Page 38 of A Christmas For Holly

I bristled, even though he’d been teasing, and it wasn’t meant to be unkind.

I huffed, half-smiling despite the tension. “Mug, water, insert pod, press go.” Not even I could fuck that up.

I read the instructions and arranged a few cookies on a tray, wondering how to measure three inches apart and, in the end, guessing. They called for ten minutes at 350°F. There was no mention of greasing the tray, so I figured I was good. I set the timer and leaned against the counter, my back turned to Lucas, trying to make myself invisible in the tiny kitchen.

The space seemed safer somehow. It was small and basic, with a fridge, a pod coffee machine, and the smell of chocolate filling the air. I stared at the stove, pretending it was the only thing I needed to focus on.

I heard Lucas move behind me. His footsteps were soft but deliberate. He was close—too close.

“Smells nice,” he said, his voice low.

Why was he being so damn nice about things? Lucas could’ve easily thrown in some sarcastic comment, but instead, he’d shown me how to use the stove and complimented the cookies I hadn’t even made. I didn’t get it. It felt… off. I was waiting for calm, patient, and encouraging to turn into angry and accusing. Doc Susan said I catastrophized—that I expected to screw up, but I didn’t trust that the feelings I had weren’t some premonition.

I didn’t trust myself, either.

I didn’t know how to handle kindness right now, particularly from him—Lucas wasn’t supposed to be kind. He was supposed to be the guy who called me out on my bullshit at the wedding, not the one watching quietly while I figured out how to light a fire and smiled with pride as though I’d achieved something monumental.

I didn’t deserve whatever strange sense of ease he was giving off. Maybe he just felt sorry for me. The thought twisted in my gut, but I pushed it down.

“Cookies for a rescue hero,” I deadpanned, trying to make a joke out of it. I kept my focus forward, but I could feel him waiting for me to say or do something.

Eventually, I turned and met his eyes briefly, but I couldn’t hold it. That familiar shame curled inside me, wrapping around my insides and twisting them. I looked away first, my gaze dropping to the counter like it could give me the necessary answers.

We ate the cookies silently; even the coffee didn’t ease our awkwardness. The room felt too quiet, but outside, the wind howled, and the snow battered the windows in relentless waves. I glanced at Lucas and caught him frowning at the snow.

“This isn’t a normal storm, is it?” I asked, unease gnawing at me.

Lucas shook his head. “Nor’easter. We get them every so often, at least the tail end of them here in Vermont. The last big one was back in eighteen. Shut the town down for a week.”

I froze at the thought. “A week?”In here? With you?

He threw me a smile. “It won’t be a week this time,” he reassured me, though his voice had an edge of doubt. “I hope to get to my place later tonight or in the morning.”

Relief washed over me. The idea of being cooped up in this cabin for an hour with Lucas was too much to think about, let alone a week.

Now what? I curled up at the opposite end of the sofa, grabbed one of the books from the pile I’d bought earlier, and flipped it open. I could feel Lucas watching me, his presence filling the small room, making focusing on the words impossible.

I sighed and, without thinking, pointed at the other books. “Do you read? I mean, of course, you read, but maybe you don’tlike reading, or maybe you have dyslexia, and that’s cool and... shit.”

“I read,” Lucas looked at the pile before me and raised an eyebrow. “Did you choose all of these?”

He started rifling through them, pulling out the thrillers and action-adventure books I’d picked, before pausing on one with a shirtless dude holding a hockey stick. The cover was ridiculous, with the guy’s abs shining like someone had airbrushed oil over them.

“Not that one,” I muttered, feeling the heat creep into my face. “The owner… um…” I tapped my temple, trying to recall the pirate’s name.

“Wesley,” Lucas interjected.

“Yeah, Wesley. He must have slipped it in.”

“Wesley is all about the love stories,” Lucas said affectionately. Was Wesley more than a friend? Why was I thinking about this? It didn’t matter who Lucas liked.

He flipped the book over, reading the back aloud in his best movie trailer voice. “In a world of high-stakes hockey, she’s off-limits, but that doesn’t stop their undeniable attraction. Will the star forward risk everything for a forbidden love with the coach’s daughter?” He looked up, smirking. “Do you hockey players do that a lot?”

“What?”

“Sleep with the coach’s daughter?”

I shook my head, laughing despite myself. “No.”

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