23. Kieran
TWENTY-THREE
KIERAN
The smell of breakfast drifted through the cottage, pulling me awake.
For a moment, I stayed where I was, staring up at the ceiling while the events of the previous day slowly came back to me. Christmas. The skating rink. Walking back through town with Thane. The warmth that had followed me all the way back to the cottage.
Then I shifted beneath the blankets and immediately regretted it. Every muscle in my legs protested. So much for feeling confident by the end of the lesson. Apparently, learning to skate came with consequences.
I pushed the blankets aside and sat up. Pale winter light filtered through the curtains, and somewhere beyond the bedroom door, I could hear dishes clinking together.
Mr. Maple sat on the dresser across the room. I smiled at the sight of him before heading for the bathroom.
A few minutes later, after brushing my teeth, washing up, and changing into a fresh pair of jeans and a sweater, I headed to the kitchen.
Thane stood at the stove with a spatula in one hand and a mug of hot chocolate in the other. He looked up when I walked in. Something softened in his expression. He set the mug on the counter and rested the spatula beside the stove before crossing the small distance between us.
His hand settled at the back of my neck. The kiss was slow and unhurried. Warm. Familiar. The kiss tasted like fresh mint and chocolate goodness. The kiss ended way too soon.
"Morning," he said.
Heat crept into my face even though we'd done considerably more than kiss. "Morning."
His gaze dropped briefly before returning to my face. "How are your legs?"
I narrowed my eyes. "You knew this was going to happen."
A grin appeared immediately. "I might have suspected."
"I feel personally betrayed by several muscle groups."
His grin widened. "Yesterday, you informed me that skating wasn't that hard."
"Yesterday I was a fool."
A laugh escaped him. "You'll survive."
"Easy for you to say. You were born with skates attached to your feet."
"That's not how hockey works."
"It's the only explanation I have."
I slid into a chair at the table. A minute later, he set a mug and a plate loaded with bacon, toast, and eggs in front of me.
I wrapped my hands around the mug and took a sip. Exactly the right amount of cream. My eyes lifted to his. "You remembered."
He shrugged like it wasn't worth mentioning.
I'd noticed that about him. Not the remembering. The way he acted as though remembering wasn't anything special. As though paying attention came as naturally as breathing.
He got his breakfast and took the seat across from me. "Those socks warm enough?"
I looked down. "They're socks."
"They're thin."
I sighed dramatically and reached for a piece of toast. "I survived foster care. I think I can handle a pair of socks."
His expression softened for just a second before he looked away. "That's not really the argument you think it is."
That did something to me, because he said it like the idea of me having to survive anything bothered him.
The conversation drifted to easier things after that. The bakery we'd visited. Whether my legs would still work tomorrow. How much snow had fallen overnight. For a while, it felt easy to pretend we had all the time in the world.
"I saw something at Sugar & Spice the other day."
I looked up. "The café?"
He nodded. "There was a notice on the community board. The senior care facility is looking for volunteers today."
That wasn't what I'd expected him to say. "What kind of volunteers?"
"They need help with activities, serving refreshments, and spending time with residents. Things like that."
I tore off a piece of toast and thought about it. "Have you done that before?" I asked.
"A few times." His answer wasn't surprising.
Neither was the reason when I asked about his parents. He nodded.
"They've made a lot of friends at their facility. I know how much visitors can mean, especially around the holidays."
I looked at him for a moment. Then I looked back down at my coffee.
"Would you want to go?" he asked.
I didn't answer immediately.
It wasn’t because I didn't want to… but because I realized I did. I’d never volunteered at a senior care facility before. Never even thought about it. Now it sounded like exactly the kind of thing I wanted to do. "Yeah, I'd like that."
A smile appeared on his face. "Good."
Something about the way he said it made me smile, too.
Less than an hour later, we pulled into the parking lot of the Juniper Hollow Senior Care Facility.
The building sat on the edge of town, surrounded by snow-covered trees and neatly shoveled walkways.
From the outside, it looked more like a large country inn than a medical facility.
Wreaths hung from the windows. Red ribbons decorated the lamp posts near the entrance.
Someone had wrapped garlands around the porch railings, and a wooden sign wishing visitors a Happy Holiday stood beside the front door.
The warmth hit me the moment we stepped inside. It wasn’t just the temperature but also the atmosphere.
A large Christmas tree stood in one corner of the common room, its branches still covered in ornaments and twinkling lights.
Paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling. Garlands draped across mantels and doorways.
Somewhere nearby, coffee brewed while the scent of cinnamon and freshly baked treats lingered in the air.
Residents filled the room.
Some sat watching television. Others played cards around a table near the windows. A woman worked steadily on a knitting project while two men argued amiably over a board game. A couple of residents dozed in oversized armchairs positioned near the fireplace.
The place felt lived in. Comfortable. Like the people here belonged.
A man wearing scrubs emerged from behind the reception desk and headed toward us with an easy smile. He looked to be around Thane's age. "You must be our volunteers."
"That's us," Thane said.
His gaze shifted to Thane. Recognition flickered there immediately. "Perfect. We can always use extra hands after Christmas." The man's smile widened. "You know, half the town has been pretending not to know you're here."
Thane groaned.
The man laughed. "I said pretending."
A reluctant smile appeared on Thane's face. "That makes it so much better."
"It should."
The man extended a hand. "I'm Nicholas."
We introduced ourselves, and within minutes, it felt like we'd known him longer than a few seconds.
"Thank you both for coming," he said. "We've got refreshments set up in the common room, a few games going, and several residents who mostly want somebody to talk to. Honestly, that's usually the important part."
A few minutes later, we were carrying trays of refreshments into the common room. Coffee, tea, fruit, and a selection of low-sugar treats.
An elderly woman settling into a chair struggled with her cup. Before I could react, Thane was already beside her. "I've got it."
The woman smiled her thanks.
The next half hour passed quickly.
I moved from table to table pouring coffee and tea while Thane seemed to acquire conversations everywhere he went.
He remembered Eleanor's name the second time she introduced herself, listened patiently to a story about a grandson stationed overseas, and somehow made each person feel as though they had his complete attention.
What struck me wasn't that he was helping. Plenty of people helped. It was the way he listened.
Near the fireplace, an elderly woman crooked a finger at him. "Young man."
Thane immediately changed direction. "Yes, ma'am?"
She pointed toward the knitting spread across her lap. "I need an opinion."
Thane studied the yarn with all the seriousness of a man evaluating a playoff strategy. "That seems dangerous."
"So I've been told."
The woman beside her snorted. "Don't listen to Beverly. She asks everybody for opinions and then ignores them."
"That's because most people are wrong."
I laughed and carried a tray toward their table.
Beverly's face brightened. "Perfect."
That single word should have warned me. Before I could react, she dropped a ball of green yarn into my hands. "Hold this."
I stared at it. "I don't know what to do."
"Neither did I when I started."
Apparently, that settled the matter.
The woman beside her sighed. "See what I deal with?"
Beverly pointed a knitting needle at her. "Mrs. Thompson enjoys pretending she's the sensible one."
"I am the sensible one."
For the next several minutes, I found myself helping Beverly untangle yarn while Mrs. Thompson provided running commentary.
I glanced across the room where Thane was with a resident. I couldn't tell what the conversation was about, but Thane wasn't checking his phone or scanning the room for an escape. He was simply listening.
Mrs. Thompson followed my gaze. Oh boy.
Sure enough, Beverly turned toward me. "How long have you two been together?"
I nearly dropped the yarn.
Mrs. Thompson's tone carried decades of practice. "What? It's a reasonable question. He looks at you like you're the only person here."
Heat crept into my face.
As if summoned by the conversation, Thane glanced over. His eyes found mine immediately.
Beverly made a triumphant sound. "There."
Mrs. Thompson rolled her eyes. "Leave the poor boy alone."
"I am helping."
"Nobody asked for your help."
Beverly ignored her. "He's handsome, but that part's not important."
Mrs. Thompson nodded. "She's right about that."
Beverly pointed her knitting needle toward me. "Pay attention to whether he listens."
My gaze drifted back to Thane. Something warm settled inside me. It wasn't because Beverly thought he was handsome. That wasn't exactly breaking news. It was the listening part. The way he made people feel heard. The way he never seemed to realize he was doing anything remarkable.
A familiar voice interrupted before Beverly could continue her interrogation.
"Nicholas." The relief in my voice must have been obvious because Beverly laughed.
Nicholas appeared carrying a tray of fresh cookies. "Should I be concerned?"
"Probably," I said.