Page 15 of Christmas with the Firefighter
"It's amazing," I admit, taking another bite.
"So what brings you to Hope Peak? Besides the obvious desire to sample our world-class baked goods."
I consider lying, making up some story about business travel or family obligations, but something about Dolly's genuine warmth makes honesty feel safer than fiction.
"I was supposed to be driving to a cabin. Christmas alone, by choice. But I stopped here for the night and..." I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence without sounding completely ridiculous.
"And?"
"And I made a mistake."
Dolly's eyebrows rise. "What kind of mistake? The kind where you spend money you don't have, or the kind where you spend time with someone you shouldn't have?"
The accuracy of her guess makes me wince. "Is it that obvious?"
"Honey, I've been serving coffee to broken hearts for thirty years. I can spot the signs from across the room." She reaches across the table and pats my hand with callused fingers that smell like vanilla and cinnamon. "What happened?"
"I thought something was happening. Something real. But this morning..." I shake my head, embarrassed by how much hope I'd managed to invest in a few hours of conversation and one night of incredible sex. "This morning I realized I was just a temporary distraction."
"Did he tell you that?"
"He didn't have to. The way he kept checking his watch, the politeness, the obvious relief when I said I needed to get on the road… it was all there."
Dolly hums thoughtfully, still patting my hand like I'm a wounded bird. "And you're sure about that? Sure he wasn't just being respectful of your plans? Giving you space to make your own decisions?"
"I'm sure." The words taste bitter, but they feel true. "I know what it looks like when someone's trying to figure out how to let you down easy."
"Hmm." Dolly doesn't argue, which somehow makes it worse. "Well, even if that's true, seems to me you've got a choice to make."
"What choice?"
"You can sit here eating my cinnamon rolls and feeling sorry for yourself, or you can drive to that cabin and spend Christmas doing something that makes you happy. Either way, don't let one man's stupidity convince you that you're not worth fighting for."
The kindness in her voice, the casual certainty that I am worth something, makes my chest tight with emotion I don't know how to process. I take another sip of coffee, trying to wash down the lump in my throat.
"You don't even know me."
"Don't have to. I can see you're a good person just from the way you're beating yourself up over this. Bad people don't waste time on self-doubt, they just move on to the next thing that serves them."
She's probably right, but it doesn't make the shame feel any less sharp.
I finish the cinnamon roll in silence while Dolly refills my coffee and hums Christmas carols under her breath, her presence somehow both comforting and overwhelming.
"I should go," I say eventually, pulling a twenty from my wallet and leaving it on the table.
"You sure? I make a mean grilled cheese if you're interested in lunch."
"I'm sure. But thank you. For the roll, for listening, for..." I gesture vaguely, not sure how to articulate what her kindness means to someone who's used to managing disappointment alone.
"Anytime, honey. And remember what I said—you're worth fighting for, whether some man in Hope Peak realizes it or not."
I'm halfway to the door when I hear the familiar sound of heavy boots on linoleum. The same purposeful footsteps that walked into my hotel room last night, that paced the lobby while we talked, that carried him up the stairs and into my bed.
I don't turn around. Don't need to. I can feel him behind me, can smell the faint scent of winter air and something clean and masculine that makes my stomach flutter despite everything.
"Miranda."
My name in his voice stops me cold, one hand on the door handle, heart suddenly hammering against my ribs.
