Chapter 10
Willa
I wake up warm.
Not just from the thick quilt or the fire in the corner, but from the weight of a strong arm draped over my waist and the slow, steady breath warming the back of my neck.
Sebastian.
The feel of him grounds me. Solid. Steady. Familiar in a way that makes no sense after only a few days. But here we are, wrapped around each other like we’ve done this for years.
Through the crack in the curtain, I catch a glimpse of snow falling outside the window. Fat flakes drifting past the glow of the porch light. The world looks hushed, still.
I shift just enough to glance over my shoulder.
He’s still asleep. Brow smooth. Lips slightly parted. His hand sprawled across my stomach, fingers twitching like they’re not ready to let go, even in his dreams.
I smile and lean back into him. He makes a quiet sound, something like a sigh, and pulls me closer.
God.
This is what Christmas is supposed to feel like. Not the noise or the expectations or the pressure to smile through things that hurt. Just this. A quiet room. Warm skin. A heart that doesn’t ache so much anymore.
When I was little, Christmas morning meant cold floors and cheap cocoa and my mom doing her best. It wasn’t the kind of magic you saw in movies. But it was love. It was enough.
This... this might be more than enough.
Sebastian shifts behind me, his fingers trailing up my side, then down again.
"You’re awake," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
"Mhm." I smile into the pillow. "You snore."
He groans and flops onto his back. "Lies."
I roll to face him. "You don’t. But that was fun."
He reaches out and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, his hand lingering. "Merry Christmas, Willa."
A soft ache rises in my throat. "Merry Christmas."
We lie there a while longer, facing each other, letting the quiet wrap around us like a second blanket. No rush. No pressure. Just stillness.
Eventually, he stretches, the covers sliding down to his hips. I bite my lip, eyes tracing the line of his bare back, the way the morning light carves gold across his shoulders.
He catches me looking and raises a brow. "See something you like?"
"Yes," I say, not even trying to play coy. "A lot, actually."
He leans in and kisses me, slow and deep. The kind of kiss that says we’ve got time. The kind that settles into your bones. Reverent.
When he finally pulls away, he groans. "If I keep kissing you like that, we’re not getting out of this bed before dinner."
I press a hand to his chest, laughing. "Tempting. But I have a pie to finish for the inn's guests."
He sighs. "Right. That pie."
We get up slowly. I tug on one of his flannel shirts and button it over yesterday’s leggings. He watches me with a lazy smile, his eyes half-lidded.
"You look good in my clothes," he says.
"You look good out of yours."
His laugh is low and warm. "Careful. You’ll have me forgetting there’s a full house."
Outside the room, the inn is already stirring. The scent of fresh coffee and pine lingers in the air. The lights on the tree in the common room twinkle gently.
His parents are in the kitchen when we walk in. Evelyn pulls me into a soft hug, her eyes kind and knowing. His father offers me a quiet nod and a smile that feels like welcome. Nobody mentions the fact that I’m wearing Sebastian’s shirt.
On our way toward the dining room, something on a side table catches my eye. A glossy calendar, half-buried under a stack of local mail. I pull it out and flip it open.
And blink.
"Um… Sebastian?"
He glances over. Sees what I’m holding. Freezes.
It’s a shirtless calendar. Like, really shirtless. Twelve months of broad shoulders and flannel and low-slung jeans. The kind of thing that might start as a joke but somehow raises your heart rate anyway.
“What is this?” I ask, grinning. “A small-town pin-up calendar?”
He groans. “Please put that back.”
I flip to December. A man with a beard and an axe is mid-chop in a pile of snow, his abs on full display. “Oh my God. Is this… local?”
“Lovesbury,” Sebastian mutters. “Next town over. Their mayor does it every year. For charity.”
I stifle a laugh. “You’re telling me a real mayor convinced these men to pose shirtless for a Christmas calendar?”
“Yes. And that guy—” He points to Mr. December. “—is Maverick. Old army buddy. He got roped into it. I think they’re auctioning him off on Valentine’s Day.”
That does it. I snort. “So… they do calendars and bachelors?”
Sebastian gives me a look. “You're not going to that auction.”
I laugh harder. “Relax. I already have my grumpy mountain man.”
“You’d better.”
He plucks the calendar from my hands and drops it back on the table like it might catch fire.
Later that morning, I bring over a pecan pie and more goodies, still warm from the oven, and help Evelyn finish warming the rest of the holiday spread.
Guests come and go, offering small talk, gifts, holiday greetings. There’s laughter and music and the soft clink of dishes. Everything hums with that quiet joy that only shows up when something feels just right.
At some point, I feel Sebastian’s eyes on me. I glance up.
He’s standing across the room, coffee mug in hand, watching me with that look. Not just desire. Not just tenderness.
Something steadier. Something like a promise.
He lifts his mug in a silent toast.
I smile. And raise mine in return.
The moment lingers, golden and still.
But then something shifts. A flicker of movement outside the window catches my attention. A shape. A man. Standing across the street, in front of the bakery.
I tilt my head, trying to place him. He’s tall. Older. Wearing a heavy coat and a worn hat pulled low. He isn’t moving. Just standing there, hands in his pockets, looking toward the bakehouse like he’s trying to gather courage.
A strange tug pulls low in my chest. Something instinctive.
“I’ll be right back,” I murmur, setting down my coffee.
Sebastian notices the shift in my voice. “Everything okay?”
I nod, though my throat feels tight. “There’s someone outside the bakery. I just want to see if he needs something.”
Sebastian sets his mug down. “I’ll come with you.”
The wind cuts sharper outside now. The snow’s picked up again, flakes dancing in the air. My boots crunch softly as I cross the street, Sebastian just behind me.
The man turns as we approach. His eyes are pale blue, like mine. His jaw is tight. There’s a tremble in his hands.
My steps slow.
He takes a breath. “Willa?”
My name sounds strange coming from him. Like it’s wrapped in history I was never given.
I stop a few feet away. “Yes?”
His voice cracks. “I’m your father.”
The world narrows to that one sentence. The wind. The snow. Sebastian’s steady presence behind me. None of it matters. Not compared to the storm that’s just started inside me.
I stare at the man I’ve never seen, the one I’ve imagined and hated and wondered about for most of my life.
And I say nothing.
Not yet.
Not because I don’t have words.
But because I have too many.