Page 62 of A Pen Pal for Christmas

“I meant what I said,” I murmured, eyes closed as we shared the same air. “I’m all in, Sofia. Are you?” I opened myeyes slowly, and I found her looking up at me with so much vulnerability that I had to suck in a breath.

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried more weight than anything else she could have said. “I’m all in.”

She smiled then, soft and a little shaky, and I felt the edges of my own mouth curve in response. Without thinking, I pressed another kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.

When I pulled back, her hands lingered against me, and her cheeks flushed pink. “And in case I need to spell it out, your letters and your kissing made it pretty impossible for me not to fall for you, too.”

I grinned, stealing a another quick kiss because I absolutely had to. And for the first time in days, the weight on both of us seemed just a little lighter.

CHAPTER 21

Sofia

The libraryat the inn was easily my favorite room in the entire place. The crackling fire in the stone hearth, the soft lamplight casting golden hues across rows of bookshelves—it was like something out of a dream.

Last year, during that epic snowstorm, I’d hid out in my room to read since this one was packed with people looking for shelter from the cold. They lined the floors from wall to wall, and though my heart had gone out to them, I’d also told Grace there were probably worse places to find oneself hopelessly snowed in.

But now, I sat alone in one of the oversized armchairs with a book in my lap, and even the peaceful setting hadn’t kept me from reading the same paragraph three times without absorbing a word.

Why? Because relaxing wasn’t easy when I was alone, and my thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since I’d gotten the fake letter. Two weeks since the moment Hudson and I discovered we were each other’s secret pen pal. And… two weeks without so much as a whisper from whoever had been messing with me.

No mysterious notes, no trashed rooms, no unnerving signs that I was being watched. The quiet felt like holding my breath underwater—strange and uneasy, like something I knew couldn’t go on for very long before I had to come up for air.

Or die trying.

Still, I couldn’t deny how much the past two weeks had changed things for the better. Hudson had asked me to the Gingerbread Ball a few days after we’d pieced everything together. He’d been so casual about it, like it wasn’t a big deal. But I’d seen the way he’d held his breath as he waited for my answer. I’d said yes before he even finished asking.

And we’d also settled into a rhythm that felt so natural, so easy, that sometimes I forgot how new it all was. Like when we’d decorated cookies for Holly’s birthday last week. It was her annual tradition, and she took it very seriously. Hudson had tried to play it cool, but the disaster of his attempt at a snowman cookie had earned him an exaggerated round of boos and belly laughs from the rest of us.

I could still hear Grace’s teasing. “Hudson, just eat the cookies and let Sofia take over. We won’t judge you.”

He’d taken it all in stride, grinning at me as I nudged him aside to fix his sad, lopsided snowman. “It’s not a bad plan,” he’d said, snagging a beautifully decorated cookie from my tray. And when he’d brought it to his mouth and took a bit, he watched me like I was the only person in the room.

And then there wasthe chair.

Hudson had spent every night since I moved into his room in that stupid, uncomfortable chair. He’d insisted it wasn’t a big deal, that he didn’t mind.

But I minded.

He was tall, and that chair probably wouldn’t even be good for me to curl up in. I’d had enough of him putting himself through that for me, no longer comfortable with taking his bedwhile he suffered. So, a few days ago, I’d worked up the nerve to tell him he didn’t have to sleep there anymore.

“You don’t have to do this,” I’d said, standing in the middle of the room, my hands fidgeting with the hem of my sweatshirt. Well,hissweatshirt. Once I’d discovered how much cozier his were than mine, I became a full-blown sweater thief.

“Do what?” he’d asked.

“We’re adults, Hudson. The bed is big enough, and I trust you.”

His brow had furrowed, like he was trying to gauge how serious I was. “You sure?” he’d asked, his voice soft and so careful.

I’d nodded, my throat tight with nerves, but the relief on his face had been worth every second of my awkwardness. And true to who he was, Hudson hadn’t pushed for anything more than the delicious kisses that I’d become utterly obsessed with.

Some nights, I fell asleep tucked against him, his arm a solid weight around me. Other nights, I needed space, and he gave it without question.

That was what I loved most about him—he made me feel safe. Safe to figure out whatever this was between us, safe to let myself believe that this peace we’d found could last. And over the last two weeks, little by little, I’d started to think I was there.

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