Page 33 of Holiday Interference
“Oh.”
I face forward again and try to follow along with how the woman made it out and lived to tell the tale.
We watch in a silence that’s comfortable but charged at the same time until the world has turned blue outside.
That soft, glowy kind of dusk where snow steals all the sound and the sky forgets it’s supposed to be cold.
Streetlights flicker on, one by one, and the TV plays on low—background noise that doesn’t compete with the silence curling between us.
Cal shifts beside me, his broad body sinking lower into the couch. His head tips back against the cushion, one arm slung loosely over his stomach. Long legs stretched out. He’s relaxed in the way that doesn’t come easy—like it cost him something to earn it.
I sit upright with one knee tucked under me, both hands curled around a warm mug of tea I’ve yet to drink. The steam has faded, and the surface has gone tepid, but I can’t bring myself to let go of it.
It’s like I need something to ground me.
I don’t look at him.
Not until I feel it.
The heat of his gaze, low and steady.
When I finally glance over, he’s watching me.
Not in a way that feels invasive. Or even flirty. Just…there. Present. Seeing.
Something catches in my throat.
That fragile, rising thing I can’t name.
I don’t dare ask what he’s thinking.
Don’t want to ruin this by naming it out loud.
So I murmur instead, voice barely above the hush between us:
“You always this quiet?”
His lips curve—just a little—but he doesn’t answer. Not with words.
Just closes his eyes.
Like he trusts me enough to sit beside him and not ask for more than he can give.
And that undoes me more than anything else.
More than the almost-kisses.
More than the way his hoodie still clings to my body heat.
More than the cup I haven’t sipped.
Or the weekend that hasn’t ended.
It’s not the silence that makes me nervous.
It’s how much I like it when he doesn’t try to fill it.
CHAPTER NINE
