Page 16 of Mountain Daddy
His jaw flexes. “You scared me.”
I swallow. “You rescued me.”
He shakes his head, but there’s a softness there. A tenderness he tries to hide from the world.
To break the tension, I whisper, “This is officially the wildest Christmas season of my life.”
A huff of breath escapes him. “Same.”
We edge a little closer under the blanket without meaning to. Our knees touch. Then our forearms. Then our hands, inching toward each other until our fingers brush, tentative and electric.
“What was Christmas like for you growing up?” he asks quietly, like he’s trying to ground himself in safer territory.
I smile a little.
“Nebraska holidays? Cold. Flat. Plenty of casseroles. My mom used to make a cinnamon hot chocolate that we’d drink while driving around looking at lights.”
“That sounds nice,” he murmurs.
“It was.” I tilt my head. “What about you?”
He stares up at the ceiling for a beat, searching through memories.
“My dad cut down a tree every year. My mom baked enough cookies to feed the whole town. We’d give boxes to neighbors, friends, the mail carrier.”
I grin. “That explains Elsie’s sweet tooth.”
He chuckles softly. “Yeah. Guess it runs in the family.”
I study his face, letting the firelight map the lines of exhaustion, strength, and something deeper—loneliness, maybe. Or longing. Or both.
“What about your favorite Christmas?” I ask.
His eyes flick to mine. “This one.”
My breath catches.
He doesn’t look away. “I mean it.”
“Wells…”
“You’re here,” he murmurs. “And you make the house feel…” He stops, like finishing the sentence would expose something he’s not ready to admit.
“Like home?” I offer.
His chest rises with a slow, deep inhale. “Yeah.”
Something shifts inside me—soft and sharp all at once. Because I feel it too. With them. With him. This tiny cabin in the snow feels like the first place I’ve... belonged in a long time.
Our hands are still close under the quilt. I slide my fingers into his.
He squeezes. Gently. Tentatively.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the day you showed up at the school,” he admits quietly.
The confession sends heat through me. I inch closer, until my forehead rests against his.
“Then do it,” I whisper.
