Chapter Four #2
“You’ve stormed off at least three times.”
“I leave strategically.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Right. Strategic leaving. You should trademark that.”
She sipped her cocoa, watching me over the rim of her mug. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“I know I’m funny.”
“You’re something, alright.”
“Careful,” I said. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”
“Don’t get excited,” she said, turning away, but her smile, small and fleeting, was there.
It hit me right in the ribs.
The thing about Melanie was that she never did anything halfway.
When she was angry, the room knew it. When she laughed, it was the kind of sound that made every noise around her fade.
And when she tried not to care, God help anyone in her orbit, because she cared harder than most people even tried.
And right now, watching her under the soft glow of the Christmas lights, I knew damn well I was in trouble.
The fire popped again, throwing a wash of warmth over her face. Her sweater sleeve was pulled down over one hand, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug absentmindedly.
That dreamy look was creeping in. It was the one she got when she forgot to be defensive.
I couldn’t help myself.
“Don’t do that,” I said softly.
“Do what?”
“Look at me like that.”
She blinked, startled. “I’m not—”
“You are.” I took a slow step closer. “It’s the same look you gave me before you kissed me that night at the river.”
Her breath caught. “You remember that?”
“Mel, you don’t forget something like that.”
She swallowed hard, eyes darting to the window where snow swirled under the streetlight. “That was a long time ago.”
“Eight months isn’t long.”
“It feels like it.”
“Not to me.”
She set the mug down, the clink too loud in the quiet. “You can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“This,” she said, gesturing vaguely between us. “Whatever this is. You act like nothing happened, like we can just—”
“I’m not acting like nothing happened.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out why you walked away. Why you ghosted me this last time.”
She let out a short laugh, sharp and tired. “Because it was a mistake.”
“Don’t do that,” I said. “Don’t rewrite it now that it scares you.”
“Scares me?” she repeated, incredulous. “I’m not scared.”
“Then what are you?”
She didn’t answer. Her jaw tightened, and she went back to rearranging ornaments like she could hang her excuses on the tree, too.
I took another step closer, close enough that the heat from her skin met mine. “You know what I think?”
“No,” she said flatly. “And I’m not asking.”
“I think you’re scared because this place, the quiet, the snow, the fact that you can actually breathe here, it’s getting under your skin. Just like it did with Lydia.”
She froze, her hand hovering over a branch.
“And maybe,” I added, “you’re scared because I’m part of that.”
She turned then, eyes flashing. “You really think highly of yourself, don’t you?”
“Only when I’m right.”
Her laugh came out brittle, half a scoff. “You’re not.”
But her voice cracked, just a little.
The sound hit me like a shove. I wanted to say something soft, something that might untangle the knot between us, but that wasn’t how we worked. We were oil and flame. Sparks first, regret later.
I settled for the truth and stepped closer. We were only inches away, and it wouldn’t have taken more than a stumble to kiss her. “You could’ve fooled me.”
Before she could answer, the door burst open with a gust of wind and the clatter of boots.
“Sorry!” Lydia’s voice rang through the bar, bright as sleigh bells. “It took us longer than we thought!”
Melanie jumped back like I’d burned her, and I took a deliberate step away, rubbing the back of my neck to disguise the urge to curse.
Callum was behind Lydia, grinning like the smug bastard he was.
“Interrupt something?”
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” Melanie said at the same time.
We both glared at each other.
Lydia’s gaze flicked between us, her mouth twitching. “Wow. The tension in here could roast chestnuts.”
“Go away,” Melanie muttered, brushing past her toward the counter.
Lydia winked at me over her shoulder. “Play nice.”
Callum gave a mock salute.
They disappeared into the back room, leaving me standing in the middle of the bar again, hands in my pockets, heart still hammering.
I looked over at Melanie. She was pretending to check her phone, pretending she hadn’t just been two seconds away from either kissing me or killing me.
I grinned, quietly. “You okay over there?”
She didn’t look up. “Peachy.”
“Good.” I leaned against the counter, letting the quiet stretch just long enough to make her glance at me. “Because for the record, I wasn’t gonna kiss you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Good.”
“Glad we agree.”
She nodded once.
I waited a beat. “You were gonna kiss me.”
Her glare could’ve melted steel. “You’re so difficult.”
“Still not an insult,” I said, smirking.
She turned away, but I caught it—that tiny smile she tried to hide. And I knew right then that no matter how many walls she built, I’d keep finding the cracks.
Because the truth was, the ship hadn’t completely sunk.
It was circling the harbor, waiting for one wrong move to come crashing back to shore.