Chapter 12
Colette
The storm still hadn’t let up.
The windows hummed with wind, the snow a constant blur against the glass. The little cabin had gone quiet except for the fire, still eating at what was left of the woodpile.
Silas had dragged the mattress closer again before it got dark, practical as ever, his sleeves pushed up and his jaw set like he was at war with the cold. I’d helped — barely — and then we’d both found excuses to stay busy until there was nothing left to do but sit.
Now he was reading by firelight, the orange glow cutting a line across his face, softening the edges that always looked too sharp in daylight. I lay back on the mattress, listening to the slow turn of pages, pretending I wasn’t aware of every breath he took.
The air between us felt charged. Not like earlier, when I’d been teasing him for fun, but thicker, heavier—something I couldn’t name without breaking it.
I shifted, the blanket sliding down my shoulder. The fire popped.
He looked up.
Our eyes met in the flicker, and for a second the whole world narrowed to that tiny space between his quiet control and my reckless need to touch what I shouldn’t.
“You should sleep,” he said finally. His voice was rough, low from disuse.
“I should,” I agreed, but didn’t move. “Will you?”
He closed the book, set it aside, and leaned forward to stir the fire. “Not yet.”
The silence after that was almost tender. The kind that only exists when two people have run out of excuses to fill it.
I rolled onto my side, facing him. “You know,” I said softly, “for someone who wanted to be alone, you don’t make it easy for other people to leave.”
He huffed a small laugh, eyes on the fire. “That’s because most people don’t stick around long enough to care.”
I should have left it there. But I didn’t. “Maybe you just haven’t given them a reason to.”
He looked at me again then, properly this time, and the warmth in his gaze hit harder than the fire ever could. For a heartbeat, I forgot to breathe.
Silas didn’t look away this time. Just watched me, quiet, steady, like he was waiting for me to say whatever was sitting behind my teeth.
I should’ve shut up. Should’ve rolled over and pretended to sleep. But the silence between us had teeth, and it hurt to let it bite. “I was supposed to be getting married,” I said finally, voice barely above the crackle of the fire. “Supposed to… be married.”
Something on his face shifted — barely, but enough. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t ask. Just waited.
“It was last month,” I went on, staring at the flames. “Venue booked, dress fitted, invitations sent. I thought…” I laughed softly, the sound hollow. “I thought he was it, you know? The grand ending. My stupid happy-ever-after.”
The wood in the hearth snapped, sharp and bright. “What happened?” Silas asked quietly.
“He fell in love,” I said. Then, after a beat, “Just not with me.”
The words landed like a confession. I could feel the old ache bloom in my chest again — the disbelief, the humiliation, the way the world had cracked in one clean break.
I pulled the blanket tighter around me, half-hoping it could smother the memory.
“They didn’t even try to hide it,” I said, voice trembling despite myself.
“I think that’s the part that still—” I broke off, pressing my lips together.
“Anyway. That’s why I’m here. My sister booked this place when I said I needed to get away. She meant well.”
He didn’t say anything for a long time. Then: “You deserved better than that.”
It was such a simple thing to say. No pity, no pretense — just truth. It hit harder than anything else could have.
I glanced over. His elbows rested on his knees, firelight catching the greys in his hair, and for the first time since I’d met him, he didn’t look like a man made of composure. He just looked tired. Kind. Real.
“Maybe,” I said, softer now. “But I keep thinking maybe I should’ve seen it coming. Maybe if I’d been… more. Or less. Or—”
“Don’t,” he said, sharp enough to stop me. His eyes lifted to mine, steady and certain. “Don’t make excuses for someone who couldn’t see you.”
I wanted to laugh, or cry, or both. “You sound like a writer.”
“Sorry,” he smiled faintly. “Bad habit.”
For a long time, we just sat there, the fire burning low, our shadows inching closer across the floor. And when I finally lay back down, I didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.
At some point, the fire had burned down to embers. The room was mostly dark now, shadows breathing against the walls, the kind of silence that hums in your bones.
I woke shivering. The blanket had slipped halfway down, the air sharp and biting at every bit of exposed skin. For a few seconds I lay there, trying to burrow deeper into the mattress, but it didn’t help. The cold was everywhere.
Across the room, I could just make out the outline of him — Silas — sitting in the armchair, elbows on his knees, the faint glow of the dying fire sketching his profile in gold. I thought he might’ve been asleep until he shifted slightly, his head turning toward me.
“You’re awake,” I whispered.
“So are you,” he murmured back, voice low, rough with sleep.
I hesitated, my heart beating a little too fast for no good reason. The air between us felt strange — thick, alive.
“I’m freezing,” I admitted. My voice came out smaller than I meant it to, almost shy. “The fire’s gone down and… this mattress isn’t exactly holding heat.”
He didn’t answer right away. I could feel him thinking, that quiet weight of hesitation that always came before he spoke. Then, softly, “What are you asking, Colette?”
I swallowed, teeth catching on my lower lip. “I’m asking,” I said, barely audible, “if you’ll… come here. Just—” I exhaled a nervous laugh. “Just for warmth.”
Something in the dark shifted — a sigh, maybe, or a surrender. I heard the chair creak, then the soft sound of his steps across the floor.
When the mattress dipped, it was so slight, so careful, that for a heartbeat I almost thought I’d imagined it. Then the heat of him reached me — radiant, steady, undoing every inch of cold between us.
“Better?” he asked, his voice close enough that I could feel the breath of it against my temple.
“Mm.” I nodded, though I wasn’t sure he could see. “You’re really warm.” Without a thought, I nuzzled closer to him and nestled my head beneath his chin.
His low chuckle vibrated through the dark. “You told me that I took the warmth from you earlier. I’m just trying to right my wrongs.”
The sound pulled a small, sleepy smile out of me. “It’s only fair,” I whispered.
I felt him shift slightly, the edge of his arm brushing mine, his breath steady and slow. I didn’t dare move — afraid it would break the fragile spell of it. But after a moment, I let my fingers rest just barely against his chest, where his heart beat slow and sure under my fingers.
He didn’t pull away.
And that was enough.