Page 15 of Love in a Christmas Storm
“What’s your least favorite holiday tradition?” she asked, voice soft now. Almost drowsy.
Carlos’s answer came slower this time. “Pretending everything’s perfect when it’s not. What about you?”
“Forced joy,” she said without missing a beat. “Like when you’re guilted into smiling for family photos even though your world is falling apart.”
Carlos exhaled. He didn’t ask her to explain. He just let it sit between them, a shared weight.
“Have you ever had a holiday heartbreak?” He wanted to know if there was a guy who'd hurt her. Wanted a name so that he could thank him for being wrong because Carlos planned to do everything right for this woman.
Lettie didn’t answer right away. But her posture shifted. She looked smaller somehow, despite the firelight catching the edge of her jaw.
“When my parents retired,” she said. “Packed up, moved to Florida. Just… left Christmas behind. Left me behind. I didn’t realize that was the last Christmas we’d all be together. If I had, maybe I would’ve… I don’t know. Paid more attention.”
Carlos felt something crack gently open in his chest. He didn’t rush to fill the silence. He just watched as Lettie’s eyes began to flutter, her posture sinking farther into the rug, her mug abandoned at her side.
Her head dipped toward his shoulder, not fully resting but close enough to make his breath catch. She was asleep by the time he shifted.
Carefully, he reached up to the bed and pulled the thick knit blanket down, draping it gently over her shoulders. Her lashes twitched. Her lips parted just slightly. Vulnerable in a way she would hate to know she looked.
He watched her for a long moment. “You’re not alone anymore.”
His voice caught on the last part. But he said it anyway.
“I’d never break your heart.”
And when he lay down beside her—not touching, just near—Carlos closed his eyes and let the warmth of the fire and the nearness of the woman who’d once sworn she couldn’t stand him carry him into sleep.
CHAPTER TEN
Lettie woke to warmth.
Real warmth. Not the fake kind of a kid who didn't want to sit still for a family photo. Not the manufactured kind of a couple close to divorce but sticking it out for the holiday photo with stiff smiles. Lettie felt something deeper, closer, anchored in breath and body and the quiet rhythm of another heart.
Carlos.
Her brain caught up with her body a second too late. She was lying on the bear-skin rug in front of the cooling fire, pressed against him from shoulder to hip, wrapped in his arms like they belonged there. Like she belonged there.
And it all… it felt good.
His arm was heavy over her waist, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. One of his legs had tangled with hers during the night. She felt the gentle weight of him—solid and stupidly comforting. She should have shifted. Should have sat up and shaken him off like a snow-dusted coat.
She stayed still.
Eyes still closed, she let the quiet settle over her like snowfall. For one breathless, suspended moment, she let herself pretend.Pretend that this wasn’t a temporary truce. That the man curled around her hadn’t bought her family’s legacy like a stocking-stuffer. That she wasn’t always one blink away from bolting.
It had been years since she’d slept this well. Longer since she’d felt this safe.
And there it was again—that ache. The one she buried under deadlines and detachment. The one that whispered about late-night cocoa and lights on the tree and parents who used to kiss her forehead and tell her Santa came early because she’d been especially good.
She hadn’t believed it then. She didn’t believe in “especially good.” But she’d believed in the feeling.
That feeling was here now. Safe. Warm. Wanted.
She could almost hear it—the echo of sleigh bells in the distance. Or maybe it was just the wind outside brushing past the eaves. Either way, it felt like Christmas. Real Christmas. The kind she used to feel in her chest before she ever saw it on a calendar.
Carlos stirred behind her. A low sound escaped him—half sigh, half hum—and then he nuzzled, actually nuzzled, into her hair. His hand splayed against her stomach, anchoring her like he’d done this before. Like he had a right to do it. His chest pressed closer to her back, slow and sleepy, and?—
He froze.
