Chapter Four
Drew
Here I was stringing the last of the garland along the back wall, pretending not to notice how close Melanie stood to the fire, cocoa mug in both hands, while she faked not looking at me.
She was doing a terrible job of faking it.
Lydia and Callum had just ducked out, which was code for we’re leaving you two alone so you’ll finally kiss again and get it over with.
The moment they had left, The Rusty Stag felt a lot smaller.
I climbed down from the step stool and wiped my hands on a rag. “So. Looks like it’s just you and me again.”
Melanie gave a tiny laugh. “Don’t sound so thrilled.”
“Thrilled?” I moved past her to grab the next box of ornaments from the counter, making sure my shoulder brushed hers on the way. “I’m ecstatic.”
She shifted slightly but didn’t move away. “You’ve got a weird definition of ecstatic.”
“Probably.” I set the box down on the table beside her. “But you already knew that.”
Her lips quirked, just a hint of a smile, before she caught herself and took another sip of cocoa.
She was wearing one of those oversized cream sweaters, the kind that made her look unfairly soft, and a pair of dark jeans tucked into boots that had clearly never met real snow.
Her hair curled just enough at the ends to make me want to twist a strand around my finger.
Dangerous thoughts.
I pushed them aside or tried to.
I asked the locals sitting at the bar if they needed a refill, and they were fine.
“Need me to grab the rest of the decorations?” she asked.
“Only if you want to.”
“I don’t,” she said, setting her mug down, “but Lydia would haunt me if I didn’t help.”
“That’s the spirit.” I handed her a strand of silver garland. “Just loop it around the antlers over the mirror.”
“Are you sure that fish isn’t missing out on sparkly stuff?” She reached for it, and I let my fingers brush hers again.
On purpose this time. Her breath hitched, so soft I almost missed it.
Almost.
“You do that on purpose,” she said quietly.
I grinned. “Do what?”
She shot me a look. “That thing where you…” She waved the garland between us. “Bump into me. Or stand too close. Or—”
“Exist?”
Her eyes narrowed, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” I said, stepping just close enough for her to tilt her chin up. “I do.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.
The fire popped behind us, the smell of pine, booze, and cocoa heavy in the air. Snow drifted outside the window, thick and lazy.
I could see every detail of her face from the tiny freckle near her temple, the faint pink on her cheeks from the heat, the way her lips parted just a little like she was about to say something.
Instead, she cleared her throat and stepped sideways, looping the garland a little too aggressively over the antlers. “You really should stop doing that.”
“What, standing near you?”
“Acting like.” She stopped, flustered. “Like you’re trying to…”
“Make you blush?”
She scowled, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re annoying.”
I leaned against the bar, folding my arms. “You keep saying that like it’s an insult.”
“It is.”
“Then why do you keep hanging around?”
Her eyes flicked toward me, quick and sharp. “Because my best friend lives here.”
“Right,” I said, pretending to think it over. “And the six times you stopped by after she moved…those were all friendly visits to her, huh?”
Color rushed into her face, and she glared at me over her shoulder. “You’re counting?”
“Only because you stopped at six. Thought you’d at least round it up to ten.”
She muttered something under her breath that I was pretty sure wasn’t festive.
I laughed. “You always did hate when I was right.”
“I don’t hate it. I just...” She set the garland down and faced me, chin up, all defiance and tension. “You and I were a mistake. A very brief, very specific lapse in judgment.”
“Six lapses, technically.”
She groaned. “Why are you like this?”
“Because you keep making it fun,” I said, taking a slow step closer. “And because watching you try to talk yourself out of whatever this is? It’s the best entertainment I’ve had in months.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but I reached past her for the box of ornaments, close enough that her perfume hit me full force.
My hand brushed her hip by accident. Probably. Maybe. Okay, not at all by accident.
She froze.
I stayed still, close enough to feel her breathing. “You okay?”
Her voice was low, cautious. “You do realize this is why I stopped coming around.”
“Because I accidentally touch your hip?”
“Because you never do anything accidentally.”
I grinned at that—couldn’t help it. “You give me too much credit.”
“And not enough distance,” she shot back, but her voice had softened, betraying her.
I leaned against the counter beside her, the space between us now thin as a breath. “You could’ve stayed away for good.”
She stared at the lights flickering on the tree instead of me. “Lydia invited me to the festival this weekend and again for the holidays.”
“You could’ve said no.”
“I could’ve,” she said, almost to herself. “But then you’d think I was avoiding you.”
I smiled. “So you’re admitting it.”
“I’m admitting nothing.”
“Sure, sweetheart.”
Her head snapped toward me. “Don’t call me that.”
I lifted my hands in mock surrender. “Touchy.”
“I just—” She blew out a breath, like she was trying to deflate the tension between us. “You drive me crazy.”
“That’s mutual.”
“Then maybe we should keep our distance.”
I looked around the bar at the warm firelight, misted windows, snow still falling outside, and then back at her.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s not happening.”
Before she could fire back, the front door rattled in the wind, and a few flakes of snow blew in through the gap at the top.
She glanced over. “You should fix that before the floor gets wet.”
“Already did last week,” I said, moving past her toward the window. “But it’s Reckless River. Weather likes to break things on principle.”
She followed, standing beside me as I pulled a curtain closed on the side window. The glass was cold under my palm.
Her shoulder brushed mine, and this time she didn’t move away.
Outside, the streetlamps glowed faintly through the falling snow. Everything was muffled and soft like the whole world was taking a breath.
“You know,” she said quietly, “this place gets under your skin.”
“The bar?”
“The town. The lights. The quiet. It’s infuriating.”
I smiled. “Maybe that’s what you like about it.”
“I didn’t say I liked it.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, something unguarded flashing there. For a moment, I thought she might actually say what she was thinking.
Instead, she laughed softly and shook her head. “You’re impossible.”
“You said something like that already. I think you said annoying?”
“And it’s still true.”
She turned to go back to the tree, but I caught her hand—not tight, just enough to stop her. Her fingers stilled in mine. “You don’t have to keep running, Mel.”
“I’m not running.”
“Then why do you look like you want to bolt every time I’m in the room?”
Her throat worked, and when she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Because you make it too easy to forget why I should.”
That one hit.
Deep.
For once, I didn’t have a smart remark. I just looked at her, at the reflection of the lights dancing in her eyes, and wondered how the hell I was supposed to pretend this didn’t matter anymore.
She slipped her hand free. “We should finish decorating.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “We should.”
We turned back to the tree. I hung an ornament. She hung another. Neither of us spoke, but the air between us stayed charged.
Outside, the snow kept falling.
Inside, the silence said everything we wouldn’t.
Melanie’s words hung in the air long after she said them, like smoke you can’t quite wave away.
You make it too easy to forget why I should.
That one had teeth.
Was it my past? Who I was now? I didn’t know.
She went back to hanging ornaments on a second tree in the corner, pretending to study every branch like it held the secret to world peace. I stood there, ornament in hand, brain stuck somewhere between wanting to apologize and wanting to kiss her until she stopped talking in riddles.
I hung the ornament crooked just to do something with my hands. It clinked against another, and she sighed, stepping over to fix it.
“You have no sense of symmetry,” she muttered.
“Never been accused of that before.”
She leaned in, adjusting the ornament. Her hair brushed my jaw…soft, faintly citrus, enough to short-circuit the rest of my logic.
“You did that on purpose,” she said.
“Maybe.”
“Because you like it when I fix your mistakes?”
“No,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant. “Because I like it when you stand close.”
Her hand paused midair. She looked up, her breath catching just enough to make my chest tighten.
Then she shook her head, stepping back with a scoff that didn’t quite land. “You’re impossible.”
“You keep saying that like it’s going to start hurting my feelings.”
She huffed, brushing past me toward the bar. “You don’t have feelings, Benedict.”
“Sure I do.” I followed, leaning against the counter beside her. “I’ve got at least one or two left. Think you’re responsible for both.”
That earned me an eye roll, but there was a faint blush creeping up her neck. She tried to hide it by reaching for her cocoa mug, which had gone cold.
“You want me to heat that up?” I asked.
“Don’t bother.”
“I insist.”
She sighed, handing it over. “You just like bossing people around.”
“Only the ones who argue back.”
Her lips twitched. “So… that’s what you look for in females?”
“Pretty much.” I grabbed the cocoa and put it in the microwave.
Travis, our cook, walked into the bar and grinned. “Evening, Drew.”
“How’s it going?” I asked, still glancing at Melanie.
“Great as always.” He walked into the kitchen as I removed Melanie’s mug.
“Try not to spill it when you storm off later.”
“I don’t storm off.”