6. Hudson
CHAPTER 6
Hudson
Still reeling after that tense moment at the cafe, I stepped through the doors of the Snow Hill Inn and hung my coat on the rack. I crossed the foyer, the polished wood floors creaked softly under my boots as I headed for the front desk. Nick Patterson leaned over a stack of paperwork, his phone tucked between his shoulder and ear.
A faint smile tugged at my lips. I’d already been in town for a week, and I still hadn’t run into my old friend thanks to how busy his life seemed to be. But even though it had been a while since I’d last seen him, I was glad to know the guy was still happily multi-tasking his way through life.
Nick looked up as I approached, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it shifted into a wide grin. He ended his call quickly. “Hudson. I heard you were back.”
I chuckled, shaking my hand. “And what? You didn’t believe it?”
“Considering how long it’s taken for us to run into each other even though you’re crashing under my roof?”
“Fair point. But I hear you’re a busy guy. Love seeing that you’re holding down the fort.”
“Someone’s gotta keep my mother from running herself into the ground,” Nick said with a laugh, clapping me on the shoulder. “Good to see you, man. What’s it been? Five, six years?”
“Give or take,” I replied, the ease between us settling in like no time had passed at all.
Nick leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “How’s life?”
I shrugged. “Recruiting duty starts next month, so I’m squeezing in some downtime while I can.”
“When we were kids, our downtime involved sneaking out to cause havoc behind the inn after curfew,” Nick said, a laugh in his voice.
I smirked. “Yeah, and you daring me to climb the old oak tree right after a rainstorm.”
Nick shook his head. “Eh, kids need broken bones. Makes them tougher. My mom would’ve killed me if Ida hadn’t beaten her to it. Good times.”
Scanning the foyer, Nick grinned. “Not much has changed around here.”
“Nope. Same inn, same town, same people… just more Christmas decorations every year.”
I scratched my neck, eyeing Nick’s festive sweater. “Didn’t expect to see you wearing them on your body, though.”
“Yeah, that.” Nick looked down with a sigh. “I married one of Santa’s elves, okay? But when you meet Holly, you’ll get it.”
“Can’t wait,” I replied. Ida had already filled me in about my old friend’s life as a married man with two small kids, but I was excited to meet them and see it with my own eyes. Given Nick’s history with this holiday, I was glad to hear the guy had found the kind of happiness that could wash away the darkness that used to be there.
Nick nodded at my to-go cup. “Did you bring one back for me?”
“I would’ve, but I was a little busy dealing with a weird thing,” I said, leaning one elbow on the counter. “Sofia Sullivan was there. She was talking to some guy, and it didn’t seem friendly.”
Nick’s expression darkened. “Did you recognize him?”
I shook my head. “He’s probably around our age, but not one of the guys we grew up with.”
“Did he seem like he knew her?”
“Yeah. Not a stranger, but not a friend.”
Nick crossed his arms over his chest. “Wonder if it was her ex.”
“Dane?” I asked, suddenly remembering she’d said his name.
“Yeah, that’s him. If he’s in town, Tommy should probably know about it. Did you tell him to get lost?”
“Sofia did, but if she hadn’t, I would’ve. Didn’t want to step into something that was none of my business, but she seemed… rattled.”
I hadn’t missed the way Sofia’s shoulders had stiffened or the quick flash of fear in her eyes before she’d masked it with calm defiance. She’d handled herself, sure, but something about the exchange gnawed at me.
Whoever that guy was, he’d thrown Sofia off balance. I didn’t like the thought of her dealing with it alone.
Nick’s frown deepened. “I’ll mention it to Tommy. He’ll want to keep an eye out. Thanks for saying something.”
“No problem.”
Nick’s expression shifted back to a grin. “Anyway, now that I’ve seen you, you’re not allowed to disappear again. I usually meet up with the guys at The Hearthstone a couple nights a week. The wives are pretty big on girls’ nights—pretty great at coming up with reasons to have them, too. We figure we should do our own thing, while they’re at it. You should join.”
“Sounds good,” I said, my mind flashing to Sofia being behind the bar. “Let me know when.”
“Will do,” Nick said, stepping back toward his stack of papers. “Good seeing you, man.”
“You too,” I replied, heading for the staircase.
Up in my room, I set my coffee on the small desk by the window and shrugged out of my jacket. The room was simple but warm, with antique furniture and a soft quilt on the bed. I sat down at the desk, pulling out a blank sheet of paper and my pen. The cream-colored envelope from my latest pen pal letter lay nearby, its contents still fresh in my mind.
In her latest letter, the mystery woman had spoken about Christmas traditions, detailing some of her favorite holiday memories. Once again, her words had drawn me in, and I found myself wondering what she looked like, or what it would be like to talk to her in real life. Did she have the kind of laugh you could hear across the room, or was it quieter, softer? Did she sit by a fire while writing her letters, or was she more of a white-noise at the coffee shop kind of person?
There was so much more that I wanted to know, but really, I didn’t need to. The whole point was the anonymity, and I’d be smart to leave it at that.
I tapped the pen against the desk, my thoughts wandering. The letters I’d received over the last week had been an unexpected escape—a small pocket of lightheartedness that I hadn’t known I needed. I didn’t even know her name, but her words had a way of making the world feel a little less rough around the edges.
It was new for me, to be honest. What would she think if she knew the man on the other side of the letters wasn’t always as cheery as he sounded on paper?
I leaned back in the chair, glancing out the window. Snow had started falling more heavily, the soft flakes sticking to the glass and the street below. The scene triggered a memory I hadn’t thought about in years—a Christmas Eve when I was about eight, the year my parents had their worst fight yet. I’d slipped outside to escape the shouting, trudging through the snow to Ida’s house. She’d opened the door in her old reindeer pajamas, her house smelling of cookies, and pulled me inside without a word.
We’d spent the evening decorating—and eating—sugar cookies, her laughter filling the air as she teased me about piling on too much frosting. It had been the first time I’d realized Christmas didn’t have to mean chaos—it could mean warmth, light, and people who cared.
I blinked back to the present, the quiet of the room settling over me. I didn’t want to bring any of that darkness into my pen pal’s world, and I loved the escape of keeping it light. So, after a moment, I began to write. I didn’t overthink it, letting the words flow steadily onto the page.