I glance over my shoulder. “You wanna do it?”
“No,” he mutters, slipping on his boots anyway. A blast of cold follows him out the door. When he comes back, there’s snow melting in his hair and an armful of firewood in his arms. He drops it beside the hearth. “Extra for later.”
“Thanks, Paul Bunyan.”
He ignores me, checks the door latch, and says, “I’ll make sure the generator’s good in case we need it.”
By the time he’s back, I’ve built a fortress of blankets and set out more cocoa. The sweet smell hangs heavy in the air.
He eyes the mugs like they’re poison. “You know sugar’s not gonna keep us warm if the power cuts out.”
“Neither will you being a grump.” I pull the blanket around me tighter. “Cocoa’s a must-have. I even added peppermint because, you know, Christmas, Clay. Try to keep up.”
He shoots me a look but doesn’t bite. Instead, he grabs a blanket and drops onto the opposite couch, moving like he’s trying not to admit he’s cold. The blanket falls over his lap, his mug balanced in his hand like it’s no big deal—but nothing about him is relaxed.
The space between us feels smaller than it is. His eyes meet mine for a beat too long before he looks away. I pretend to focus on the movie, sipping my cocoa, but the heat in my cheeks isn’t from the fire.
I can feel him. The quiet hum of him sitting there. Close enough to reach but far enough to remind me I shouldn’t want to.
Neither of us says it, but we’re both thinking the same thing. The last time we were alone. The night we never talk about. The memory of his hands still lingers, alive and dangerous under my skin.
Then his mug hits the table with a hard thud. “I’m turning in.”
The words drop cold. “Already? The movie isn’t even halfway over.”
“Long day. I need sleep.” He won’t even look at me.
I hug the blanket tighter, cocoa warming my hands even as the room cools around us. “Fine. Go hide in your room, Scrooge. If you need me, I’ll be out here soaking in the Christmas spirit without you.”
The second the words are out, heat rushes up my neck.Need me?God. What was that?
Clay’s laugh is low, vibrating through me. He scrubs a hand over his jaw, arm flexing, and of course my eyes follow.
“Good to know,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Good night, Tessa.”
The way he says my name ties my stomach in knots as I listen to his footsteps trail down the hallway.
His door clicks shut, and only then do I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I sag back against the cushions, blanket cocooning me but doing nothing for the ache in my chest.
Yeah.Good night.
Chapter Five
Clay
The door clicks shut behind me, cutting off the TV and the faint pop of firewood. For a second, I just stand there, palms pressed to the dresser, bent forward like I need to catch my breath. The quiet should calm me, but it doesn’t. It thickens, heavy with everything I’ve been trying not to think about since the second she opened her door.
I drag in a breath, shove it out hard, and pull my phone from my pocket. A new text flashes across the screen.
Liam: How’d the interview go? You nail it or piss someone off again?
A humorless sound slips out before I can stop it.Depends who you ask,I type back, then set the phone face down. I flip open my laptop. The glow burns my eyes, but at least it gives me something to focus on. Starting with the weather.
The radar crawls across the screen, bands of blue bleeding into purple, heavy pockets blotting out half the map. Not only are we getting snow dumped on us, but soon it’ll turn to ice. With the wind picking up, it will be impossible to go anywhere.
My jaw tightens. We’re not going anywhere. Not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow either. Which means I’m stuck here—with Tessa, her laughter bleeding through the walls, her voice filling every corner. Her scent still hangs in the air, impossible to ignore. She’s the one person I’ve never figured out how to shut out, no matter how many times I’ve tried.
I close the tab and pull up my inbox, shifting to safer ground. Scouting notes and game footage. Stuff I can handle. There are a couple of emails from the media requesting a comment, soI fire back short and impersonal replies. But my head’s not in it. It’s down the hall, where she’s probably curled under a blanket, Christmas movie still playing like the storm outside isn’t swallowing us whole.
