9. Nyree
Nyree
I wake to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the curtains, casting a gentle golden hue over the room. The warmth of the bed clings to me. I am reluctant to leave the heavy duvet that serves as a cocoon of comfort. For a few seconds, I keep my eyes closed, savoring the peace of the moment, the kind of stillness that only a snow-covered morning can bring. It’s the silence after a storm. The world is wrapped in a muffling blanket of white. It’s so serene.
But the moment is fleeting. A sharp pang of guilt blooms in my chest, and it makes my breath catch in my throat.
I’m in Marcus’s bed. Mr. Marcus Davenport.
The realization crashes into me, and I’m suddenly wide awake, my heart pounding in my chest. I shift slightly under the covers, feeling his presence beside me, his warmth radiating even though he’s still half asleep. His arm is draped loosely around my waist, a gesture that feels both possessive and protective, as if even in his sleep, he’s claiming me.
And I let him.
Last night comes flooding back in vivid detail. The fire, the heat of his touch, and the overwhelming need that seemed to consume us both. I can still feel the ghost of his lips on my skin. I remember the way I whispered his name like a prayer. My body responds to the memory, a dull ache of desire stirring deep within me, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the weight of what this all means.
He’s Coco’s father.
I close my eyes again, trying to push that thought away, but it’s like a shadow I can’t escape. I can’t ignore the complexity of it, the tangled mess we’ve created. This isn’t just a fling. I don’t want it to be, not with how I feel at the mere thought of him, but maybe it should be? Maybe this is a door we should never have opened, one we should seal shut forever. I glance at him again, and even as he sleeps he looks so steady, and so much more than I should even allow myself to consider.
This is my best friend’s father! For goodness' sake.
How am I supposed to explain this to her? How am I supposed to face Coco, knowing what I’ve done?
Marcus stirs beside me, his arm tightening slightly around my waist as he pulls me closer. His breath is warm against the back of my neck, and despite everything, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to move, or leave this bubble of warmth and comfort we’ve created. In his arms feels safe, like nothing bad can touch us.
But that’s not the real world. Not the one I have grown accustomed to.
With a sigh, I crawl out from under his arm, careful not to wake him. The cool air hits my skin as I slip out of bed. I wrap a blanket around myself for warmth as I cross the room to the window. The snowstorm that raged through the night has passed, leaving behind a pristine, white landscape. The world outside is bright, too bright. The sun glints off the snow, its brilliance casting a sharp glare that forces my eyes to narrow against the blinding sight.
I hear Marcus stirring behind me, and I brace myself. I’m not ready for this conversation, but I know it’s inevitable. We can’t just ignore what happened, as much as I might want to.
“Morning,” his voice is a low rumble, still thick with sleep, but there’s a warmth in it that makes my stomach flip.
I turn to face him, and he’s propped up on one elbow, his eyes half lidded but focused on me. There’s a small, sleepy smile on his lips. For a split second, I let myself get lost in the sight of him; the firm lines of his jaw, the tousled brown hair, the way the blanket hangs low on his hips, revealing just enough to make my heart race.
“Morning,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
He sits up fully now, running a hand through his hair and then looking at me with a softness that tugs at something deep inside me. “Come back to bed,” he says, his voice gentle but firm, like it’s not really a suggestion.
I consider it. I want to. God, how I want to. But reality crashes back down, and I shake my head.
“We need to talk,” I say, my voice cracking slightly on the words.
Marcus’s expression shifts, the softness replaced by something more guarded. He doesn’t move, but I can see the tension in his shoulders and the way his jaw tightens ever so slightly.
“Yeah,” he says after a beat, his voice quieter now. “I guess we do.”
Before either of us can say another word, the sound of his phone ringing fills the room, breaking the tension. I glance over at the nightstand, and my heart sinks when I see the name flashing on the screen. It’s Coco.
Marcus reaches for his phone, and in that single motion, it feels as though my heart lodges itself in my throat. My breath catches, and I freeze.
He brings the phone to his ear, and I hear the faintest murmur of Coco’s voice on the other end of the line. It’s too muffled for me to make out the words, but the familiar cadence of her tone sends an icy wave of panic washing over me. My chest tightens, and my pulse quickens with every passing second.
Marcus’s responses come slowly and deliberate. Far too calm for the storm brewing inside me.
“Yeah,” he whispers, his voice steady as ever. “I know… The roads should be clear now.”
He listens for a moment longer, nodding even though she can’t see him. And then he says, “Have a safe flight, kiddo.”
He lowers the phone. The conversation is over, but it feels like the world has just tilted on its axis.
Coco is on her way.
Panic flares in my chest, and I feel like I can’t breathe. Here I am with her father, in his house, standing in nothing but a blanket after spending the night in his bed.
What have I done?
Marcus swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands. The blanket slips away as he moves toward me. He’s so calm, so steady, and I hate that I’m falling apart while he’s standing there like nothing’s changed.
“I’ll handle it,” he says quietly, his eyes locking with mine. “Whatever happens with Coco, I’ll handle it.”
I want to believe him. I want to believe that everything will be okay, that we’ll figure this out. But the fear is too strong and suffocating.
“What if she hates me?” I whisper, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “What if I lose her, Marcus? She’s my best friend.”
He steps closer, his hands reaching for mine. I let him take them and pull me into his arms. I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
“She won’t hate you,” he says, his voice soothing. “We’ll explain. She’ll understand.”
I want to believe him, but I’m not sure I can.
Before I can say anything else, Marcus gently pulls back and presses a soft kiss on my forehead. “Why don’t we go downstairs? I’ll make us some breakfast, and we can figure this out together.”
I nod, though I’m no more certain than I was a moment ago. As he lets me go, I step back, clutching the blanket tighter around me while he gets dressed.
The tension clings to me like a shadow as we make our way downstairs. The kitchen feels unnervingly quiet, the stillness heavy. The thought of the conversation with Coco looms, sharp and inevitable, like a pin waiting to drop. Marcus moves around the kitchen with brisk precision, as if throwing himself into breakfast might somehow smooth things over. I sit at the table, my fingers drumming anxiously along the edge of the wooden surface.
When he turns to me, sliding a plate of eggs and toast in front of me, I can’t help but give him a small, strained smile. “Merry Christmas,” he says softly.
“Merry Christmas,” I respond. The words slipping from my lips soft and careful, but devoid of the warmth usually woven into such a greeting. Even as I say it, the phrase feels hollow, stirring up painful memories like a gust of chilly wind that sweeps through old, unhealed wounds. I’ve never been good at the holidays, not for a long time. The memories of what Christmas means to me. The scars lying just beneath the surface are raw and aching whenever I allow myself to remember.
But then I look at Marcus, at the way he’s looking at me, steady and sure, and something glows inside me. A spark, small but undeniable, in the pit of my stomach. It’s faint at first, almost easy to ignore, but the longer I sit here with him, that spark grows.
It’s the best Christmas I could have hoped for, certainly the best one I’ve had in years. There’s no grand celebration, no gathering of loved ones or piles of presents waiting to be opened. There’s just this moment, this man.
And despite the complications, the tangled web of wrongness that surrounds us, and that everything about this should feel like a mistake… it doesn’t. Not right now.
Because that spark… is because of him. Because of Marcus.
I take a bite, even though my stomach feels too knotted to really eat. Marcus sits across from me, and for a few minutes, we eat in silence. The conflict of emotions and thoughts within me makes me nervous, I feel a restlessness creeping up on me, prompting me to speak.
“I’m sorry,” I say suddenly, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
Marcus looks up, his brow furrowed. “For what?”
“For all of this. For… complicating things.”
He sets his fork down and leans back in his chair, studying me for a moment. “Nyree, this isn’t just on you. We both made a choice last night. It’s complicated, sure, but it doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
His words settle into my chest. But I still can’t shake the feeling that I’ve crossed a line.
Marcus reaches across the table, his hand covering mine. “You don’t have to handle this alone. I’m here, okay?”
Squeezing his hand back, I nod in gratitude for his steady presence, even as my heart continues to feel tightly constricted.
After we finish breakfast, Marcus looks toward the window. The snow outside has stopped falling, but there are still towering drifts blocking the driveway.
“I should probably go shovel the snow,” he says, pushing back from the table.
“I’ll help,” I offer, standing up.
I need to keep my hands busy, my mind occupied with something other than the war between the conflicting emotions of the undeniable pull I feel for Marcus and the guilt of feeling like I have betrayed Coco.
Marcus looks like he’s about to argue, but he doesn’t. He just gives me a small nod, and together we bundle up in coats and scarves, ready to face the cold outside.
The chill hits me as soon as we step out the door, the icy wind biting at my cheeks and making me shiver. Marcus hands me a shovel, and for the next hour, we work side by side, clearing the driveway.
As we work, I can’t help but feel a deeper connection to Marcus. It’s not just his chiseled features or his effortless confidence that draws me in. It’s the way he cares, the way he shows up, not just for me, but for Coco. His love for her radiates in everything he does, even in the way he clears the driveway without a word of complaint.
There’s a comfort in his presence, a warmth that makes me feel safe. It’s the kind of ease that allows me to open up, to speak on things I usually keep locked away in the corners of my heart, even from those closest to me. I’ve kept my grief and my pain buried for so long, especially around the holidays. But now, here with Marcus, in this quiet moment as the snow falls softly around us, I feel the walls I’ve built up come down.
“So... a while ago, you asked why I don’t like Christmas,” I say, my voice tentative, almost lost in the cold air. Marcus stops shoveling and turns to me, his brow furrowing slightly as he processes my words. For a moment, I wonder if I should have kept quiet, if I should have kept my guard up, but his face softens. He nods slowly, sensing that I’m ready to share what I couldn’t before.
“Yeah, I did,” he replies, his voice low and gentle, giving me the space to decide if I truly want to continue.
I take a deep breath, the chill of the winter air filling my lungs as I gather the courage to speak. The memories come flooding back, sharp and overwhelming, but I push through before the familiar ache can swallow me whole.
“I lost my father during Christmas when I was really young...” I say, the words tumbling out like a confession. I pause, feeling the weight of them as they hang in the air between us. “It was... it was traumatic. He was such a sweet man, and it happened so suddenly. Every time the holidays come around, I can’t help but remember how much he loved them. He used to get so excited, like a child… decorating the tree, hanging lights, singing carols...”
I trail off, the knot of grief tightening in my chest as the memories flood my mind. “And now, I don’t know... I just feel guilty. Guilty for enjoying it without him. It’s like I’m betraying his memory somehow. I miss him.”
The last part comes out as a whisper, barely audible, but it carries the weight of years of unresolved sorrow. My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, I feel like I might crumble under the weight of it all.
Then, without a word, Marcus steps closer. His arm slips around me, and I don’t resist. I let myself lean into him, letting his warmth seep into me, grounding me, giving me something solid to hold on to.
For what feels like an eternity, we just stand there in silence, letting the quiet stretch between us, letting it say the things we can’t. And then, finally, Marcus speaks.
“I never used to get Christmas,” he begins, his voice rougher now, tinged with something heavier, something personal. “It was just another holiday to me, nothing special... just another day on the calendar.”
He pauses, his eyes distant, lost in the past. “But then Ellie... my late wife... she loved it. She had this way of making everything magical, you know? Christmas was her favorite time of year. She’d get so excited over the smallest things… the presents, the tree, even mistletoe. It drove me crazy, but it was her. She was...”
His voice catches for a moment, and I feel my heart ache for him. I can hear the love in his voice, the love for a woman who’s no longer here. It stirs something empathetic within me, a kind of kinship that connects our shared loss.
“When she died,” he continues, quieter now, “I couldn’t move on. I was angry. Broken. I felt cheated…by the world, by life... by everything. For her, for me... for Coco. I shut down. I didn’t think I could care about anyone like that again. It just hurt too much.”
He exhales, the cold air turning his breath to mist. “But it got better. I got better. Slowly. I think it’s what Ellie would’ve wanted. And now... now Christmas isn’t so bad. It reminds me of the good times, the happy moments we had. And Coco... she’s a lot like her mom. She brings some of that magic back.”
He turns to me then, his eyes locking onto mine, soft yet full of meaning. “I’m sorry about your father, Nyree. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. But I think... I think he’d want you to be happy. I think he’d want you to find joy again, even if it’s hard.”
His words hit me like a gentle wave washing over me and sinking deep into my heart. And as he steps back, resuming his task of shoveling the snow, I stare at him, overwhelmed by a feeling I hadn’t expected. His kindness, his understanding, his quiet strength. It all adds another layer to him.
This isn’t just about the physical pull I feel toward him. It’s the chemistry that’s crackled between us since the moment we set eyes on each other. No, this is something more. Something deeper. My heart yearns for him, craves his presence in a way that goes beyond desire. It’s a need to be close to him, to share more moments like this one. Moments of raw honesty, vulnerability, and connection.
But even as I feel my heart falling for him, I know that the path ahead is tangled and fraught with complications. Coco. My best friend. His daughter.
How do I explain this to her? How do I tell her that I’m falling for her father? How can I make her understand when I can’t even make sense of it myself?
***