Page 66 of Holiday Friend Zones
An hour later, the fire burns steady, painting the room in warm flickers, and for a while we sip cocoa and listen to the quiet settle around us.Outside, snow falls against the windows in lazy drifts.Inside, it’s so still I can hear the little sounds she makes when she takes a drink—the soft hum, the way she exhales after each sip like the heat is sinking all the way through her.
God, I’ve missed this.Missed her.
Eventually, she sets her mug aside and tucks her legs under a blanket I tossed over the couch.Her hair spills forward as she leans back, face turned toward the fire, eyes half-lidded.She looks…content.Like maybe coming home wasn’t the worst thing to happen after all.
“Remember when we used to camp out in the living room at your house?”I ask, picking at a piece of lint on the blanket.
Her eyes flick open, hazy with memory.“Sleeping bags by the fire.We’d swear we’d stay up all night, and then you’d pass out first.”
“Lies,” I protest.“It was always you who couldn’t stay up past midnight.”
She smiles, and it knocks me flat.“You did, Liam.Every time.I’d stay awake just long enough to hear you snore.”
“Rude,” I mutter, but I’m grinning, because I love that she remembers.
The silence after stretches easy, comfortable.She shifts a little closer under the blanket, maybe without realizing it, her shoulder brushing mine.The contact is light, casual, but I feel it everywhere for some strange reason.
I clear my throat, trying not to spook her.“You can take my bedroom.I’ll crash out here.”
Her head jerks toward me.“Liam, this is your house.I’m not kicking you out of your own bed.”
“You’re not kicking me out.I’m offering.”
She hesitates, chewing on her lip, then sighs.“Fine.But just this once.”
“Sure,” I say, already knowing I’ll let her win every argument that keeps her here.
She pushes up, stretching her arms overhead.“God, I’m wiped.”
I grab her bag from where I dropped it earlier and carry it into the bedroom.She trails behind me, hovering in the doorway as I set it by the dresser, then step back, giving her space.
When I glance at her again, her expression has softened.A little tired, a little vulnerable.“Thanks, Liam.”
Two words, and my chest feels too tight.I shove my hands in my pockets trying to keep things casual.“Anytime, Ava.”
She ducks into the room, and I force myself to turn away before I say something I can’t take back.Back on the couch, I settle under a blanket, the fire dimming low, but sleep doesn’t come easy.Not with her so close, not with her breathing filling the same walls again.
For the first time in years, Christmas doesn’t feel like something to get through.It feels like the beginning of something I can’t put my finger on.And I’m excited.
ChapterThree
AVA
The first thing I notice is the smell of coffee, rich and dark, winding its way under the door followed by the sound of pans clattering and low humming.My brain takes a few seconds to catch up.I’m not in Boston.I’m not in my shoebox apartment.I’m in Liam Carter’s bed.
Well, not his bed exactly.I mean, yes, technically it’s his bed, but he’s not in it.
Throwing the blanket off me, I swing my legs off the mattress, grab a sweater from my suitcase and pad towards the kitchen.The cabin feels warmer in the daylight, the fire just embers now, sunlight spilling in through frosted windows.Liam stands at the stove, spatula in hand, flipping something in a pan.He’s barefoot, hair a mess under that stupid beanie he clearly slept in, and the sight sends a flutter through me I have no business feeling.He’s —
“Morning, sunshine.”
I startle, his voice sounding entirely too cheerful for someone awake before eight on a holiday week.“You cook now?”I ask, arching a brow.
He glances over his shoulder with a grin that makes my heartbeat stutter.That’s weird.“Don’t sound so shocked.I’ve been feeding myself for years, Reynolds.”
“Debatable,” I mutter, but my lips twitch.
He gestures with the spatula toward the table.“Sit.I made pancakes.”
