Page 84 of Seeds of Christmas
Did the cupcake freak her out? Was it too much? Too soon?
Does she regret sleeping with me?
I stare at the ceiling, listening to the fire crackle, and try to convince myself that I’m overthinking it.
That she really is just tired and sore and overwhelmed.
That tomorrow she’ll wake up and things will be normal again.
But I know better.
I’ve seen this before.
This is what it looks like when someone decides you’re too much work.
When they realize that being with the guy with baggage and the fucked-up grief and the tendency to use humor to avoid real feelings isn’t worth the effort.
I knew it would happen eventually.
I just didn’t expect it to hurt this much.
17
RHIANNON
The cabin feels different when we’re packing it up.
Smaller, somehow. Like it’s already trying to forget we were here.
I move through the space methodically, checking under furniture for stray equipment, making sure we haven’t left anything behind. Carter’s doing the same on the other side of the room, and we’re moving around each other with the kind of careful distance that’s become our new normal over the past two days.
We don’t talk much.
There’s nothing to say.
Or maybe there’s too much to say and neither of us knows how to start.
I fold the blanket we slept under—the one from the couch, from Christmas Eve, from before everything got complicated. It still smells like pine from the tree branch. Like woodsmoke from the fire. Like us, when we were still an us.
I fold it carefully and put it back on the shelf where we found it.
“I think that’s everything,” Carter says from across the room. His voice is neutral. Polite. The way you’d talk to a stranger.
“Okay. I’ll do one more check.”
“Sure.”
He doesn’t offer to help. Just carries a box of equipment out to the truck.
The cabin door closes behind him with a soft click.
I stand in the middle of the empty room and try to remember what it felt like when we first arrived. When everything was awkward and uncertain, but at least it was honest. Before I knew what it felt like to fall asleep on his chest. Before I knew what his laugh sounded like first thing in the morning. Before I knew that he names paper stars and hates puzzles, but did it anyway. For me.
Before I ruined it by being exactly what I always am.
Too scared. Too careful. Too much and not enough all at once.
I do one final check of the rooms, find nothing, and head outside.
