Chapter 16
Noel
Iwake up warm.
Wrapped in thick wool blankets, my body humming from the steam, the heat, the weight of last night. My skin still tingles where his hands were, lips remembering every stolen kiss.
The fireplace crackles softly across the room, the fire down to embers, still glowing. Everything smells like pine, cedar, smoke, and him.
I stretch, a lazy smile tugging at my lips, bones aching in that delicious, slow way that only happens when you fall asleep wrapped in more than just flannel and fleece.
And then I notice.
He’s gone.
I sit up. The couch is empty. His boots are missing by the door. No coat on the hook.
No note on the counter.
No grumpy mutter from the kitchen. No scent of coffee or burned bacon.
Just silence.
Cold, creeping silence.
“Nash?” I call, voice raw.
No answer.
I toss off the blanket and pad to the door, snow still drifting outside, but no fresh footprints on the porch. It must’ve happened hours ago.
My stomach knots.
Maybe it was just sex.
Maybe he changed his mind.
Maybe I pushed too hard.
My pulse starts racing. My mind launches into overdrive, grabbing at every stupid thing I said last night, every dumb joke, every inch I leaned too far in the hot tub.
God, what if he regrets it?
What if I misread everything?
I whirl back inside, grab my phone from the mantel, and scroll for a signal. Still nothing. The tower must be snowed in. No messages. No missed calls. No anything.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until I catch my reflection in the mirror near the fireplace. Puffy eyes. Red cheeks. Mascara smudged.
“Get it together,” I mutter, dragging in a breath.
I start packing.
Shove my scarves and boots back into my suitcase. Pull the Santa mugs off the windowsill and toss the decorations into a bin. The photo I put by the fire—the one with Mom and Dad—gets wrapped in a blanket of tissue and tucked away like it never happened.
Like this never happened.
This whole thing was supposed to be fun. A stunt. A viral moment for my interior design brand. A fake bride gimmick for a holiday show.
Not… this.
Not whatever the hell last night was.
A knock of panic taps at the back of my throat. I grab my phone again and climb up onto a chair near the kitchen window, hold it high toward the ceiling like I’m conducting some kind of tragic, single-woman-in-the-woods ritual.
Two bars blink to life.
I don’t hesitate.
I call Sandra, the showrunner.
It rings once before her chipper voice answers. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite little holiday hussy!”
“Sandra,” I exhale, breath shaking.
“Noel? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know. Listen—I’m packing up. The snow’s bad, but as soon as the plows come through, I’m heading back to the city.”
“What? Wait, what happened? Is it the cabin? Did that mountain man finally eat you alive?”
I flinch.
Not far off.
“Something came up,” I say flatly. “Just let the producers know I’m pulling out of the contest. You can keep the footage for the teaser or whatever, but I’m done.”
“Noel—no. You’re the frontrunner. We had People magazine call about a holiday feature. You can’t just leave.”
“I have to.”
Silence buzzes on the other end.
And then, softer: “Did something happen with him?”
I swallow.
Tears threaten again, stupid and hot.
“Just tell them thanks,” I whisper. “But I’m going home.”
I hang up before she can say more.
I slide off the chair and finish folding the last of my sweaters, each one smelling faintly of smoke and cedar. Like him. Like the night I thought meant something.
I tug my suitcase toward the door.
And I wait.
Alone.
Wrapped in silence.
Praying for snowplows. Praying for peace. Praying I didn’t just fall for a man who disappeared the moment things got real.
Because the worst part?
I already miss him.
And I don’t even know if he’s coming back.