Chapter 11
BECCA
Margie’s place smelled like cinnamon and strong coffee, but that was about the only festive thing about it.
No tree. No garland. Not even one of those fake pine-scented candles. Just a plain wreath on the front door, and I’m pretty sure she only hung it because the HOA made her.
I did even bother to pretend I didn’t miss him. Him, being Bear. Big, grumpy, broad-shouldered Bear who’d made me feel safer in two nights than Huntley did in two years. He also mad me feel sexy… I craved it the skin to skin the deep tongue kisses… I never really felt that way before.
Margie stirred something in a chipped blue mug and shot me a look over the rim.
“So. He didn’t come in with you?”
“Nope.” I curled up on her old corduroy couch. “I think goodbyes are hard for him. Maybe.”
Margie raised an eyebrow. “What happened up on that mountain?”
I grinned. “It was so much fun being snowed in. Honestly, if someone told me the men up here were so... everything, I would’ve visited way sooner.”
Margie laughed — one of those deep, chesty laughs that made her nose wrinkle. “Honey, why do you think I haven’t left in years?”
I laughed too, but it faded fast. Her eyes softened.
“You up for dinner and some shopping?” she asked, casual but kind.
I hesitated. “My car...”
“Oh, hush. My treat. But only if you spill all the tea.”
Downtown looked like someone had thrown a Hallmark movie into a snow globe and shook it real good.
Strings of lights crisscrossed above the main street. Storefronts glowed with wreaths and garland, and a group of carolers in matching scarves were harmonizing near the bakery like they’d been hired straight off a Christmas card.
I stood on the sidewalk with a hot cider in hand, breathing in sugar and pine and wondering if I’d see him again.
“Maybe,” Margie said with a shrug, catching my look. “They come down every now and then. Supplies. Work. Trouble.”
I smiled into my cup. “He seems more like the ‘avoids trouble at all costs’ type.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, “only on the outside.”
Dinner was at a tiny place called Juniper Table — exposed brick, rosemary bread, candlelight flickering in mason jars. I hadn’t had a meal that nice since Huntley dragged me to a fusion restaurant that served scallops in spoons and charged triple digits for the privilege.
I sipped my wine and finally let the silence stretch.
“I’m going to redo my resume,” I said. “Actually sit down and take it seriously. Start applying for new jobs.”
Margie tilted her head. “Marketing again?”
“Maybe. Or something different. I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I’ve got a few headhunters sending me links. Might set up a couple video calls tomorrow, during the day.”
“You thinking of moving?” she asked.
I looked around — the soft light, the wreath in the window, the snow drifting outside. My brain said no, but something deeper whispered maybe.
“I’m thinking I need a reset,” I said. “A real one.”
She nodded, didn’t push. Just offered me the last bite of her dessert and said, “Well, if it’s a reset you want… these mountains aren’t a bad place to start and my guest room is rent free.”
I smiled, forked up the last bite of apple crumble, and tried not to think about Bear’s flannel still in my duffel.
Later that night, under the thick duvet in the guest room my thoughts turned to him.
The way he kissed me like the world was ending.
How buzzed I was—but still that perfect moment under the stars when we took the Arctic Cat up the trail.
Fresh snow. Hot kisses… bare skin…. spending the weekend at Bear’s was just so much more than the year I spent with Huntley. It’s pathetic and eye opening.
Or the way his voice sounded when he whispered my name in the dark. But then that goodbye? That was cold. Dripped with icicles… Distant and I didn’t know what to make of any of it.
I spent most of the next day curled up on the couch, laptop balanced on a pillow, legs tangled in a throw blanket, and fuzzy slippers kicked off somewhere under the coffee table. The sun was finally out, bouncing off the snow and making everything outside look like it had been dipped in sugar.
Margie and I had big plans later —binge watching holiday movies— but for now, I was deep in job apps, video calls, and one sad cup of lukewarm coffee.
The doorbell rang.
I didn’t think much of it. Probably a delivery or a neighbor stopping by. I didn’t even blink, didn’t fix my hair, didn’t pause my scrolling.
Then Margie called from the front hallway. “Becca! Come here, honey.”
Her voice had that tone — the this-is-something tone.
I slid my laptop to the side, stretched, padded down the hall in my oversized hoodie and leggings. I turned the corner—
And stopped.
A dozen white orchids were sitting on the entry table. Real ones. Big, velvety, deep white— the kind that don’t just say “I’m thinking of you” but “I’m not done yet.” Exotic. Unusual choice. Of course Bear wouldn’t send the typical dozen red roses.
Tucked between the stems was a white envelope. My name written on the front in dark, bold handwriting.
I opened it, hands suddenly not as steady as they had been five minutes ago.
Becca,
I realized too late I never got your number.
I’m sorry I let you leave without saying what I meant to.
If you’ll let me, I’d like to fix that — over dinner.
—B
[919-435-1276]
Behind me, Margie leaned on the doorframe with the world's most satisfied smirk. “So… you gonna call him?”
I smiled down at the card, heart thudding, hands warm.
“Yeah,” I said. “I really am.”
I didn’t even hesitate.
I grabbed my phone, snapped a picture of the roses with the card in focus, and typed out a message with a smile that just wouldn’t quit.
Me: Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.
(photo attached)
The read receipt popped up immediately, and a few seconds later, three dots danced on the screen.
Bear: Sorry I didn’t come in last night.
There was a thing in town I had to deal with.
Thing? My eyebrows went up.
Me: Everything okay?
Bear: Took care of it.
Short. Solid. Very Bear.
Then another bubble appeared.
Bear Is tonight too soon?
I grinned and leaned back against the wall, still holding the card.
Me: Yeah… I’ve got plans with Margie.
We’re doing everything you hate.
Christmas decorating. Tinsel. Possibly caroling. Sappy movies.
Bear: Okay. Tomorrow. 6 p.m. sharp.
My thumbs hovered for a second. Then I typed:
Me: It’s a date.
And for the first time in weeks — maybe longer — I felt like I had something real to look forward to.
By the time we got everything down from the attic, there was fake snow everywhere — mostly on me. Margie’s ancient Christmas boxes had disintegrated at the corners, leaking glitter and tinsel like they'd been holding in holiday spirit for a decade.
We sang carols in the kitchen while baking two dozen sugar cookies — half of which turned into snowman blobs and broken candy cane shapes. Margie pretended not to notice that I was checking my phone every ten minutes like a girl in a high school rom-com.
And in the middle of rolling out a fresh batch of dough, she paused.
Just… stopped.
I looked up. “What’s wrong?”
She wiped her hands on a dish towel and leaned against the counter, her smile softer than I’d seen it in a long time. “I needed this,” she said. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do,” she said. Her eyes shone just a little.
“I packed Christmas away when Steve died. Packed everything away, really. I couldn’t do it.
Couldn’t look at his chair, the one he sat in every morning for thirty years.
Couldn’t wake up in that house and not see him in every room.
So I sold it. Moved here. Townhouse, HOA, no memories. ”
I reached out, took her hand.
She squeezed it. “He was it for me. And when you lose the one, you don’t just lose the person — you lose the life. The rhythm. The mornings. The everything. And I guess I just stopped trying. But tonight…”
Her voice broke just slightly, but she held it together.
“Tonight, it felt a little lighter.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”
Later, after the tree was glowing and Margie had gone to bed, I lay in the guest room under a thick knit blanket, wide awake. The scent of cinnamon still lingered from the cookies. My body was tired, but my mind was buzzing.
That’s when my phone buzzed.
2:03 a.m.
Bear:
Your head left an indent on my pillow.
The smell of your skin's still in my sheets.
How the hell am I supposed to sleep?
Becca, you did this to me.
My whole body flushed. I bit my lip and grinned into the dark.
I reached for my front-facing camera, adjusted the light just right, and snapped a quick shot — me in a soft bra top, sheets pulled up around my waist, hair messy, eyes sleepy but smiling.
Me:
Here’s your early Christmas treat.
The three dots appeared so fast I laughed.
Bear:
Becca.
You’re killing me.
Do you want me to wreck my truck trying to drive to you right now?
Me:
Mmm, kinda.
But also… no.
I told you, I don’t put out on the first date.
Bear:
Groans
Like, actual groaning. Out loud.
Into my damn mattress that smells of you… ( no not washing them anytime soon)
Bear (again):
I’m gonna need a cold shower.
Or two.
Me:
Good. Maybe wash your sheets next time?
You deserve it for sending a 2am thirst text.
Bear:
You call that a thirst text?
I was being respectful.
Don’t tempt me to upgrade.
I laughed out loud, buried my face in the pillow, and blushed like a teenager.
Me:
Save it for tomorrow. 6pm.
Sharp.
Bear:
You better be ready.
I’m not holding back.
My heart did a little flip. Then another.
And even though I didn’t sleep much the rest of the night, it didn’t matter.
Because tomorrow?
Tomorrow was the first date.
And I had a feeling I’d be ruined for anyone but him.