Page 61 of Holiday Interference
And in this moment, it is.
Then his phone pings next, from somewhere in the other room.
And just like that, the storm is over.
My assistant’s name is still lit up on the screen, glowing like a warning flare.
Behind me, Cal lets out a breath. I hear the shuffle of his feet retreating from where he had me wrapped up seconds ago. The warmth of him gone.
“I should get that,” I say, even though I don’t want to.
He doesn’t answer—just walks toward where his own phone is calling from the other room.
I can feel the shift. Like something in the air has changed. Or maybe it's just me.
The call goes straight to voicemail. I pull up her texts instead.
Jules: Weather’s lifting. Roads are being cleared. Need to talk about rescheduling meetings—some moved to Zoom, some not. You’ve got a 2PM with the gala team. Also…your inbox is chaos.
I skim it all, a part of me already sliding back into the role—fixer, scheduler, handler of everything and everyone.
I’m so good at it, sometimes I forget I never really had a choice.
Cal comes back into the room, tapping out a message on his phone.
“Practice is back on,” he says. “This afternoon. They’re giving everyone a little time to get their shit together.”
I nod. My throat tightens.
The magic’s unraveling.
Reality doesn’t just knock. It kicks the damn door in.
No more storm to hide inside. No more snow holding the world at bay. The sun’s shining through the living room windows now, bouncing off the glass like nothing ever happened here.
But somethingdid.
Something I can still feel between my thighs, in my chest. In the weight of the shirt I’m wearing that still smells like him.
“I should head back,” I say, quieter this time.
Cal leans against the edge of the island, watching me. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t tell me to stay.
Just studies me like he’s memorizing every inch.
“Right,” he says eventually, quietly. “I’ll drive you to your car.”
“No,” I cut in too quickly. “I’ll call a car.”
The air thickens.
He nods again. Looks away this time.
I pretend not to notice the way his jaw ticks. Pretend my own heart isn’t splintering from the silence.
I start to head down the hall toward the bedroom to get dressed, but pause with my hand on the doorframe.
“Thanks for…letting me stay.”
