Chapter 1 #2
For the next hour, Cade would wander over to Harrison’s table, then back to me.
Move away to chat with someone he knew from the harbor, then come back.
Take a moment to study Holly’s wreaths with intense focus, then—you guessed it—return.
Every time I glanced up, he was in my line of sight.
He wasn’t demanding my attention, necessarily.
He was just relentlessly, infuriatingly present.
By the time the sky shifted from pale gray to bruised lavender, my shoulders ached from tension.
“He seems really invested in your company,” Holly observed when she wandered over to collect the vases she’d decorated my table with.
I shot her a look that sent her retreating, palms up in surrender.
The next time Cade approached, I was done hiding my irritation.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked when he stopped in front of my table again, that same faint smile on his face.
“Just enjoying the ambiance.” He rocked back on his heels, that easy grin still in place. “It’s nice out here.”
“It’s thirty-two degrees,” I pointed out with a skeptical lift of my left eyebrow. “And you hate crowds.”
“Yeah, but you’re here, and I like you.” He shrugged one shoulder, like it was the simplest truth in the world.
The casual way he said it—like it was obvious, like it wasn’t the thing that kept me up at night for the past eleven months—made my throat tight. Goosebumps rose on my arms despite my thick sweater.
I crossed my arms protectively over my chest. “You’ve tried all three of my beers. Twice. So if you’re not picking up a growler, maybe go try Harrison’s cheese samples and let someone else enjoy the ambiance.”
His brows shot up. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
I let out a short, graceless snort of a laugh. “Yes.”
He blinked, appearing genuinely confused. “I thought we were hanging out.”
“We are not hanging out,” I snapped. “You’re hovering. There’s a difference.”
He rolled his shoulders back, his posture straightening, the smile slipping from his face. “What is your problem?”
“You,” I said.
He blinked again. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” I replied, anger flaring in my chest. “You are my problem.”
He stared at me, his brows drawing together. “What did I ever do to you?”
The guilelessness of the question nearly punched the air out of my lungs.
You kissed me like you meant it. You put your hands on me and made me feel—God, you made me feel everything. And then you slipped out of my loft the next morning like it had meant nothing.
I set down the glass I was holding to keep myself from tossing the beer into his stupidly handsome face and gripped the edge of my table with both hands.
“The fact that I have to point it out is reason enough for me to be angry.”
A crease formed between his brows. “Stel,” he breathed out, before rounding my table to stand beside me, close enough that I could smell the briny scent of the sea clinging to his jacket.
“If this is about New Year’s Eve…” He scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Then I think we might be on very different pages.”
I couldn’t believe he was actually going there. Now. In public.
I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Different … pages,” I repeated.
“Yeah.” He leaned in slightly. “Because I don’t—”
“Stella!” a bright voice cut through the air, stopping him mid-sentence. “What a day!” Jemma Price, Jeremy’s older sister, swept into view, Mistletoe’s mayor, Charlie Emerson, trailing behind her.
I jerked backward, while Cade’s jaw tightened. My eyes dropped briefly to see his hands tighten into fists at his sides.
“Hi, Jemma,” I said brightly. “Charlie.”
“Everything is going so much better than I could have imagined!” Jemma exclaimed, her cheeks pink with excitement.
“Folks are really eating this up, and lots of influencers from Boston have posted about how Mistletoe Bay is this hip little enclave, while still holding onto its quaint, small-town charm.”
“That’s great,” I managed, hyper-aware of Cade standing rigidly beside me.
Jemma’s gaze bounced between us, her smile faltering for just a second before snapping back into place. “Hey, Cade. How’s the season shaping up for you?”
“Good,” Cade said, his voice tight. “Busy. You know how it is.”
“That I do,” she said, glancing around the tree farm that had been in her and Jeremy’s family for three generations.
An awkward beat of silence stretched between the four of us until Charlie cleared his throat, his eyes warm behind his glasses. “I’d love a taste of Wicked Bite, if you have any left,” he said. “Your sign mentions orange peel and cardamom?”
“Yeah.” I grabbed a couple of clean glasses, grateful for something to distract me from Cade’s presence.
“It’s got a malty base, with notes of holiday spices.
It’s good with strong cheeses if you’re doing a charcuterie plate or something, but equally at home in place of wine with your holiday meal. ”
“I’ll…let you get back to work,” Cade said under his breath, his chin tucked against his chest as he walked away.
I forced myself not to watch him go, turning instead to wipe down the spotless table.
By the time I finally locked the door behind me, the deadbolt sliding into place with a satisfying click, every muscle in my body ached. I headed for the interior staircase that led up to my loft, my boots echoing on the wooden steps.
Once upon a time, the whole building had been a warehouse—brick walls, high ceilings, original beams darkened with age. When I bought the place, the upstairs had been a large, dusty storage space. Now it was mine.
Mine to fill with thrifted furniture, a riot of plants, and walls filled to bursting with quirky art.
Mine to lock the world out of.
Thankfully, the loft was warm, mostly from the heat rising through the floorboards from the brewery below. The faint, sweet smell of wort hung in the air, so constant I barely noticed it anymore unless I’d been gone for a while.
At the top of the stairs, I shrugged out of my coat and let it drop to the floor.
My boots followed, kicked off without care.
I moved to the kitchen, shoving the cheese Harrison had given me into the fridge.
Holly’s bouquet sat on the counter where I’d dropped it, still wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. I’d deal with it later.
I needed a hot bath. Needed to wash this day off my skin.
I padded barefoot across the worn wood floor toward the bathroom, peeling off my clothes as I went.
The copper soaking tub gleamed under the light from the lamp I flicked on, its curved sides catching the glow.
It had been a splurge, one I’d agonized over when I renovated, but moments like this made every penny worth it.
I turned on the taps, steam curling up as hot water thundered into the basin. I added a few drops of eucalyptus oil, the bathroom filling with its sharp, clean scent.
I sank down until the water lapped at my collarbones and let my head tip back against the tub’s rim while the heat leeched the cold from my bones. When my eyes dropped closed, Cade’s face rose uninvited behind my eyelids.
“What did I ever do to you?” he’d asked, looking genuinely confused.
That was the worst part. Like he really didn’t understand why I’d spent the better part of a year avoiding him. Why I’d turned myself into a ghost every time he walked into a room.
Like he didn’t remember.
“I’m not doing this,” I muttered, sitting up and scrubbing a wet hand over my face. “Nope. Brain, you’re on timeout.”
I stayed in the water until it cooled, then hauled myself out, my skin flushed pink.
I wrapped myself in a thick towel, then reached for the long silk robe hanging on an antique coatrack in the corner—a deep green Kimono-style thing I’d found in a vintage shop and talked myself into with the promise that I’d wear it “on special occasions.”
Tonight counted. I’d survived an entire afternoon of Cade Murphy not leaving me alone. If that wasn’t a special occasion, nothing was.
I cinched the robe around my waist, padded back into the main room, and turned off most of the lights, leaving only the lamp by the couch lit and the string of fairy lights along the big front window.
The brewery below was dark, the stainless-steel tanks hulking shapes in the shadows when I glanced down through the glass floor panel near the stairs.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table as I dropped onto the couch. I picked it up to see it was a text from Colin that included four musical note emojis and a blurry photo of his band’s setup in somebody’s garage.
Colin
Gig is about to start. You coming?
I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. The thought of putting real clothes back on, of smiling and making small talk, made me want to sink into the couch and never resurface.
Stella
Already had a bath and about to turn into a pumpkin.
Colin
Lame
Stella
Love you too!
Blowing off my brother off made me feel slightly bad, but it was for the greater good. At the best of times, I was an acquired taste. In this mood? Not a chance.
I dropped my phone onto the cushion beside me and tucked my legs up under me. I was finally starting to relax, my mind drifting pleasantly toward sleep, when the doorbell chimed.
My entire body went rigid, every muscle locking.
I stared at the ceiling, willing whoever it was to go the fuck away.
The chime sounded again, followed by a muffled knock.
I pushed myself off the couch with a muttered curse and crossed the room to the small monitor mounted near the stairs, the camera downstairs offering a grainy black-and-white view of the sidewalk in front of the door.
Cade stood on the top step, shoulders hunched against the cold, hands stuffed deep in his jacket pockets. He glanced up toward the light shining from my window, then back at the door like he was debating knocking again.
My heart thudded once, hard enough that I felt it in my throat.
“Fucking hell,” I whispered to the empty loft.