I nod and turn the key. The engine rumbles back to life, filling the silence until she starts in like she always does. She tells me about the cabin she booked—small with two bedrooms and full of rustic charm. Firewood included. Usually, I’d cut in, remind her of everything that could go wrong, but after hours crammed in this car, I don’t have the fight left in me.
The headlights punch a hole in the storm, barely enough to see ten feet ahead before the snow swallows it. Out here, it’s just the car and the road, and nothing else. Every mile drags. My hands ache from how tight I’m holding the wheel, my jaw locked until it hurts.
The tires slip now and then, enough to make my stomach knot tighter, but it’s not the road that’s got me wound up. I glance over to see Tessa braced against the seat, one hand locked on the door handle, the other smoothing over her thigh.
My eyes roam where they shouldn’t—her hand, the curve of her thigh in those jeans—and I jerk them back to the windshield, my pulse hammering.Focus, Clay. On the road and not her.But it’s harder than it should be, sitting this close after not seeing her for years.
The GPS chimes, and I ease into a curve. The back end fishtails hard, the seat belt biting across my chest as the car jerks. A growl slips out. “Dammit.”
“It’s okay. We’re almost there,” she whispers. She tries to reassure me, but I hear the tremor in her voice.
Up ahead, a faint glow cuts through the snow, a mix of reds and greens. As we get closer, the bulbs strung around a mailbox take shape, barely visible until we’re right on top of them.
Tessa leans forward, finger pressed to the glass. “This is it. The listing said the owner wrapped the mailbox in Christmas lights so no one misses the turn.”
The tires crunch through the snow as we pull off the road and into the drive, stopping near the porch. The cabin comes into view through the blur—dark logs stacked along the side, half buried by a drift. Smoke curls from the chimney, and a wreath strung with Christmas lights glows faintly at the peak.
Tessa exhales, the windows already fogging. “We made it.” Her voice is soft, like she’s already imagining blankets and a fire.
I cut the engine. The silence that drops in its place is worse.
“Yeah.” The word scrapes out flat. My hand stays on the key longer than it should. “For now.”
She tilts her head, lips parting like she’s ready to fire back, but nothing comes. For a moment, it’s just the two of us in the dark, the storm beating at the window as everything unsaid closes in.
I shove the door open, and the cold slams into me, sharp enough to burn my lungs. I don’t wait for her. I need the sting, need something to smother the heat crawling under my skin that has nothing to do with the storm.
She’s right behind me, knocking snow from her boots, tugging her hat lower. When she bends to grab her duffel, her scarf shifts, and a strip of skin shows at her throat again. My grip tightens around the keys before I can stop it.
She catches me looking and smiles, like being stuck here together isn’t a problem. She’s like sunshine in the middle of all this, and it’s exactly what I don’t need.
I shoulder past her for the suitcases from the trunk, her vanilla scent brushing the cold air. My jaw locks as I take the steps two at a time. “Let’s just get inside before the sidewalks ice over more.”
The porch groans under my boots. I don’t turn, but I feel her eyes on me.
If this storm doesn’t break us, the next few days just might.
Chapter Four
Tessa
Three hours in a car with Clay is enough to wear anyone down. Every word out of me is met with a clipped response, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the road like the storm didn’t exist. I sat there wound tight, listening to the wipers and my own heartbeat, fighting the urge to fill the silence like I always do.
Finally, the cabin breaks through the snow. My chest eases at the sight. It looks like something out of a Hallmark movie—roof buried, steps half covered, and smoke trailing from the chimney.
The car stops, and I push the door open. Cold air rushes in, biting at my skin as my boots sink into the snow. Clay’s already at the back, slamming the trunk shut, both suitcases in hand like he can’t get this over with fast enough.
“I’ll go first,” he says, nodding toward the porch. “Follow in my steps so you’re less likely to slip.”
I bite back the retort that sits on my tongue and follow him. I want to point out that it would probably be better for me, considering I’m in boots and he’s still in his dress shoes, but I’m not about to argue with him either.
My fingers are stiff and clumsy as I fight with the lockbox, but the key finally slips free. The door groans open, and warmth rushes out, cedar and old wood chasing off the sting of cold. My shoulders sag before I can stop them.
Inside, the cabin is warm and dim, the kind of place that feels lived in even if it isn’t. Two leather couches face a stone fireplace draped with garland, a white rug spread across the wood floor. Stockings hang from the mantel, and a bowl of ornaments sits on the coffee table. The Christmas touches are simple, but they make the place feel less like a rental and more like a home.
I pause just inside, thawing one breath at a time, until Clay comes in behind me. Cold still clings to him, snow melting into his hair and shoulders. He doesn’t stop to take in the place. He doesn't even say a word. He just pushes past me, a suitcase in each hand as he heads down the hall.
On the counter sits a folded note beside a loaf of bread that looks freshly baked.Welcome! Please help yourself to anything in the fridge or cabinets. Stay warm and enjoy your visit.Between that and the lights on the mailbox, something twists in my chest. They’re little things, but enough to make it feel like somebody cares.
