Page 12 of Winter in Kentbury
I try to shake it off, but the sting of those unanswered letters still lingers. Each one I sent, wondering if he was alive or dead, if he’d ever even read them. I’d wondered if he’d been killed in action, feared the worst every time I dropped a letter into the mailbox. And all the while, he’d just . . . stayed silent. Made me feel like our friendship meant nothing, just like that kiss.
Breaking the silence, Holden clears his throat, his voice breaking a bit. “I’ve got to head out to the shed to grab more firewood. Will you keep an eye out by the door and open it when I come back?” He grabs his coat and gloves, layering up against the cold.
“Yeah,” I reply, nodding as I follow him to the back door. I watch him trudge out into the storm, his figure disappearingalmost immediately in the swirling snow. For a second, I can barely breathe, the sight of him vanishing into the white making panic flare up. I tell myself he’s fine, that he’s just in the shed, but still, a knot of worry settles in.
Minutes later, he reappears with his arms full of logs, and I quickly open the door, feeling a rush of relief as he steps inside, shaking off the snow. He piles the logs in the holder by the fireplace, then turns to me with a frown. “I’m going back out for one more load. Just keep watch for me at the door, okay? Visibility’s getting worse, but you’ll see me when I get back.”
I nod again, standing by the door as he steps out into the storm. I press my face to the window, trying to keep my eyes on him, but the snow falls so thick that he fades from view almost immediately. My heart pounds in my throat as I wait, my breath fogging up the glass. Finally, I see him emerging from the shed, another load of logs in his arms, and I pull open the door, relief washing over me as he steps inside.
“It’s getting too dangerous to go back out there,” I say, helping him set the logs down by the fire. “We should have enough wood to last us the night. You don’t need to risk it again.”
He nods, his face flushed from the cold, and as his eyes meet mine, something shifts between us. For a second, I feel the warmth in his gaze—a softness that unsettles me more than the storm howling outside. It’s like he can see straight through every defense I’ve put up, right to the mess of feelings I thought I’d buried. And I realize, with a strange jolt, that maybe the storm outside is nothing compared to the one still raging here, in this room, between us.
A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, his eyes sparking with a familiar mischief. “You do like me,” he says, his voice taking on that teasing tone I remember so well.
I roll my eyes, trying to brush it off, to hold on to some semblance of control. “Oh, shut up,” I say, giving his shoulder a playful nudge.
But even as I laugh, I can feel my guard slipping, feel the truth rising to the surface. He’s right, as much as I hate to admit it. I do still like him—more than I probably should, after all this time. I feel it in the way my heart jumps when he’s near, in the way my pulse races at the smallest touch. But how do I tell him that? And is it even worth saying?
Chapter Seven
Jenna
We sit in silence,watching the snow whip against the windows, thick and relentless. The fire crackles in the hearth, but it’s barely keeping up with the cold seeping into the room.The quiet between us has stretched on too long, pressing in until I can’t stand it anymore.
I glance over at him, studying his profile—the strong jaw, the same intense eyes that once made me feel like I was the only person in the world. I can still see the boy I fell in love with in the features of a man who’s become nearly a stranger.
And I can’t help but wonder why we never took the risk, why we never had the courage to love each other out in the open. I’d always suspected he felt something for me back then, but he never said a word, and I was too scared to ask.
I don’t know why I think it’s a good idea to bring it up, but the silence is suffocating, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out the one question I’m not sure I want an answer to.
“So . . . is there someone special in your life?” I ask, hesitant, my voice barely above a whisper.
A smirk flickers across his lips, and for a second, I wonder what he’s thinking. He watches me for a beat, then gets up and moves closer, taking a seat beside me on the couch.
“Do you really want to know the answer to that?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.
I swallow, nerves skittering through me. “If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have asked. Aren’t you curious if I ever got over you?”
His gaze doesn’t waver, his eyes darkening, as if he’s trying to read every unspoken thought. “I’d like to think you didn’t,” he says softly. “But I’d be a fool to think no one’s noticed how smart, beautiful, and resilient you are.”
He pauses, his voice barely more than a whisper. “So . . . who’s lucky enough to be with you these days?” His hand reaches out, fingers gently brushing a stray strand of my hair before he catches himself, pulling back.
“I asked you first, Holden,” I reply, managing a shaky smile.
He smirks again, but there’s something deeper in his eyes, something that tugs at memories I’ve tried to bury. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and shake my head, telling myself to get a grip. He still has the same effect on me he did in high school, and that’s dangerous—especially here, with the storm keeping us captive leaving me nowhere to hide from him or my own feelings.
“There have been a few,” he admits, voice softening. “But nothing serious. Most couldn’t handle the military life. And to be honest . . . none of them felt right. None of them were who I wanted.”
His words catch me off guard, and I feel the warmth of something dangerously close to hope rising up. But I push it back. “I’ve had a few relationships too. Only one that got serious. And it ended so badly, I’m not sure I’ll ever really be over it.”
I catch a flicker of something in Holden’s eyes, something that looks almost like jealousy, but I can’t be sure. “What happened?” he asks, his voice hesitant. “I mean . . . you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s okay.” I take a deep breath, gathering myself. “I haven’t talked about it much. His name was Julian. We met a few years ago. At first, he seemed perfect—charming, thoughtful, all those things people pretend to be in the beginning.” I pause, memories coming back in shards. “We dated for nearly a year. Then he asked me to move in with him, and . . . everything changed. He’d come home angry, snapping over little things, but I thought it was just stress. Until one night, he tried to hit me. I dodged it, but that was it. I knew I had to leave. I started planning to get out, but it turns out I didn’t have to. One day, I came home and found him in bed with another woman.”
Holden’s face twists, his jaw tight as he grips the arm of the couch, knuckles whitening. He looks like he wants to saysomething, but he holds back, his breathing steadying as he listens.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally, his voice rough. “You deserve so much more than that. A man who would cheat—or hurt someone he claims to care about—that’s no man at all.” His eyes soften with concern. “He never actually . . . hurt you, did he?”
