Page 48 of Sweet Silver Bells
Get a hold of yourself. It was just a kiss.
But maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was fate itself. Maybe it was the permission he had longed for after all these years, the permission to be free.
The heavy rain turned into hail, the light pattering on the roof suddenly violent, brazen. Olivia froze, a deer in the headlights, eyes wide and unblinking.
“I can turn poisonous,” she said, her voice hushed.
“What?” Hunter rocked back on his heel, unsure if he should laugh or be scared.
“We are being attacked, or can you not hear that as well?”
“Olivia,” Hunter breathed, realizing what was happening. “It’s hail. It’s freezing rain. Have you never seen that before?”
She seemed unsure.
“No, that’s not it,” he said. “You just haven't been under a roof for a very long time. Don’t worry, this is how it sounds?—”
“When the sky throws down ice,” she cut him off. He nodded.
“Did you say you’re poisonous?” he asked.
“If I need it. I think so. I’ve never tried it on another human.”
The hail calmed, and lazy flurries wafted down, visible from the window and backlit by the porch light. Hunter collected himself and looked back at the beauty that stood before him, cradling her plant as if it were a baby, warmth from his fireplace curling around her like a comforting embrace, her hair drying with a frizz he had not yet seen on her.
Adorable.
“I love this,” Olivia said, pressing her fingers up from the bottom of the plant with a delighted sigh.
“Wait until we dig into those Danishes, if houseplants alone cause that serene look on your face,” Hunter said.
“It’s peaceful. The way the soil feels. It’salive. More alive than you, than me.” She knelt down to place the poinsettia into the pot and scooped the dirt around it. She then brought up another handful, marveling at the way it crumbled between her fingers. “I can feel it breathing. The roots whisper when you touch them. I almost never get to touch roots like this.”
Hunter listened but frowned. “I don’t hear them whispering.”
“That’s because you don’t listen,” she teased, flashing him a bright smile. He was getting used to that now, her smiling. He had guessed, in true goth fashion, that she would bloom only doom and gloom when he first led her out of that forest. Instead, it was starting to feel like Christmas.
Christmas.
It hadn’t felt like Christmas since Sarah was here.
Yet here Olivia was, and she accomplished it without even trying, just by being herself, unapologetically. Hunter was still scared shitless of her, as he should be, but he didn’t regret it; he didn’t regret bringing her here.
That cop may have regretted it.
Hunter’s lips quirked, but he wasn’t convinced he’d done a good enough job easing the sadness and worry that continued to creep into his head and heart. “So, what are the roots telling you?”
Olivia looked into his eyes, and he knew she saw, saw that he was damaged and hurt. Healing wasn’t impossible, but it was a damn journey. She didn’t say anything, though, as if that were her way of saying she understood, as if that were her way of saying, “Me too.” Instead, she closed her eyes and rolled hershoulders back, cracking her neck as she tilted her ear to her shoulder on both sides. “That you’re terrible at potting plants.”
Hunter barked out a laugh. He couldn’t help it. “That’s slander. I poured the dirt like a professional.”
Olivia looked back down to inspect their work. The bright red leaves were disheveled and looked worse for wear. They were either resistant to the new home they had been gifted or to being out of Olivia's arms, her hands prodding at their roots.
I understand.
Hunter was commiserating with plants now.
“We should put a second one in it. You didn’t buy enough planters for one per pot.”
