Page 24 of The Bear's Christmas Wish
Chapter Ten – Sarah
Sarah glanced around the small office, which felt even smaller since Michael had entered, stomping snow from his boots.
But his arrival had certainly turned up the heat!
A good thing, since the small space heater in the corner of the office wasn’t man enough for the job of warding off the cold from the snowstorm outside.
As the office shook from a particularly strong gust of wind, the lights flickered, and the small heater finally gave up.
“Damn.” Michael kneeled beside the ancient space heater, frowning as he tapped its metal casing. The light on the front blinked once more, then died completely.
“That’s it,” he said, his voice calm despite the rapidly dropping temperature. “It’ll be warmer in the other hut with the wood stove.” He stood, brushing off his knees as he looked at her. “Are you okay to walk? It’s not far. Just follow me and stick close.”
Sarah nodded, putting her trust in Michael as he gathered what they’d need. No wasted actions, no panic, just quiet competence that made her feel strangely safe despite the worsening storm.
She tucked her tablet and proofs into her messenger bag, zipping it closed with fingers already stiffening from the cold. Her coat came next, the zipper catching halfway up until she tugged it firmly into place.
Michael rummaged in a drawer and pulled out what looked like metal cleats. “Yaktrax,” he explained, holding them out. “They’ll give you better traction in the snow.”
She slipped them over her boots, the metal coils biting into the rubber soles. Michael handed her something else—a small packet that felt warm against her palm.
“Hand warmer,” he said. “Here, tuck this into your glove.”
She juggled her bag and the packet, trying to work it into her glove without dropping everything. Michael watched her struggle for a moment, then held out his hand.
“May I?”
The question, so simple and respectful, caught her off guard. How many times had Liam simply grabbed her things, her arm, her attention—never asking, just taking?
She nodded, a shiver running through her that had nothing to do with the cold. Michael took the hand warmer and gently slid it inside her glove, his fingers brushing against her wrist. The warmth spread instantly, but it was nothing compared to the heat that bloomed where his skin had touched hers.
“Thanks,” she croaked, her voice suddenly hoarse.
He nodded and smiled, then made a final check of the office. Satisfied, he rested his hand on the door handle.
“Ready?”
She nodded again, clutching her bag to her chest like a shield.
He pushed the door open, and the cold rushed in like a living thing, hungry and fierce. Michael stepped out into the swirling whiteness, and she followed, waiting as he secured the door behind them.
“Step where I step, okay?” he called over his shoulder, his voice muffled by the wind.
“Okay,” she called back, but the snow seemed to swallow her voice.
She followed close behind him, watching his boots break trail through the fresh powder. The world had vanished into a blur of white, disorienting and endless, but Michael moved with complete certainty. Sarah kept her eyes fixed on his broad back, trusting him to guide them safely through the blinding snow.
There was something strangely intimate about it—the two of them alone in this white cocoon, connected by nothing but trust and proximity. All there was in this world was her and him, moving through the storm together.
After what felt like forever but was probably only minutes, a dark shape loomed ahead. Michael reached back, his hand finding hers as they approached what she now recognized as a small cabin. He opened the door, hooking his arm around her as they entered, then shut the door firmly against the howling wind.
It was cold inside, but at least they were out of the storm. Sarah dumped her bag on the rough wooden table, her teeth chattering as she looked around. The cabin was simple but well-maintained. From what she could see, there was one room with a wood stove, a small kitchen area, a table with chairs, and what looked like a storage cabinet against the far wall.
Michael immediately moved to the wood stove, crouching before it with practiced ease. Sarah watched as he arranged kindling in a careful pattern, twisting strips of newspaper between small sticks of wood. His movements were precise, almost meditative. He struck a single match, touching it to the paper in exactly the right spot. The flame caught, growing steadily as he gently closed the stove door, leaving it cracked just enough to create a perfect draw.
Within minutes, the fire was burning cheerily, warmth beginning to radiate from the black iron stove. Michael filled abattered kettle with water from a jug and placed it on top, then turned to her with a tin in his hands.
“Coffee will be ready soon. Cookies?”
