Page 38 of Snowed In With the PUCK

I run a hand through my hair. She’s right. I should have told her. But I didn’t, because I didn’t know how to. I didn’t want to make things more heated than they already are.

“I wasn’t trying to keep it from you,” I say finally, my voice low. “I just… I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Jessica shakes her head, her eyes hard. “Well, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. Do whatever you want, Eric. It’s your life. This whole damn thing has only ever been about you—not me, not what I need. So just go.”

Her words hit me harder than I expect, and for a moment, I’m not sure what to say. It feels like we’re standing on opposite sides of a chasm, and I don’t see how to bridge the gap.

“Jess,” I say quietly, taking a step closer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to get like this.”

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just looks at me with those guarded eyes that I used to be able to read so easily. But now, her walls are too thick for that.

Finally, she sighs, rubbing a hand over her face. “I don’t know what you want from me, Eric. We’re both in over our heads. Maybe it’s better if we just focus on being civil and getting through the holidays. You should move out as soon as is reasonable. I mean it.”

Her voice is calm, measured, but there’s a finality to her words that leaves me feeling hollow.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding slowly, ice gripping my heart. “Maybe you’re right.”

Jessica doesn’t respond. She just gives me a small, tight smile, the kind that doesn’t reach her eyes, before turning and walking out of the room.

I stand there for a long time after she’s gone. I know I’m losing her, and I know it’s my fault.

Four days before Christmas, and it feels like everything is falling apart.

Chapter eighteen

Jessica

The house feels colderwithout Eric here. Not physically, of course—the thermostat’s still humming along—but emotionally, the place feels empty. His absence is palpable, like he’s taken all the warmth with him when he left for Vegas. I’m standing in the kitchen, absently mixing a bowl of cookie dough, and all I can think about is what Eric says to me about Linda:“I’ll go find my mom on my own, without you.”

It wasn’t an accusation or even cruel, but the words stung. He didn’t need me. Despite everything we’d been through—living under the same roof, faking a relationship, and even the moments when I thought there was something real between us—he made it clear that he could do this alone. I suppose I should be used to people pushing me away by now. Eric isn’t the first, and he probably won’t be the last.

I sigh and wipe my hands on a towel, trying to focus on the task in front of me. Kathy and Laura will be here soon, and I can’t afford to spiral into a pit of self-pity. Not today. Today is supposed to be about friendship, about the holidays, about spending time with the people who matter.

I roll out the dough and use cookie cutters shaped like snowflakes, gingerbread men, and stars, hoping the repetitive action will distract me. It doesn’t. My mind keeps wandering back to Eric. The way his jaw clenched when we argued. The way his eyes softened when he thought I wasn’t looking. I can still hear his voice in my head, low and husky, as he apologized last night. He didn’t even fight when I cut him off, when I told him that helping him find his mother wasn’t my business. But it was a lie, the whole “not my business” part. Iwantedit to be my business. I wanted to be part of something that mattered to him.

The front door opens, and I shake off the thought. I glance at the clock—Laura and Kathy are right on time.

“Jessica! We’re here!” Laura’s voice echoes through the house, warm and familiar.

I quickly put the cookie sheet in the oven, wipe flour from my hands, and head to the hallway. “In the kitchen!” I call out.

Laura and Kathy stroll in moments later, both of them dressed in cozy winter attire. Laura looks glowing, her cheeks pink from the cold outside, her eyes bright. Kathy, her mother, is effortlessly chic in a long wool coat and scarf that makes her look like shejust stepped off a plane from Europe—which, technically, she did. Italy, to be exact. The woman is always traveling.

“Look at you, already baking!” Kathy exclaims, a wide smile spreading across her face as she pulls me into a quick hug. “I swear, you’re more domestic than I am these days.”

I laugh lightly, the sound strained, though I try to cover it up. “Just getting into the holiday spirit.”

Laura hugs me next, her warmth grounding me for a moment. “This place smellsamazing,” she says, her eyes lighting up when she spots the hot chocolate station I’ve set up on the counter. “And is that real whipped cream I see?”

I nod, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. “Nothing but the best for you two.”

We all settle around the kitchen island, the air thick with the smells of baking cookies and the chocolaty sweetness of the drinks. For a while, we catch up. Laura tells us about her latest shift at the hospital, how being a nurse is a rollercoaster ride of emotions, especially around the holidays, when patients seem to either bring out the best or worst in themselves. Kathy talks about Italy, sharing stories of art museums and pasta so fresh it practically melted in her mouth. She’s been busy traveling since her divorce from Bill, trying to find herself again, I guess. In a weird way, I admire her for that—though I don’t know if I could ever hop from place to place like she does. I need roots, some sense of stability. Something I don’t have right now.

A knock on the door interrupts our conversation, and I quickly excuse myself to answer it.

The Christmas tree delivery.

When I open the door, two men are standing there, a massive tree between them, bound tightly with twine. It’s bigger than I expected, its pine scent already filling the air. I give them directions to the living room, where they carefully set the tree in the corner by the large window. Once they leave, I return to the kitchen to find Laura and Kathy peeking into the oven.

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