Page 45 of Santa's Girl
We both smiled. And then it faded, soft and slow.
“I think I just got tired of pretending,” she said quietly. “Pretending I was happy, pretending the job mattered, pretending I wasn’t bored stiff with my entire life.”
I nodded, letting the words land.
“And Margie,” she went on, “ ever since she lost her long term boyfriend… Christmas is…” she trailed off, shrugging. “She’s in a funk. And to be honest, so am I.”
She looked up at me like she was worried she’d said too much.
“You came out here to breathe,” I said.
She nodded.
“And then found yourself half-naked in a stranger’s bed.”
She gave a breathy laugh. The smile stayed, softer now. Realer.
“I knew Steve, he was a good guy. He used to ride back in his day. As for the ex—let’s make sure he stays one,” I growled.
I didn’t need to say anything else. She’d told me enough. And somehow, it made everything clearer — not just what happened last night, but why it mattered.
We finished out coffee and I went to get ore wood for the stove.
“Roads are clear she murmured as I came back. Margie called. She’s expecting me today.” I nodded not wanting to let her go.
The snow had finally stopped, and the plows had carved a path through the drifts, turning the world back into something passable. I didn’t want it to be passable. I wanted anotherblizzard, another excuse to keep her in my cabin, tangled in my sheets, her laugh echoing off the walls. But the roads were clear, and Becca had a life to get back to.
So here I was a few hours later, in my truck, the engine rumbling low like it was as reluctant as I was to let her go.
She sat in the passenger seat, bundled in my flannel shirt—still buttoned wrong, still making my chest ache with how right it looked on her. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks flushed from the heater, and she was staring out the window like she didn’t want to face the goodbye either. The weekend had been a fever dream—her skin against mine, her teasing smile, that kiss that set my blood on fire. And now it was over, and I was supposed to just drive away.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said, her voice softer than usual, like she was holding something back. She turned to me, her eyes catching the morning light, and I swear I felt my heart stutter. “And for… everything. The bacon. The cabin. Not letting me freeze to death. Those hot kisses that melted me… well… everywhere.”
I forced a grin, but it felt wrong, like it didn’t fit my face. “Anytime, sugar plum.”
She rolled her eyes at the nickname, but her lips twitched, and for a second, I thought she might lean over and kiss me again. I wanted her to. Fuck, I wanted her to. Instead, she grabbed her bag from the floorboard and pushed the door open, letting a gust of cold air into the cab. It hit me like a slap, waking me up to the reality of her leaving.
“Becca,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.
She paused, one foot out the door, looking back at me. “Yeah?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. What was I supposed to say?Stay? Don’t go back to that life you said you were tired of? Give me a chance to figure out what this is?Yourkisses melted me too?My brain was screaming all of it, but my tongue was stuck, and all I managed was, “I’ll see you around.”
Her face flickered—disappointment, maybe, or something close to it. “Yeah sure, Bear.”
And then she was gone, the door slamming shut behind her. I watched her trudge up the path to her aunt’s house, her boots crunching in the snow, my shirt swallowing her frame. She didn’t look back. Not once. And I sat there, hands gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles went white, feeling like I’d just let something vital slip through my fingers.
I pulled away from her place, the tires crunching over the packed snow, and drove about a mile before the weight of it hit me. I should’ve said something. Anything. I should’ve told her I didn’t want this to end, that the weekend wasn’t just a fluke, that I could still feel her lips on mine, her body pressed against me, her laugh lighting up every dark corner of my life. Instead, I’d let her walk away with a half-assed “see ya’,” like she was just some stranger I’d given a lift to.
“Damn it,” I muttered, slamming my palm against the steering wheel. The truck swerved slightly, and I corrected it, my jaw tight. I was mad—mad at the snow for stopping, mad at the roads for clearing, mad at myself for being such a coward. I’d had her, right there in my cabin, her warmth, her spark, her everything, and I’d let it all hang in the air, open-ended, like some idiot who thought life would just hand me another shot.
I could still smell her on me, that faint mix of her shampoo and my flannel, and it was driving me crazy. My mind kept replaying the weekend—the way she’d looked at me when I stopped us from going too far, the way her eyes softened when I told her I wanted it to mean something. And that kiss, damn, that kiss. It was fire, all hunger and heat, her lips fierce against mine, like she was daring me to keep up. I’d wanted to losemyself in her, to hell with the consequences, but I’d held back, thinking I was doing the right thing. Now I wasn’t so sure.
What if she went back to that ex, Huntley? The polished, boring bastard who kissed like a job interview. What if she thought I didn’t care enough to fight for her? I’d left it all unsaid, and now I was driving away, the distance between us growing with every second, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just fucked up the best thing that ever stumbled into my life.
I pulled over onto the shoulder, the truck idling as I stared out at the snow-covered trees. My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t get a full breath. I wanted to turn around, bang on her door, and tell her I was an idiot for letting her go without making it clear: I wanted her. Not just for a weekend, not just for a night. For real. For keeps.
But I didn’t. I just sat there, the engine humming, the cold creeping in through the cracks, and cursed myself for letting her walk away without a fight.
