Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Ash’s eyes flare. “That’s bullshit.”
“No, it’s—”
“No.” His voice cuts through mine. “You don’t get to blame yourself for a man who didn’t deserve you.”
I’m breathing too fast now.
“And caring for the woman who raised you?” he adds. “That isn’t something that makes you less. That’s something that makes you more.”
My chest aches. “Ash…” My voice cracks. “Stop.”
“I’m not stopping.”
“Please,” I whisper.
“No.” He leans in until our noses almost touch, the heat of him drowning the cold air.
“Lucy,” he murmurs, “if I ever hear you say you weren’t enough again, I swear—”
“You’ll what?” I breathe.
His voice drops to a warning growl. “I’ll show you exactly how wrong you are.”
Everything inside me twists. “Ash…”
He closes his eyes briefly, jaw locked. “This is why I asked,” he mutters. “This is why I wanted to know.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been trying—really fucking trying—to give you space. To keep my distance. To do the right thing.”
“And this ruins that?”
He laughs once, a dark, frustrated sound. “You ruined that the day you showed up with glitter in your hair and told me my cabin was cute.”
My stomach flips violently. “Ash…”
He steps back suddenly—as if he knows staying this close will end in something neither of us is ready for. He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Jesus. Why does this feel like a goddamn confession?”
“Because it is.”
His eyes snap to mine.
I cover my mouth, horrified I said it. “Ignore that. Forget I said that. Erase it.”
He shakes his head slowly. “No.”
“Ash—”
“No,” he repeats, softer this time. “I’m not ignoring it. I’m not pretending.”
My pulse races. He looks at me with something dangerous in his eyes.
“You didn’t deserve what he did,” Ash says quietly. “You deserve someone who shows up. Someone who stays.”
My throat burns.
“You deserve better than lies. Better than selfish men. Better than a life spent taking care of everyone but yourself.”
“Ash…”
“You deserve,” he finishes roughly, “better than the hell you were put through.”
I breathe in sharply. He steps closer again—close enough that I feel his heat everywhere. “I don’t know what this is between us,” he admits, voice raw. “But I know it’s real.” My heart stops. “I know,” he continues, “that when you look at me like that, I can’t think straight.”
“Ash…”
“And I know,” he whispers, “that if your ex stood in this firehouse right now, I’d throw him through a wall.”
A laugh bursts out of me—wet and shaky and unsteady. He smirks, just a little. Then we both go still again. The tension thickens—hot, electric, coiling tighter with every breath.
I whisper, “Why are you telling me this?”
His answer is barely audible. “Because you deserve better.”
And then— With an expression that looks like pain and want and surrender tangled together— He steps back. A full step. Distance drops between us like a wall. It hurts. Worse than I expect.
“Ash—”
“We should get back to work,” he says gruffly.
“Ash.”
“Lucy,” he warns.
“Ash,” I counter.
We stare at each other—neither moving, neither breaking.
He breathes out hard. “If I stay this close to you…” I wait. “If I stay close,” he whispers, “I won’t be able to stop myself.”
Heat slams through me. “Ash…”
“Don’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to lose control.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
Silence.
Hot, electric, unbearable.
Slowly—so slowly—I nod. “Okay,” I whisper. “We’ll work.”
He closes his eyes like he’s fighting the urge to drag me right back into him. When he opens them again, he’s composed. Barely. But enough to turn away. Enough to act like we didn’t almost shatter something fragile and inevitable between us.
Holly runs over, waving her drawing. “Uncle Ash! Look! It’s you and Miss Lucy and me and a giant snowflake!”
He freezes. I turn to him. He meets my eyes. And for the first time since I met him— He looks terrified. Not of danger. Not of responsibility.
Of me.
Of this.
Of us.
Chapter Thirteen
Ash
It’s snowing again.
Big, slow flakes drifting down like the whole mountain is trying to pretend it’s peaceful. Like Devil’s Peak isn’t full of people who can’t follow basic safety rules. Like Lucy Snow isn’t five feet away from me, rearranging boxes of festival supplies in the back of her SUV while humming some off-key Christmas tune that’s been living rent-free in my brain for three days.
I load another box into the truck and try not to look at her.
Fail.
She’s wearing a green sweater that dips dangerously off one shoulder, hair piled on top of her head in some messy knot she probably pulled together without thinking. A candy cane is tucked behind her ear. There’s glitter on her cheek — again — and I have no idea how she manages to make that look like something a sane man would find attractive.
But I do.
God help me, I do.
“Careful with that one,” she says, holding a box labeled FRAGILE: SNOW GLOBES as if it’s a baby. “They’re vintage.”
“Everything you bring to this festival is vintage,” I mutter.