Page 19 of Snowed in with a Grinch

Her words echo in my head as I step under the hot spray, trying to wash away the wanting. It doesn't work. If anything, the heat just reminds me of her warmth, of how perfectly she fitsagainst me, of the soft sounds she makes when I touched her. The water drums against my shoulders as I press my forehead to the cool tile, fighting the urge to go back to her, to wake her with kisses and claim her again.

This has to stop.

I can't keep her. Can't taint her brightness with my darkness. Can't risk letting her in, only to lose her too. Hell, she literally crashed into my life in a flurry of bright lights and chaotic color. Like a beautiful butterfly bursting free from its chrysalis, she flitted through my world and made me long for everything that she is. Want to keep her like her energy could somehow heal me. But butterflies don't belong in the cold. They thrive in the sun, where their beauty can be cherished.

But even as I try to convince myself to let her go, my body remembers how it feels to hold her. How right it feels to have her in my space, filling the empty corners with her laughter and light.

She’s mine.

By the time I finish my shower, my resolve is as shaky as my hands. I wrap a towel around my waist, taking one last steadying breath before opening the door.

She's awake and wearing my shirt, perched on the edge of my bed like she belongs there. And god help me, but she does. She belongs here, with her Christmas lights and her endless chatter and her way of making everything brighter just by existing.Fuck. How do I let go of this?

“Morning,” she whispers, and my heart threatens to burst from my chest.

“Morning.” My throat tightens.

“The storm's stopped.”

“Yeah.” I focus on drying my hair, avoiding her eyes. “Roads should be clear soon.”

“Sawyer...”

“You should probably start getting ready. Your family will be waiting to spend whatever’s left of Christmas with you.”There. I said it.

She's quiet for a long moment. “Is that what you want?”

No. I want you to stay. I want to wake up to you every morning. I want...

“It's what needs to happen.”

“Why?”

“Because this isn't real.” The words taste like ash in my mouth. “This was one night. A Christmas miracle, if you believe in that sort of thing. But it can't last. The storm is gone and now it needs to be over.”

“It doesn't have to be over.” She shifts a little closer, and I force myself not to retreat.

“You live in the city,” I say, gripping the towel tighter. “Your whole life is there. Your family, your job?—”

“So? I can work remotely. I can commute. I could even manage an account to grow your plant?—”

“Stop.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Just stop.”

“Why? Because I'm making too much sense?” Her chin lifts in that stubborn way I'm already too fond of. “Because I'm offering solutions instead of letting you push me away?”

“Because you don't know what you're asking for!”

“Then tell me!” She stands, my shirt sliding up her thighs, and something inside me aches at how right she looks in my clothes, in my space. “Tell me why you're so determined to be alone. Tell me what happened to make you hate Christmas so much. Tell me why you promised me everything, and now you’re trying to tell me to go. Tell me why you won't let yourself be happy!”

The fear and frustration in her voice cuts through my defenses. She's not backing down, not letting me retreat into my solitude. And maybe that's what finally breaks me.

“Fine.” Something snaps and years of carefully contained grief come spilling out. “My parents died on Christmas Eve, Noelle. Car accident. Black ice, just like you hit. Except they didn't get lucky enough to crash into someone's fence. They went off the mountain instead.”

She pales, hand flying to her mouth. “Sawyer...”

“I was supposed to be with them.” The words pour out now, unstoppable. “But I was too busy with my research, tracking down rare specimens. Too busy to come home for Christmas, or at least to stop for five minutes and remind Dad to put the chains on his tires, because he always forgot. Too focused on my work to spare even one day for family. One day to come back here and show them I cared.” I laugh, the sound bitter and raw. “So now I stay on this mountain every day. And I grow my plants and try not to think about how the last thing I said to them was that I had more important things to do than celebrate some commercial holiday.”

The silence that follows feels heavy enough to crush us both. Outside, the morning sun gleams off the fresh snow, creating a world that looks pure and untouched. But in here, the air is thick with pain and regret and things left unsaid for too long.

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