Chapter 6 #2
Except I couldn’t stop thinking about her and replaying every conversation.
Every smile and moment when she’d looked at me like I was someone worth knowing.
Couldn’t unknow the sounds she’d made when we kissed.
Couldn’t stop feeling this bone-deep rightness whenever I was around her, like some part of me I hadn’t known was missing had suddenly clicked into place.
If this wasn’t love, I didn’t know what it was.
And that thought—that terrifying, exhilarating thought—kept me gripping the steering wheel and crawling through the ice toward her house.
Thirty minutes later, I finally turned onto her street and parked as close to her walkway as I dared, and grabbed my phone.
Getting out of the car was like stepping into a freezer. The temperature was in the teens, and the wind was cutting through my coat like it wasn’t even there. Every step toward her front door required complete concentration as one wrong move would send me sprawling.
When I finally made it to her porch, the door opened almost immediately.
And despite everything—despite the cold and the fear and the dangerous drive—I almost laughed.
Holly stood in front of me, looking like that scene from Friends where Joey puts on all of Chandler’s clothes.
She was wearing so many layers that I couldn’t actually tell what her body shape was.
She wore a sweatshirt over what might have been a puffer coat, with a wool pea coat on top.
A knit hat was pulled down over her ears, and a long, thick scarf was wrapped around her neck multiple times.
Her hands were lost in mittens that looked homemade.
But it was her face that made me panic.
Her lips were blue.
Not figuratively or exaggerating for effect—her lips were actually tinged blue, and her face was pale.
“You’re freezing.”
“I’m f-fine,” she said through chattering teeth.
“Holly. Your lips are blue.”
She touched them with her mittened hand, like she hadn’t realized. “Oh. That’s probably not good.”
I reached out and took the bag sitting at her feet. “Come on. The car’s warm.”
She fumbled with her keys, her hands shaking so badly it took three tries to get the key in the lock. I watched her struggle, shoving my hands into my pockets so I didn’t just take the keys from her and do it myself. She’d hate the implication she couldn’t handle it.
Even if her lips were fucking blue.
Finally, she got the door locked and turned to me with a smile that would have been reassuring if she weren’t visibly trembling. “Okay. Let’s go.”
I took her elbow to steady her as we picked our way down the icy walkway.
She slipped twice, and both times my heart nearly stopped before she caught herself.
When we finally made it to the car, and I got her settled in the passenger seat, I cranked the heat even higher and aimed all the vents at her.
“Oh my God,” she said, holding her mittened hands up to the air vent. “This is amazing. You’re amazing. Have I mentioned how amazing this is?”
“You might be a little hypothermic.”
“I’m just really, really cold. There’s a difference.” She turned to look at me, and despite the color of her lips and the shaking, her eyes were warm. “Thank you for coming to get me. This was … you didn't have to do this.”
“Yes. I did.”
Something in my tone made her study my face for a long moment, and I wondered what she saw there. Whatever it was, it made her smile. “Well. Thank you anyway.”
The drive back to my place was slower than the drive to hers, if that was even possible.
I was hyperaware of the precious cargo I was carrying, and I took every turn at a speed that would have made my grandmother proud.
Holly didn’t complain about the pace. She just sat there with her hands pressed to the vents as the heater worked its magic.
By the time we pulled into my driveway, there was color back in her face.
Holly stopped just inside the mudroom entryway and sighed, her head dropping back.
“Oh, this is heavenly.”
I set her bag by the mudroom bench. “Living room’s even warmer.” I held out my hand, then immediately second-guessed myself. Was that too forward? We’d kissed. We were going on a date. Surely holding hands was—
Holly’s mittened hand slipped into mine, cutting off my internal spiral.
I led her through the house, and when we reached the living room, she made a beeline for the fireplace and practically collapsed on the floor in front of it.
“I’m never leaving,” she announced to the fire. “I’m going to live right here. You can bring me food and water, and I’ll just exist in this spot forever.”
My hand shot out to grip the doorframe.
I could see it so clearly: Holly here in this house, not just for today but permanently. Her things mixed with mine. Her voice filling these empty, silent rooms. Waking up every morning knowing that she was here.
The wanting was so intense it bordered on painful. We barely knew each other, and already the idea of her leaving once the storm passed felt wrong in a way I couldn’t articulate.
I wanted her here. Not just today. Not just until the power came back on.
I wanted her to stay forever.
The thought should have sent me running. Should have triggered every defense mechanism I’d spent years perfecting. It didn’t. Instead, it settled in my gut, true and unbreakable and somehow inevitable.
I pulled in a breath and released the doorframe, forcing my feet to propel me forward. “The couch might be more comfortable,” I managed, my voice coming out sounding more steady than I actually felt.
She turned to look at me over her shoulder, a smile playing at her lips. “The couch is too far from the fire.”
“Fair point.”
I set her bag down and grabbed the pile of blankets and pillows I’d pulled out earlier. “Here. Let’s make you a nest.”
“A nest?” Her voice came out strangled, her eyes going wide. I watched her throat work as she swallowed.
I paused, blankets in hand. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No! No, you didn't. It’s just—” She pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. “That term means something very specific in certain … contexts.”
“Contexts?”
“Romance books.” Her face was getting redder by the second. “A particular type of romance book where ‘nest’ refers to something, um, instinctual and … not just blankets and pillows.”
I blinked at her. “Is this one of those things I should know but somehow missed?”
“Absolutely not,” she said quickly, shaking her head so hard I was worried about whiplash. “Please proceed. Blankets. Pillows. Totally innocent nest-making. I’m completely normal about this.”
I couldn’t help smiling at how adorably flustered she looked. For once, I wasn’t the one being awkward.
“You don’t seem completely normal about this.”
“I will be in approximately thirty seconds if you stop talking about it.” She stuck her tongue out at me, and I decided not to point out that she was the one who’d brought it up.
Though I did file away this information for later, since whatever this nesting was had made her blush that particular shade of pink I was rapidly becoming obsessed with.
I definitely wanted to know more about that.
But for now, I kept my mouth shut and started arranging the pillows and blankets on the floor in front of the fireplace, creating what was essentially an indoor camping situation. When I was done, she looked at the setup and then at me.
“This is perfect. Truly.”
She started peeling off layers, and I busied myself checking my phone so I wouldn’t stare at her like a creep. There was nothing even remotely sexual about what was happening, but I didn’t want to be that guy.
My screen was full of notifications.
Messages from Nate saying someone had reported seeing my car skidding around a corner and asking if I was okay.
Messages from Graham Whitlock, my friend who ran the Mistletoe Bay Preservation Society, and a man who had a few choice words for me when he learned I intended to replace a few rotted-out single-paned windows with double-paned historic replicas.
And finally, a flurry of messages from a group chat I’d been added to for the Candlelight Walk Committee.
I quickly scrolled through those to see that the event was being rescheduled for the day after Christmas.
“Hey,” I said, looking up from my phone. “The Candlelight Walk’s been postponed.”
Holly, now down to a reasonable number of layers and burrowing into the nest of blankets, looked up. “Not canceled?”
“Nope, just rescheduled for the twenty-sixth.”
Her shoulders sagged with relief. “Oh, thank God.”
I understood. Her reaction wasn’t just about the event itself, but rather about what it represented. The opportunity to rebuild what she’d lost, to show the town what she could do. I’d have paid her regardless, but that wasn’t what mattered to her. The work itself was the point.
I sat down on the couch, leaving Holly to her nest. She looked comfortable now, the color fully back in her face, her hair in loose, messy waves. Beautiful.
“Are you warming up?” I asked.
“Getting there. Though I think it’s going to take a while before I stop feeling like a popsicle.”
“Take your time. We’re not going anywhere. Literally.”
She settled deeper into the blankets, turning so she was facing me instead of the fire, her legs crossed in front of her. “This is very cozy.”
“It is.”
“Some might even say romantic.”
My heart kicked against my ribs. “Would they?”
Her eyes glinted with something playful. “The hero braving a deadly ice storm to rescue the damsel in distress. Like one of my romance novels.”
I didn’t know the first thing about romance—real or fictional. My one relationship had been devoid of anything resembling grand gestures or swoony moments. But if Holly thought me driving across town because I couldn’t stand the idea of her being cold was romance, then maybe it was.
I liked the idea of her seeing me in that context. As someone who could be romantic, even if I didn’t fully understand the parameters.