Chapter 7 Nova
Nova
Experiencing the best sleep a woman in my position can, my eyes crack open, and I’m given a sight that feels like pure disbelief.
The fire’s gone out, leaving the air chilly.
Despite the change, I’m surrounded by warmth.
Half of my body is soaking up Mason’s heat directly, while the other is covered by a blanket, held in place by his secure grip wrapped around me.
The only thing cold is my feet, both poked out because of the position I’m in.
Realizing I’m smiling, I take in Mason’s sleeping expression. While he’s resting, his scowl isn’t as intense as it typically is. There’s still the slight furrow of his brows and his mouth…
Heat floods my cheeks at the memory of his mouth on mine. Such a rough man shouldn’t have soft lips. Something like that should be impossible. I want to kiss him again to confirm I’m not crazy.
No matter how badly I want to, I keep my lips to myself. Turning my head, I take in one of his windows, watching as snow casually drifts from the sky. Nothing heavy like last night. With a smile playing on my lips, I soak in the fact that it’s now Christmas.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this giddy during the holiday. Is there anything more I’d want to ask for? Forget any presents. This is perfect. The only thing that could make this any better would be convincing this burly man to go down the mountain with me and watch—
Gasping, I jerk an elbow into his solid gut as I scramble to get out of his hold. A sudden, panicked thought shatters the warm, sleepy cocoon of his arms.
Mason wakes up immediately, a soldier jolting to alertness. He curses, his arms snapping out to catch me before his own movement can send me tumbling from the recliner. His eyes are wide, scanning the dim room for a threat. “What happened?”
“The parade!” I shove away the tangled blankets, my heart hammering. I need a clock, a phone, anything. “I don’t want to miss it.”
The sound that leaves him is a low, pained groan, followed by a sigh that seems to carry the weight of the world. I can’t tell what bothers him more—the rude awakening or the fact that my body is no longer curled against his.
Instead of helping, he scrubs a hand over his face, shoves his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair, and simply abandons the recliner, shuffling toward the kitchen like a man heading to his own execution.
I follow, feeling unmoored. In the kitchen’s sterile light, the stove clock glows, reassuring me that it’s still early. Relief is short-lived.
Mason is already fumbling with the coffee pot, his broad back a wall of tension. He needs his caffeine like a shield needs a polish. “You’ve got time,” he mutters, the words gravelly. “Though, not sure why you’d want to race down there to see a few floats.”
The grumpiness is back, but it’s more than that. It’s a chill, a frost creeping over the memory of last night’s warmth. He scowls at the coffee grounds as if they’ve personally offended him.
Drifting closer, I hesitate. Is this allowed? After what we did last night, I want to believe I can. My fingertips barely skim the soft cotton of his sleeve. “It’s not just that. It’s… the excitement. The magic. Don’t you want to celebrate with everyone?”
His answer is a non-committal grunt, a sound so dismissive it feels like a physical push. I pull my hand back, putting a careful distance between us. He seems to need it, this bubble of sour energy.
“I’ve never met someone who hates Christmas this much,” I say, mostly to myself.
The lack of decorations I could write off as a minimalist aesthetic.
But this? This visceral reaction, this souring of his entire being at the mere mention of joy…
it feels deep. Personal. If I showed him my collection of hideously festive sweaters now, would the man from last night vanish completely, replaced by this scowling stranger?
Mason stares rigidly ahead, his jaw working.
A muscle ticks in his cheek. I see the war behind his eyes, the brief, startling crack in his armor as he considers…
something. The truth? Do I need to ask him directly?
And more importantly, do I even have the right to pry something that painful out of him, when whatever it is seems to be a wound he’s determined to let fester?
The silence stretches, thick and heavy, broken only by the gurgle of the coffee pot. I watch the tension in his shoulders, a rigid line that seems to hold up the entire weary weight of him. He’s deciding whether to trust me with whatever haunts him.
Finally, he lets out a breath that isn’t quite a sigh, but a deflation. He keeps his eyes on the dripping brew. “It’s not the holiday,” he says, his voice low and rough. “It’s… the memories it drags up.”
He hesitates, shooting me a glance that’s part vulnerability, part self-reproach, as if he’s already regretting saying this much. Then his shoulders drop in surrender. “A few years back. I thought I was ready to settle down. Had the ring and everything.”
My breath catches. Oh.
His knuckles are white where he grips the counter.
“Found out the woman I thought was the one… was fooling around with her boss.” The words are clipped, sharp with a pain that hasn’t dulled.
“Someone was… kind enough… to send me pictures of them together at their office holiday party. Tinsel and fucking mistletoe in the background.”
The image he paints is brutally clear. The betrayal isn’t just in the act, but in the backdrop—the cheerful, mocking glee of the season surrounding his heartbreak.
So when Christmas comes around, he doesn’t see magic or joy.
He sees a stage for the worst humiliation of his life. A heartbreak that’s left him numb.
A hot, sharp anger flares in my chest, a pure disliking for the woman who could look at this loyal, solid man and see anything less than everything. She didn’t just break his heart; she poisoned an entire season for him.
I don’t hesitate this time. I step forward, closing the distance I put between us, and place my hand flat against his back, right between his tense shoulder blades. His muscles jump under my touch, but he doesn’t pull away.
“Hey,” I say softly, waiting until he half-turns his head toward me. “Then let’s make a new memory.”
His brow furrows, a silent question.
“Come with me,” I urge, my voice gaining strength. My thumb strokes a slow, soothing circle on his back. “To the parade. With me. We can get some hot cocoa, laugh at the ridiculous floats, and just… have fun together. We can just hang out. Whatever makes it easier, you know?”
Like a date.
I don’t let that bit slip, though, just in case he’s worried I’m another woman who’ll hurt him. There’s no way. I’ve got narrow vision when it comes to my neighbor.
“A new memory, huh?” He scoffs under his breath and purses his lips. “This year already feels different compared to the others.”
Watching as he creates his drink, I nudge him. “So? Tell me you’ll come. Otherwise, I’m going to have to go all the way down this snow-covered mountain and hope I make it in one piece.”
Something about my words makes him jerk his gaze over toward me. Instead of spelling out that concerned look that takes over his eyes, he brings his cup to his mouth to hide half his face.
“You can’t go in that.” Looking over my appearance, his eyes linger in some places more than others. “Go grab what you need, and you can get ready here.”
He doesn’t outright say yes, but I light up anyway. Leaning toward him without thinking, his brows lift in surprise as my fingers graze his bearded cheeks.
Shoot, am I getting ahead of myself here? Maybe last night was something that needs to be addressed first before I start feeling too comfortable around him.
“Oh, sorry. I mean…” Growing hot from embarrassment, I start to pull away in an attempt to stuff these tingling feelings back down.
He moves in a blur, cradling my wrist in his grip. Setting his cup down, his expression softens. “What did you want to do?”
Curling my fingers, I realize he doesn’t plan on letting me go until I tell him the truth. Too bad the truth is even more embarrassing than the act of getting turned down. “I got too excited and wanted to kiss you again.”
Inhaling sharply, his brows pinch together, and he stares like he can’t tell if he heard me right. In disbelief, he clears his throat and brushes my racing pulse with his calloused thumb. “You did?”
Nodding my head, I bite back the urge to tell him that I want the world to swallow me up now. Mason makes it easier by giving me one slight tug, pulling me straight toward him.
Everything happens all at once, leaving my head spinning. His free hand finds my cheek before he’s tilting my head back, claiming my mouth with a kiss I definitely needed.
He tastes delicious. Like my own hit of caffeine
In a daze, I step back and try not to enjoy the swollen feel to my lips.
“I won’t be long. Better drink that fast.” With a silly little smile on my lips, I stumble backwards until there’s enough space between us without risking either reaching out to continue to fuel this heat starting back up between us.
Spinning on my heel, I hear his muttered curse before I stumble out of weak legs, hoping I’ll have the strength to return to my cabin.