Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 26056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Not… this.
Not whatever the hell last night was.
A knock of panic taps at the back of my throat. I grab my phone again and climb up onto a chair near the kitchen window, hold it high toward the ceiling like I’m conducting some kind of tragic, single-woman-in-the-woods ritual.
Two bars blink to life.
I don’t hesitate.
I call Sandra, the showrunner.
It rings once before her chipper voice answers. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite little holiday hussy!”
“Sandra,” I exhale, breath shaking.
“Noel? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know. Listen—I’m packing up. The snow’s bad, but as soon as the plows come through, I’m heading back to the city.”
“What? Wait, what happened? Is it the cabin? Did that mountain man finally eat you alive?”
I flinch.
Not far off.
“Something came up,” I say flatly. “Just let the producers know I’m pulling out of the contest. You can keep the footage for the teaser or whatever, but I’m done.”
“Noel—no. You’re the frontrunner. We had People magazine call about a holiday feature. You can’t just leave.”
“I have to.”
Silence buzzes on the other end.
And then, softer: “Did something happen with him?”
I swallow.
Tears threaten again, stupid and hot.
“Just tell them thanks,” I whisper. “But I’m going home.”
I hang up before she can say more.
I slide off the chair and finish folding the last of my sweaters, each one smelling faintly of smoke and cedar. Like him. Like the night I thought meant something.
I tug my suitcase toward the door.
And I wait.
Alone.
Wrapped in silence.
Praying for snowplows. Praying for peace. Praying I didn’t just fall for a man who disappeared the moment things got real.
Because the worst part?
I already miss him.
And I don’t even know if he’s coming back.
Chapter 17
Nash
Iknew it the second I opened the cabin door and found her coat gone from the hook.
The fire was still going. The blanket she’d wrapped herself in last night—after she came apart in my arms like snowfall—was folded on the couch.
But she was gone.
And I deserved it.
Because I left first.
Stupid.
I didn’t even think it’d take me long. Just a quick hike to the ridge. A favor. Something that might show her—
That this wasn’t just snowstorm sex.
That this wasn’t just a fling, a contest, or a weird, glitter-covered hallucination.
She’d made my cabin a home. She didn’t even mean to. She just… was.
And I didn’t tell her.
Instead, I slipped out before sunrise like a jackass, with no note, no kiss, no explanation.
And now she thinks I ran.
So I do the only thing I can do. The only way I know how to fix this.
I come back through the storm, arms full of pine boughs, a tree slung over my shoulder—six feet tall, perfectly imperfect, handpicked from the ridge near Phantom River where the wind cuts sharp and the silence feels holy.
My boots slam against the porch, snow flying. My jacket’s soaked through, my beard frozen with flakes. My lungs burn like I ran through the goddamn desert again.
But I don’t stop.
I storm into the cabin, notice her missing coat, and stomp right down the hallway to my bedroom.
And there she is. Suitcase in hand, frown on her face.
Noel. Red coat on. Bag half-zipped. Eyes puffy, cheeks blotchy. She looks like she’s trying real hard not to fall apart.
Too late.
Her eyes widen when she sees me. The tree. The snow caked into my hair.
“What the hell—”
“I hiked five miles,” I cut in, breathing hard, “through a goddamn blizzard, for this.”
I drop the tree in front of her.
Snow scatters across the wood floor.
She stares. “You… went out there? For a tree?”
“No.” I take a step closer. “For you.”
She blinks.
I don’t stop.
“You were gonna leave,” I rasp. “And maybe I deserved that. I should’ve said something last night. But I didn’t leave because I regretted it. I left to get you this.”
Her voice cracks. “A tree?”
“A real one. No contest. No cameras. No gimmick. Just something real.” I pause. “Something you won’t want to run from.”
Her lips part. Her fingers tremble.
“Noel…” My voice drops, rough and low. “You made this place feel like Christmas again. You made me feel like a man again.”
Her breath catches.
And then she’s flying at me—mittens and all—fist pounding into my chest.
“You idiot!” she cries, punching once, twice. “You disappeared! I thought—” Her voice breaks. “I thought you just wanted sex. I thought I was some glittery trainwreck you regretted!”
I catch her wrists gently, not to stop her—just to feel her. “I could never regret you.”
Her eyes shine with unshed tears.
“You left before coffee, Nash.”
I smile, crooked and wrecked. “To find a tree.”
She shoves me once more, then collapses against me.
And then her mouth is on mine.
Not sweet. Not soft.
Desperate.
Teeth. Tongue. Fury. Longing. All of it wrapped up in one feral, soul-splitting kiss that tastes like smoke, snow, and forgiveness.
I groan, clutching her hips, but she pulls back first.
“No,” she pants. “My turn.”
My brows rise. “Your turn?”