Page 13 of The Grinch and His Curvy Christmas Miracle
I hold them gently and drape them across the shelf above the recliners.
Then I switch off the overhead light.
The cabin falls into hush and shadow.
Only the fire flickers in the stove and the twinkle lights warm to life in a slow golden bloom.
Something in me loosens.
The room looks a little less empty.
A little less cold.
A little more like a place where a heart could rest without falling apart.
I swallow and walk to the tiny kitchen.
I fill a pot. Heat water. Stir in my cocoa mix. Cinnamon. Vanilla. Nutmeg. The scent blooms slowly, filling the cabin with a sweetness that aches somewhere deep inside.
I make enough for two mugs.
One for me.
One for him.
I hesitate.
Maybe this is too much.
Too forward.
Too hopeful.
I almost pour his out.
But the storm slams the windows. The fire crackles behind me. And something stubborn inside me says:don’t.
The bathroom door opens.
Heavy footsteps move down the hallway.
My pulse jumps.
I lift my head.
And he walks into the room.
Still damp from the shower.
Hair pushed back.
T-shirt stretched across those unfair shoulders.
Heat trailing off his skin.
He stops.
Absolutely still.
