I dig through my bag, clothes flying everywhere until I find an oversized T-shirt withSanta’s Naughty Listcracked across the front in red glitter letters. It’s not exactly what I planned on wearing around Clay. I didn’t pack for this or for sleeping in a cabin with him. At home, I sleep half covered and barely dressed because my room’s always too hot. Now, the air bites, and everything I own feels wrong.
I scrub the makeup off my face and twist my hair into something that passes for a bun. When I pad back into the kitchen barefoot, the fire’s going strong. Of course Clay’s not anywhere near it.
He’s at the breakfast bar, casual as ever in black lounge pants and a plain white T-shirt. Nothing special, but on him, it’s impossible not to look. The shirt pulls across his shoulders, stretches over muscle, and the firelight casts shadows across his chest. His forearms rest on the counter, veins raised against his skin. My throat tightens.
He glances up, catches me staring, and doesn’t bother hiding the smirk that flickers across his mouth.
“You planning to stand there all night?” His voice cuts in. “Or you gonna eat before it gets cold?”
I jolt, heat rushing to my face. “You could try being nice for once. Might even help you shake that Scrooge nickname.”
He doesn’t bother looking up, just takes another bite of his sandwich. “I hauled your suitcase through a blizzard. That’s nice enough.”
I slide onto the stool across from him, dragging my sandwich closer like I need the space. “Maybe if you didn’t act like being in the same room with me was punishment, I’d believe it.”
That gets his attention. His eyes lift, the weight of them pinning me in place. “You think this is about you?” His low tone is clipped. “Not everything is about you, Tessa.”
The words slice through me, stinging more than I’ll ever let him see. I smother the ache with a forced smile. “Relax, Clay. You’re the last person I’d want attention from.”
For a moment, neither of us moves. Our eyes lock across the counter, the weight of it thick enough to make my pulse trip. Clay breaks first, dropping his gaze and taking another bite of his sandwich like he didn’t just cut me open and leave me burning.
I pick up my sandwich and take a bite, chewing just to have something to do. The crunch of chips fills the silence, louder than it should be. It digs under my skin until I can’t take it anymore. I shove my stool back. “I’m making cocoa.”
He exhales. “Cocoa?”
“Yes, cocoa.” I rattle a spoon against the counter louder than necessary. “Some of us like to enjoy the sweetness in life, Clay.”
His jaw tics, but he doesn’t fire back. I’ll take it as a small win.
I slide a steaming mug across the counter to him before fixing my own. With a blanket around my shoulders, I carry mine along with the rest of my food to the couch and sink into the corner. The fire fills the room with heat, andHow the Grinch Stole Christmasplays—fitting, considering who I’m stuck with.
Clay doesn’t follow. He stays planted at the breakfast bar, shoulders stiff, eyes locked on the fire like staring hard enough might pull him out of here.
“You’re really gonna sit over there and sulk all night?” I ask, light on the surface with a hint of edge in my tone.
His head snaps up, glare sharp. “I’m not sulking.”
I take a slow sip. “Could’ve fooled me. Even the Grinch looks like he’s having more fun than you.”
His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t answer.
“Scrooge,” I hum into my mug.
That glare of his could cut glass, but after a long beat, he pushes off the counter. Heavy steps carry him to the other couch. Not close, but enough that I can feel him nearby.
“See? That wasn’t so hard,” I mutter, taking another sip.
His jaw tics again, but he stays silent. The fire pops, the wind whips against the windows, and the movie keeps playing. For a few minutes, it almost feels normal. I let myself wonder what it would be like if Clay didn’t hold me at arm’s length all the time.
I sigh, shifting deeper under my blanket. “You know, if my professors weren’t such sadists and scheduled an 8 a.m. final right before Christmas break, we wouldn’t even be stuck here.”
This time, his voice comes from right across the room, low and rough. “If it weren’t for that, I’d probably be stuck somewhere alone, which doesn’t sound half bad.”
I blink at the screen, a smirk tugging at my mouth. “Maybe. But you’re stuck with me now, so you might as well try to enjoy yourself.” His brow arches, like he’s daring me to keep pushing. I set my mug down with a grin. “Fine. Sulk all you want, Scrooge. I’ll carry the holiday spirit for both of us.”
I toss the blanket aside and crouch by the fire, poking at the logs like I know what I’m doing.
“You’re gonna smother it if you keep stacking wood like that,” he says.
