Chapter 6
Callie
I bounced a little as the van rolled away from The Book Nook; the tires crunching softly over fresh snow. My fingers tapped against my thermos lid—part nerves, part excitement. Day two of deliveries. I was determined to make it better than yesterday.
“So,” I began, my words rushing out before I could stop them, “doesn’t it feel different this year? The holidays, I mean. Like the air’s thicker with cinnamon or nostalgia or…I don’t know, second chances?”
Cavil didn’t say anything right away, but his hands stayed steady on the wheel. His expression was unreadable, which was probably on purpose. Still, I caught the tiniest twitch near his mouth. Not a smile, exactly. More like… restraint.
“Last year, everything felt heavy, didn’t it?” I pressed on. “People were tired. No one wanted to celebrate. But this year—I don’t know. There’s a pulse again. Hope or cheer or maybe just sugar cookies.”
Still no response. Just the road, his profile, and the quiet hum of the heater.
“We should make this a thing,” I said, half to him, half to the dashboard. “Like a yearly book delivery. One big community tradition—Book Nook elves spreading joy and paperbacks.”
A flicker of his gaze met mine before shifting back to the street. “Book Nook elves?” he echoed, dry as ever.
I grinned. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t look great in a green hat.”
He didn’t roll his eyes, but it was close. That twitch returned.
“Cavil?”
“Hmm?”
“What do you think? Annual tradition? Lights, hot cocoa, sleigh bells, library cards?”
He exhaled, which was practically a paragraph from him. “Could work.”
I sat back with a satisfied smile, letting the silence settle—until it started feeling too wide.
“We could even—”
“Callie.” Just my name, but it was enough to halt me mid-sentence. Not sharp, but firm. Like a quiet knock on a closed door.
I blinked, lips parting—but then he added, gentler this time, “You don’t always have to fill the silence.”
Heat crept up my neck. Embarrassment? Maybe. But also… something like gratitude. I nodded slowly, letting the quiet stretch a little longer this time.
Outside, snow drifted lazily past the windshield, and the town blurred by in soft, wintry whites and grays.
After a while, I cleared my throat. “So… where’s our next stop?”
He didn’t look at me, but I could’ve sworn the corners of his mouth lifted just a fraction. “Christmas tree delivery. Mrs. Winslow.”
I smiled, and this time, I didn’t say a word.
The moment Mrs. Winslow’s house came into view, I knew we were in for something special.
Or maybe dangerous. It looked like a Christmas decoration aisle had exploded and no one had bothered to clean up.
Plastic reindeer were balanced precariously on the roof, twinkling lights blinked in twelve different rhythms, and the front lawn was a minefield of inflatable snowmen swaying ominously in the breeze.
Cavil slowed to a stop, his gaze flicking across the chaos with something close to horror.
“This feels like a trap,” he muttered, eyes narrowed as if expecting one of the reindeer to charge.
A laugh burst out of me before I could stop it. “What, are you scared of a blow-up Frosty?”
“They’re always smiling,” he said, deadpan. “You shouldn’t trust anything that happy.”
I grinned as we climbed out of the van. “Noted. I’ll keep a lookout for rogue snowmen.”
He didn’t respond, but I caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile exactly—more like a silent acknowledgment that I was ridiculous, and he tolerated me anyway.
The front door looked like something from a greeting card, complete with a red wreath decked in gold baubles and a bow the size of my head. I knocked twice.
The door flew open so fast I nearly stumbled backward.
“Well, don’t just stand there in the cold!” the woman beamed up at us. She was tiny, maybe five feet on a good day, with white curls and a pair of sparkly reindeer antlers perched jauntily on her head.
“You must be here with my tree,” she announced as if we’d been expected for weeks.
“Yes, ma’am,” Cavil said, straightening automatically like a soldier reporting for duty. “I’m Cavil Carter.”
“Oh, I don’t care about names,” she waved him off with a dismissive flap of her hand, patting his arm like she’d known him since he was in diapers. “Just muscle. Come on in!”
She turned on her heel and vanished into the house without waiting to see if we followed.
Cavil glanced at me. “This is how horror movies start.”
I smirked. “You’ll be fine. I think.”
Inside, the scent of pine and cinnamon wrapped around us like a weighted blanket. Her living room was a holiday fever dream—stockings on every chair, garlands strung across shelves, at least four nutcrackers that I could see, and tinsel. So much tinsel.
“Tree goes by the fireplace!” she commanded, pointing with one hand while the other reached for a candy cane.
Cavil blinked at the forest of decorations. “Do we move… the Santa orchestra first or just work around it?”
She didn’t answer, just snapped her fingers and told him to bring in the box of ornaments next.
I jumped in to help, trying not to laugh at the way she ordered him around like he was one of her plastic reindeer. Surprisingly, he didn’t complain. He just… did it. Calm, quiet, and entirely out of place in a house that screamed Christmas exploded here.
Watching him string lights under her direction—stoic and unbothered while she made him re-do a loop that wasn’t “twinkly enough”—made something warm settle in my chest. A contrast so sharp it softened everything else around it.
And for the first time that morning, I wasn’t thinking about Leo or stress or the hundred things still left to do.
I was just… here.
With him.
The tree was massive. I hadn’t realized quite how big it was until we were standing in front of it; the thing bundled in mesh like a green beast ready to strike. It towered over us, blocking half the entryway like it had every intention of living on the front porch.
Cavil eyed it the way someone might look at a wild animal they didn’t trust not to bite.
“Think you can handle that?” I asked, tilting my head, barely hiding the grin tugging at my mouth.
He didn’t dignify me with a full answer—just grunted, squared his shoulders, and grabbed the trunk like he was going to wrestle it into submission. “Just stand back.”
I obeyed, not out of fear for my safety but because I didn’t want to get in the way of whatever war he was about to wage against an innocent pine.
He started to maneuver the thing toward the door, all steady muscle and determination—and then a rogue snow-dusted branch snapped back and smacked him square in the face.
I lost it.
Laughter bubbled up before I could even try to hold it in. I doubled over, hands on my knees, gasping between fits of giggles. “Oh, my gosh—your face—”
Cavil didn’t say a word at first. Just wiped the snow off his cheek with a dramatic swipe and glared at the tree like it had personally insulted him.
The glare he shot me next could’ve melted the icicles off the porch railing.
“I thought military guys were good with logistics,” I teased through my laughter, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye.
He growled low under his breath, though his mouth twitched just enough to betray him. “Didn’t specialize in pine warfare.”
“Well, clearly not. It's obvious you're British military, not US."
For a second, everything else fell away.
My heart felt lighter than it had in weeks.
No donors to impress, no Leo looming over me, no weight of trying to prove I was enough.
Just this ridiculous moment with a tree that was too big and a man who didn’t smile but somehow made me feel safer than I’d felt in a long time.
He straightened again with a sigh, brushing past me like he had something to prove now. “All right. Round two.”
I stood aside as he adjusted his grip, his brow furrowed with renewed focus. Slowly, carefully, he twisted the tree toward the door again. The base scraped against the entryway like it knew it didn’t belong there.
“Careful! You’re about to take out that lamp!” I called, half-warning, half-laughing.
“Then maybe don’t stand so close,” he muttered without looking back.
But he pushed too hard this time. The welcome mat folded underfoot like a traitor, and the tree surged forward, barreling into the living room like a battering ram. The lamp teetered once… twice…
Crash.
I winced. “Oh, no!”
I darted forward as Cavil let out the slowest, most exhausted exhale I’d ever heard, still holding onto the tree like he refused to let it win.
“Not my fault,” he said, perfectly deadpan.
I crouched beside the lamp, inspecting the damage. One crack, no shattered bulb. Nothing we couldn’t cover with a throw pillow and a little denial.
“It’s just a scratch,” I said brightly, glancing up at him. “We’ve done worse damage with less effort.”
Cavil didn’t respond. Just stood there, halfway inside the house, looking like he was reevaluating every life choice that led him to this very moment.
I rose to my feet, brushing glitter off my knees, and flashed him a grin. “We might need reinforcements.”
“Or,” he said, “a smaller tree.”
My laugh came easily now, and I didn’t bother hiding it. This was what the holidays should feel like.
He shot me an exasperated glance, but then—finally—a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth as he twisted and pivoted the tree just right. It slid through the doorway without taking out any more decorations, like some kind of pine miracle.
“Yes!” I whispered, pumping a quiet fist as we cleared space for its majestic entrance into Edith’s ornament-stuffed living room.
“I swear,” Cavil muttered, brushing stray tinsel off his shoulder as we surveyed the festive wreckage around us, “next time, I’m picking up the smaller trees.”
Next time?
My heart gave a little flutter at those two simple words. Silly, maybe, but the idea of there being a next time—with him—snuck in and settled somewhere deep.