Page 14 of A Christmas For Holly

“Yeah, right,” I muttered. I remembered the owner mentioning limited signal and selling it as a feature. Peace, they said. Which, at the time, sounded great. Past me had clearly thought I’d enjoy the break from the shit on social media. Now? Not so much. “No fucking help,” I muttered as I tossed the phone to the sofa.

“Come on,” I muttered, frustration bubbling up. I shoved another log into the stove, figuring something would catch if I forced enough wood in there. But the flame sputtered out the second I flicked the lighter near the kindling.

I sat back on my heels, staring at the cold, unlit logs, feeling stupid. This should be easy. It was just a fire, for God’s sake. People have been making them forever. But no matter how manytimes I tried, the wood sat there, stubborn and uncooperative, mocking me.

I gave the lighter one last flick, half expecting a miracle. But, of course, nothing happened.

“Figures,” I muttered, slumping back against the wall, glancing out of the frosty window and eying my car. I should head back into town.

Was I ready for that?

For people?

The world was still out there, still packed with problems I couldn’t solve, but at least the medication was doing its job, pulling me back from the brink and making me dozy. Iimagineda cozy fire and sank to the sofa, staring at the burner and wrapping two blankets around me. They were thick and warm. I curled on my side and closed my eyes, letting the darkness take over, allowing the last remnants of the panic to drift away.

“I can fix myself,” I whispered to the empty room, my voice barely more than a breath, and curled tighter.

I have to do this. Otherwise, what’s the point?

The words were a fragile promise to myself. I didn’t know if I believed them, not really. But I didn’t have a choice. I had to keep trying. Just like I would the stove.

I’ll do the fire later.

I was here at Wishing Tree to find peace, mend bridges with my best friend, get to know his husband better, and apologize to Lucas.

I can do all this and then find somewhere warmer to spend Christmas.

Eventually, the soft hum of the medication took full effect, and the tension drained from my body, although fuck, I was cold.

My thoughts quietened, and the anxiety retreated to where it could do no more harm, at least for now. As I lay in the cabin’squiet, I allowed myself to hope, for a moment, that maybe I could find some peace here. Perhaps I could figure out what I was supposed to do with my life.

I closed my eyes, letting sleep pull me under. It was mid-afternoon now, but I wasn’t ready to face the rest of the day. Tomorrow was another chance to make things right. And I needed to believe that, although it felt like the hardest thing in the world.

“I can do this,” I whispered again, my voice fading into the stillness. I was unsure who I was trying to convince. “I have to.”

I shivered, curling tighter into myself, sinking deeper, as the meds numbed the edges of everything sharp and painful. In this hazy, fuzzy space, I could finally breathe. Safe. Or at least safer than I’d felt in days. But in the quiet blur, Lucas was right there, fixed in my thoughts.

He looked exactly as he had after the kiss—shocked, as if I’d pulled the ground out from under him. I remember his blue eyes widening as if he couldn’t believe I’d dared to do it. His lips had curved into a smile, slightly parted, damp from the kiss I’d stolen… the vision of him haunted me. And just when I thought I might drift deeper, slip under, and forget, he was there again. In my dream, I tugged him close, pulling him into that kiss, craving that warmth, something I couldn’t name.

But this time, in my dream but feeling too real, he pushed me back, his face twisting in disgust. I cringed, feeling the echo of rejection like a punch to the gut, all because I’d been so nasty.

So fucked up.

“Shit… I’m sorry,” I mumbled, the words escaping me, although I knew he couldn’t hear them.

Chapter 6

Lucas

The bright blue Lamborghini,SUV-style, stopped at the lights for us to cross. I’d always liked and appreciated cars, even if my truck was more about utility than style. It got the job done, hauling stock to the store and handling the muddy roads in summer and the icy streets in winter. But this beautiful, sexy, sleek-as-hell car? It was something else.

Then I glanced up, and that was when I saw Paul Hollister sitting behind the wheel.

Holly was in Wishing Tree.

The shock was a punch to the gut. For a second, all I could do was stand there, trying to process what I’d seen. Holly’s dark eyes locked onto mine, his expression mirroring the same shock I felt. He looked the same as I remembered—dark-haired, dark-eyed, with that sharp Italian edge to his features, thanks to his mom’s side of the family. He was just as sexy as when I’d first seen him, and that realization hit me harder than I wanted to admit.

My immediate reaction should have been anger over how he’d acted at my brother’s wedding and that damn kiss.

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