. I turn to her, trying to act normal, but my pulse is still racing.
“Yeah, probably,” I answer too quickly, pushing my thoughts aside. “Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas after all.”
She smiles brightly. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
But I can’t shake the feeling. The sensation of being watched, of something lurking just beyond my sight. And I don’t know if it’s Ashton, if he’s here—watching me again—or if it’s all just in my head. Either way, I feel the weight of it pressing down on me.
“Dove?” Christina’s voice pulls me back. “You okay? You’re looking kind of pale.”
I force a smile, trying to steady my breath. “Yeah, just… tired, I guess.”
She studies me for a moment, but then the barista hands her our drinks, and she turns back to the counter, making a joke about how her caramel latte should come with a side of extra love. But I don’t hear her. My mind is too busy, too loud with the thoughts of what might be lurking in the shadows.
And what if it’s Ashton? What if he’s still watching me?
