Page 36 of A Christmas For Holly

“Fine,” he ran a hand through his tousled hair and wrapped his arms around himself. “You can wait it out for a while, and I can go and sit in my room or something. But I need to, um…” He shivered and stared at the stove as if it had personally offended him.

The cabin was freezing, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Holly had no clue how to heat the place. He stood there, looking around as if he’d just noticed how cold it was. I sighed, glancing at the old potbelly stove in the corner.

“I left you instructions,” I said, picked them up, and waved them under his nose.

“That was you?”

“Who else would it be?”

“The owner? He said he was going to send me a welcome pack, but… fuck… I should have downloaded it in town.”

I rolled my eyes, knelt by the stove, opened the little door, and grabbed a few logs from the nearby pile.

“I’m guessing millionaire hockey captains can pay someone to get their fires going.” I tried to lighten the mood, but he winced and I felt bad.

The hell?

“I guess,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, head tilted as if he was considering my comment seriously. “I didn’t need a fire in my house; it’s not exactly something I’ve had to do.”

“I was messing with you,” I said after a pause.

His eyes widened before he stared at the fire.

He glanced at me, startled. “Sure,” he murmured.

This wasn’t the Paul Hollister I was used to—this man wasn’t fire, bluster, and snark. He wasn’t the confident, cocky captainwho could light up a room or throw out a sharp comment that had everyone either laughing or scowling. No, this was someone else entirely—a smaller, quieter version of him. Seeing him like this, his shoulders hunched, his expression guarded as if he was ready to retreat at any moment threw me. He looked… lost. Unsure. And, hell, that sadness in his eyes caught me off guard yet again.

So much affection, so much need for him that it took my breath.

It made me feel uncomfortable in a way I couldn’t quite explain. I wasn’t used to seeing vulnerability in him or seeing him unsure of himself—or having these feelings in me. There was something raw about him, something real, that made me realize just how far he’d fallen. It made me wonder if I’d ever really known him at all.

So, who had I fallen for? What man did I want? Brash Holly with his hockey and his career, or soft, almost broken Holly with his pout and bright eyes filled with emotion?

Both?

Had I always seen sadness under the loud party guy? Or was I fooling myself?

Had he been hiding it all along? Or had leaving hockey beaten him so much that it stripped away the armor he used to wear so easily? Either way, it unsettled me. Because seeing him like this—guarded, small, and sad—made it harder to keep my walls up. And I wasn’t sure I liked that.

I started laying out the logs, first making a base with the bigger ones. Then, much to my shock, Holly crouched beside me, watching as I worked.

“Can you show me?” he asked.

I narrowed my gaze on his open expression, and his cheeks pinkened. What was the worst that could happen by me showinghim this? Not like it would be seen as anything other than helping a fellow man in need.

“You start with the bigger logs at the bottom, like this,” I said, stacking them. “You want space for air to get through so the fire can breathe.”

“Air to breathe,” Holly echoed as if he were filing the information away.

“You don’t want to suffocate it, or it won’t catch. Once you’ve got that set, add some kindling—small pieces of wood or paper to get it going. Newspaper works best, but if you don’t have that, you can use whatever you’ve got.”

I handed him a few small sticks and crumpled-up paper from a nearby bag, showing him where to place them. He mimicked my movements, setting the kindling in between the logs.

“Like this?” he asked, glancing at me for confirmation.

“Exactly,” I said, nodding. “Now, here’s the trick—you don’t just light it in one spot. You want to light it in a few places; make sure it catches evenly.” I pulled out a lighter from my pocket and handed it to him. “Go ahead. You light it.”

Holly hesitated momentarily, then flicked the lighter and leaned in, igniting the paper in a few spots like I’d shown him. The flames flickered to life, small at first, then growing as they licked at the kindling and started to catch the logs.

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