Chapter Seventeen
ASPEN
Once the soup was gone and she felt like she was bursting at the seams, Aspen stood from the table and motioned for Cole to follow her. They sat in front of the fire, and Aspen tried not to look anxious while she waited for him to show her what was in the boxes.
She waited a full minute in silence before spinning toward him, grabbing his arm, and tugging him closer. “Okay, okay, Cole. I’m a pretty patient woman, but I can only be patient for so long before I explode from impatience.”
He smirked at her and rose from the couch, heading toward the boxes he’d brought. Crouching down, he flipped one open. “Alright, but you have to promise not to be mad—or disappointed—once you see what I brought.”
She crossed her good leg beneath her and stretched the other out in front, sitting up straighter to try and peek into the box he was kneeling beside.
I’m not showing you until you promise,” he said, keeping his back to her.
Aspen let out a loud huff and crossed her arms. “Fine. I cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.” She traced an X over her chest for good measure.
He spun around, his hands empty. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” she asked, brow furrowing.
“Stick a needle in your eye,” he said softly. “They’re far too pretty for that.”
Her cheeks warmed, a smile tugging at her lips.
She shut her eyes and listened to him rummage around, the sound of cardboard shifting and the clink of plastic making her curiosity bubble up inside of her as she fought the urge to peek.”
“Okay, Aspen, turn around.” His voice reached her ears, and she spun, opening her eyes to see piles of neatly rolled-up lights, all plugged into a power strip on her wall—some blinking, others still.
She looked up to find him watching her, waiting for her to do or say something.
But she didn’t know what to say. Why the lights?
What did he want her to do with them? She didn’t even have a tree.
When she stayed silent, he crouched in front of her.
“You hate them, don’t you?” He shook his head before standing back up. He moved to the lights and started unplugging them, and Aspen just watched, unsure what to do.
“It’s okay. We don’t have to decorate your house with lights.
I just thought it would be fun… making your cabin a little more…
cheery? It was stupid. Sorry, Aspen.” He began shoving the lights back into the box, and his words slowly registered in her head.
He wanted to help her decorate her house?
She had thought he wanted to decorate an invisible tree, not her home.
He picked up the boxes, stacked them, and headed for the door. “I’ll just go put them back.”
Aspen shot to her feet, shutting the door and standing in front of it like a guard. “No. I… uh… what the heck.” She threw her hands up in the air. “Let’s do it.” She smiled at him and took the box on top, setting it back down where he had placed it.
He smiled back. “Are you sure? We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Bundled up and ready, they grabbed the boxes and stepped onto the porch. Aspen looked to Cole, waiting for him to start—but he just stood there, watching her.
“Well, what are you doing?” she asked. “Let’s do this.”
He crossed his arms and shook his head. “Nope. This is your cabin. You get to decide what you want it to look like.”
He waited patiently as Aspen scanned the outside of the cabin, a vision of twinkling lights and candy-cane-striped columns and banisters filling her mind.
She moved toward Cole, and he opened the boxes and began taking the lights out as she laid out the vision she had in her head.
He grabbed the hammer and nails and started on the balusters and handrails as she went behind him, hanging the lights up the way that she wanted them.
Aspen couldn’t help but grin as they worked side by side, her vision slowly coming to life.
Soon the lights were plugged in, white twinkling alongside red, transforming the balusters and handrails into glowing candy canes.
Once the porch was done, he grabbed a ladder she hadn’t noticed, and she followed him, holding the lights as he secured them to the eaves, making sure to drape them the way she imagined, until they wrapped around the sides of the cabin.
He grabbed a third box from where he had stowed the ladder.
How on earth had he brought all of this over in such a short amount of time?
she wondered, as he pulled out a wreath and handed it to her.
“I had an extra wreath and thought you might want one on your door. But if you don’t, that’s fine too. ”
He started to put it back, but she stopped him, taking the wreath and moving toward the door.
“I’d love a wreath on my door, but I don’t have a way to hang it.
” She gestured toward the door, and he hurried over, grabbed another nail, and hammered it in with ease.
She hung the wreath, and when she turned around, he had one more surprise in his hands.
Her breath caught in her lungs as she took in the box full of large bows.
She moved closer, her heart stuttering—perfect, velvet, just like the ones her mom used to hang on the pillars of their house every year, until her mother had died.
Her chest tightened as she reached toward the bows, tracing one gently with her finger.
They were the one thing she had always refused to let her father put up.
She took a step back, her hand lingering on the bows before falling to her side. “They are beautiful,,” she whispered, choking back her tears and smiling up at him instead. “Thanks, Cole.
“Where would you like them?” he asked.
Aspen motioned to the four pillars decorated with candy cane lights,trying her best to hold back the emotions building inside her. “Let’s put them on the pillars.”
He hammered four more nails into the pillars, and she took the bows, one by one, hanging them with reverence while doing her best to hold herself together.
Once she finished, they both stepped back in front of her cabin to view their work before returning to the porch.
“It’s getting pretty late. I should probably go, since I have early lessons tomorrow.” Cole gathered up the empty boxes and supplies, standing on the porch as though waiting for something.
“Thanks for… uh… the soup. And the lights… and stuff.” Aspen gave him a quick side hug before letting him go.
“You’re welcome, Aspen. I’ll see you tomorrow night—for the storytelling and cocoa, right?”
“Yup. Wouldn’t miss it.” Aspen knew she sounded ridiculous, her words short and stunted, but her emotions were hanging on by a thread.
“Sweet. Okay. Goodnight, Aspen.” He gave her a nod, his hands full, and turned to leave. Aspen hurried into the cabin, shutting the door behind her as her tears began to fall.
She slid down the door and onto her butt, covering her face with her hands as she sobbed, her shoulders shaking.
Slowly, she moved her hands from her face, wrapping them around herself as though trying to hold herself together, lost in her memories, the sorrow of missing her mother overwhelming her.
The door thumped behind her, and it wasn’t until the second pattern of knocks that she realized someone was at the door. She cleared her throat, her voice raspy as she stood from the floor. “One moment.”
She went to the bathroom and blew her nose, mopping up the tears from her face before heading back to the door.
She plastered a smile on her face and swung the door open, only to find a concerned-looking Cole standing on her doorstep.
Without a word, he pulled her into his arms, wrapping her close as he guided her backward into the house, shutting the door behind them—all while enveloping her in a warmth that calmed her soul.
How had he known she needed a hug? They stood there for a while, Cole never saying a word.
He pulled back slightly, sweeping her tear-streaked hair from her face, and motioned toward the couch.
She sat down, and he removed her boots before gesturing to her jacket.
Still without a single word, he carried her boots to her room and hung up her coat.
When he returned, his coat was gone and his boots were off.
He sat down on the couch and lifted his arm, inviting her to scoot closer.
She buried her head into his shoulder, and he held her tight.
Though her tears continued to fall, the pain wasn’t as heavy as before.
It was almost as if, just by touching her, he had taken some of her sorrow for himself, easing the overwhelming grief she had felt moments earlier.
Her eyelids felt heavy, but before she drifted off to sleep, she heard Cole’s voice—a gentle anchor she would carry with her into her dreams. “I’m not going anywhere, Snow. Whenever you’re ready to tell me, no matter how long it takes, I’ll be here.”
With those comforting words, her eyes closed, and she dreamed of her mother and all the moments they had shared. The panic that had once lurked in the shadows of those dreams didn’t come this time. This time, she felt only peace.