Chapter Ten
Tessa
At some point, sleep finally won out. I drifted off with Clay’s warmth against my back, his breath at my neck, and the storm outside finally settling, like whatever had been raging between us had, too.
When I blink awake, the room is dim with early sunlight. The blankets are a mess around me, and the air is cool where his body should be.
For a moment, I think he’s still there. I can almost feel the weight of his arm around my waist and the rough edge of his jaw against my shoulder. But when I reach back, there’s nothing but empty sheets.
Then comes the soft scrape of boots on the floor, the clink of silverware, and a low sigh that sounds heavier than it should. Before my eyes are fully open, the mattress dips beside me.
“Sugar,” he murmurs, voice rough from sleep.
My lashes flutter open. The smell hits me first—coffee, bacon, and something sweet. Clay’s sitting on the edge of the bed, tray balanced in his hands with a stack of pancakes, eggs, and bacon.
My mouth pulls into a slow smile. “What’s all this?”
He shrugs, that lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Figured I owed you. I’ve been kind of a Scrooge.”
“Kind of?” My laugh slips out as I push myself up, letting the sheets fall away.
He leans in a little, his eyes flicking from mine down to my chest. The heat in his stare makes it hard to breathe. “Don’t get used to this,” he says softly. “I’m still a grump, ya know.”
The air between us thickens, heavy enough to make my pulse stumble. He picks up the fork, cuts into one of the pancakes, and holds it out to me, syrup glistening along the edge.
I lean in and take the bite, humming around the sweet taste. A drop of warm syrup falls and lands on my chest.
“What?” I ask, smiling despite the heat rushing up my neck.
Clay’s eyes shift to my chest once more before he swipes the fork over my nipple.
“Nothing.” His voice drops lower. “You missed a spot.”
His thumb swipes over the syrup before smearing it over my nipple. He stares into my eyes as he leans in, swiping his tongue over the tight bud. My breath hitches, and the tray wobbles between us, as a low moan escapes my mouth.
“Clay,” I exhale his name on a sigh.
His thumb traces the curve of my jaw, catching another trace of syrup at the corner of my mouth.
He could stop there, but he doesn’t. His hand stays, his thumb grazing my skin before his lips replace it.
The kiss is slow, tasting like warmth and sugar, like something we both know we shouldn’t want but do anyway.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine for a beat, both of us caught in the quiet we’ve created. His breath skims my cheek, as if he’s trying to convince himself this isn’t what it feels like. It’s something more than it should be.
He leans back and watches me finish the rest, the room quiet except for the faint scrape of my fork. His eyes stay on me, tracking every slow bite, every time I drag my tongue across my lip to catch the syrup. The weight of his stare coils heat low in my stomach until I can barely breathe.
When I set the fork down, he reaches out, takes the tray from my lap, and sets it aside.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, standing. “You’re a mess. Let me run you a bath before we hit the road.”
He lifts me easily, carrying me into the bathroom. The air is cool, his bare feet quiet against the tile as he leans over the tub. Water pours from the faucet, and the steam rises into the morning light.
“Relax,” he says, glancing back at me. “I’ll take care of everything else.”
There’s a gentleness in his voice that stings, like he’s trying to hold on to this before it’s gone.
When he leaves, the quiet hums around me. I sink into the bath and close my eyes, the warmth wrapping around me until all I can think about is him—the way he looked at me like he wanted to stay, even as I can feel him slipping away.
By the time I’m dressed and packed, he’s by the door with his duffel slung over his shoulder. His shirt is buttoned to the collar, his jaw set tight. He looks like a man already bracing for goodbye.
“The roads should be better today,” he says finally, voice low. “Plows came through the main stretch. We’ll make it in time for Christmas Eve dinner.”
It’s not what I wanted him to say, not after last night. But I nod anyway. “Good.”
Cold air stings my face as we step outside. The hard and slick snow glitters in the sunlight. I pull my coat tight as my feet crunch across the ice.
“Careful,” he starts to say, but the warning comes too late. My foot slides, and the world starts to tilt.
“Clay—”
He’s there before I can hit the ground, his hands catching my arms and pulling me against his chest. The shock knocks the breath out of me, a startled laugh slipping past my lips.
“Some things don’t change,” I murmur. “Still the same girl who can’t stay on her feet. Still needing you to catch me.”
His fingers tighten around me, a faint smile tugging at his mouth even as the color drains from his face. For a split second, I see something flicker there, a mix of panic and fear, before he blinks it away.
“You okay?” The words drag like sandpaper.
“Yeah.” My pulse continues to race. “Thanks for catching me.”
He exhales, his breath fogging between us. “Always will,” he mutters, almost too quiet to hear.
His fingers flex once before he lets go, his jaw tightening like he’s forcing himself to step back.
“Let’s go,” he mumbles, nodding toward the car.
I follow him, our boots crunching through the snow. The space between us feels fragile again—thin as the ice beneath our feet, one wrong move away from breaking.
Clay loads the bags into the trunk while I climb into the passenger seat. The leather is cold against my back as I stare out at the cabin. Every part of me hums with what we tried to leave behind.
The roads and the sky are both clear, making the drive easier this time, but the quiet between us feels worse. Without the storm or the wipers, there’s nothing left to fill the space. Every mile feels like it stretches a little farther between us.
The radio plays low until a slow, sultry version of “Santa Baby” comes on. The singer’s voice drips through the speakers, too intimate for two people pretending not to think about last night. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Clay’s hand tense on the gear shifter, his jaw clenching hard.
I turn toward the window, watching the snow-covered fields blur by. My eyes burn until the view goes hazy. I wonder if he’s thinking about it too—the feel of his hands on me, the sounds we couldn’t hold back, the way he said my name like it was a promise he shouldn’t have made.
By the time he slows onto the familiar street, relief hits fast and sharp. At least here, the noise and chaos will be enough to cover whatever’s still hanging between us.
Mom’s already on the porch, bundled in a red sweater and scarf, waving like she’s been waiting all day.
The lodge behind her looks straight out of a postcard—wood beams dusted with snow, a wreath hanging on every window, garland wrapped around the railings with warm white lights woven through.
A tree glows in the front window, its reflection flickering against the glass.
Clay shifts the car into park, but neither of us moves. For a second, the quiet hangs between us. Then he reaches over, his hand brushing mine in my lap. His thumb finds that spot at the base of my wrist and traces slow circles that make it hard to breathe.
“Hey.” His voice is low. “I’m sorry. I’ve been in my head all morning. I didn’t mean to shut you out.”
I turn toward him, and his eyes catch mine. The pull between us feels dangerous, like he’s caught between moving closer and forcing himself to stay still.
He exhales, thumb still rubbing my skin. “It wasn’t just one night, Tess. Don’t think that. I’ve been stuck on what people might say and how it would look, but that doesn’t change the fact that last night meant everything to me. I want you. Hell, somehow I think I want you even more now.”
Every word sparks against my skin, burning a path up my arm and into my chest. I grip the seat, pulse hammering, every inch of me aching to close the distance he’s still trying to keep.
For a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. He leans in, close enough that I can feel his breath, the air thick with everything we’re not saying. His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering there, and my heart stumbles. Then his eyes flick past me, toward the porch.
Mom’s still there, waiting patiently—no idea she just stopped us from falling any deeper than we already have. His jaw flexes, and I see the moment he forces himself to rein it in.
His hand doesn’t move right away. His thumb traces my wrist one last time before he finally pulls back. The air between us feels charged, like something about to break.
His gaze flicks to my mouth, then to my eyes. “We’ll finish this later.” His tone drips with a promise I feel in my bones.
He kills the engine, the hum fading into the cold.
“Come on, Sugar,” he says, voice still rough, still burning. “Let’s go face the circus.”
“Finally!” Mom beams, pulling me into a hug. Her arms squeeze until my ribs ache, but I melt into it anyway. She smells like vanilla and home, familiar and safe. The weight of the past few days catches up to me all at once, sitting heavy in my chest.
When she lets go, her attention shifts to Clay. She pats his arm like he’s one of her own, fussing with his sleeve like it’s wrinkled, although it never is. Nothing ever is with him.
I glance at him, leaning against the entryway pillar, trying too hard to look relaxed.
His coat’s gone, just a white button-down stretched across his shoulders, sleeves pushed to his forearms. The soft glow from the tree lights hits him in a way that makes it hard to look away. He looks calm, but I know better now.
Our eyes meet for a second—long enough for everything I’m trying not to feel to come rushing back. The air shifts, my pulse skips, and for just a moment, I see it. The same look he had when he kissed me like he couldn’t stop if he tried.
I look away first, afraid someone might see. Afraid he might not. But the heat sticks, crawling up my neck and settling low in my stomach.
Our moms keep talking about dinner and how Steven and Erica are getting the kids ready.
“Evan will be here too,” Clay’s mom says, giving me a knowing smile.
The name hits hard. My ex. His brother. The reason none of this will ever be simple.
When I glance back, Clay’s already watching me, his face unreadable but his jaw tight. The message is clear enough—don’t look at me like that here. Not with them. Not with him.
His phone buzzes, cutting clean through the moment. He glances down, thumb swiping across the screen, and I see it—the way his jaw tightens, his shoulders lock, that small crack in him sealing shut. Whatever name flashed across the screen pulls him right back behind the wall he’d let slip.
The version of him I had is gone. But even from across the room, I can still feel it. The pull. The secret sits heavy between us, buried beneath the sound of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” playing and our moms’ laughter.
“I have a few calls to make,” Clay states, already mentally somewhere else. He slides the phone into his pocket like it’s something heavy he can’t put down. “I’ll catch up with everyone in a bit.”
Before I can respond, he’s already walking down the hall, his walls snapping back into place. The house hums around me with music and chatter, but it all feels distant.
Mom’s voice pulls me back. She’s already at my side, tugging at the buttons on my coat, trying to help me out of it, and I let her. It’s easier than thinking. Easier than watching him walk away again.
I barely have time to breathe before another voice cuts through the noise.
“Tess!”
I turn, and there’s Evan.
Same easy grin. Same boyish charm. Evan’s the kind of guy people like without even trying.
He’s goodlooking, confident, and always says the right thing at the right time.
He pulls me into a hug before I can brace for it, his arm slipping around my shoulders, familiar and easy in a way that used to feel good. Now it just feels off.
“Look at you,” he says, grin widening. “You look incredible. But then again, you always do, Tess.”
“Thanks.” I force a small smile.
Evan finally steps back, but not enough. His hand lingers on my arm, thumb brushing once before he lets go. “So,” he says, still smiling, “you and Clay got snowed in together, huh? Bet that was... cozy.”
The pause in his voice stretches, and the way his eyes hold mine makes my stomach twist. It sounds playful, but there’s something else there, like he’s testing the waters.
I laugh once, short and strained. “Yeah, something like that. Mostly just trying not to freeze.”
He hums, head tilting. “I don’t know... I’ve been stuck in worse places. Especially if the company’s good.”
The comment hangs heavy between us. My smile falters before I can stop it, and his grin only deepens, like he caught it. “Guess Clay’s not the worst company to get stuck with, then,” he adds, tone light but his eyes searching.
I shift my weight, trying to act casual, but the air between us feels charged. His smile doesn’t quite match the sharp tone underneath it. Maybe it’s curiosity, or perhaps it’s jealousy. I can’t tell if it’s about me or Clay.
Evan’s the kind of man who should make my heart race. He’s easy on the eyes, easy to like. But standing here, all I can think about is how my pulse never jumps the way it does when Clay looks at me.
My mom interrupts us from the kitchen. “Tessa, can you help me set the table before everyone gets here?”
Relief floods in. “Yeah, sure. Of course.”
Evan steps aside but doesn’t move far, eyes still on me. “We’ll catch up later,” he says. It sounds harmless, but there’s an edge to it.
I move past Evan, feeling his eyes on me until I reach the doorway. Down the hall, Clay stands with his phone in hand, eyes locked on us. On Evan’s hand, still hanging at my arm like he forgot to let go. The muscle in Clay’s jaw ticks before he looks away, pretending it doesn’t sting.
As the noise of my brother’s family’s arrival fills the house, I know it’s only a matter of time before everything we’re hiding starts to unravel.