10. Levi #2
I stared at the glowing Christmas tree, the lights casting soft reflections off the glass ornaments.
Paige’s teasing still echoed in my mind, but it faded under the persistent tug of worry.
What had I seen in Aiden’s eyes? Sadness?
Loneliness? Whatever it was, it had been gone in a blink, buried beneath his polite smile.
I sighed, glancing at the clock. An hour had passed since I walked Aiden back to the chalet. Mom’s quiet humming came from the kitchen, a familiar melody she always sang while baking. I stood and stretched, trying to shake the unease settling in my chest.
“I’m going to check on something,” I called over my shoulder, heading for the door.
Mom appeared in the kitchen doorway, a knowing look in her eyes. “Check on something?” she repeated, her tone laced with amusement.
“Yeah,” I said, too quickly. “Something.”
Her smile widened, but she didn’t call me out. “Tell him goodnight for me.”
I paused, caught, but she’d already turned back to her mixing bowl. Shaking my head, I grabbed my jacket and stepped outside. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and wood smoke.
As I approached the chalet, I noticed movement through the thin curtains. Aiden’s pacing caught my eye—his silhouette restless. He rubbed the back of his neck, then his arms, like he couldn’t quite settle. My gut tightened. What was bothering him?
I knocked lightly on the door, hoping not to startle him.
A moment later, the door cracked open. Aiden stood there, his hair mussed and his cheeks flushed, like he’d been moving nonstop.
He was wearing soft pajama pants patterned with cartoon reindeer and a loose sweatshirt that hung slightly off one shoulder.
Something about the boyishness of it made my chest ache.
“Levi?” His voice was uncertain, his fingers tightening on the edge of the door. “Is everything okay?”
“I was about to ask you that,” I said gently. “You looked…” I paused, not certain about what I wanted to say. “Mind if I come in?”
He hesitated but stepped back, allowing me inside. The chalet was pleasantly warm. A few stray socks and a hoodie were draped over the armchair, and a stack of books was scattered on the floor near the couch. Not messy, exactly—just lived in.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said quickly, brushing the socks aside to make space on the chair.
“It’s fine,” I said, waving it off. “Looks like you’ve been busy thinking.”
He laughed softly, a self-conscious sound. “Something like that.”
I nodded toward the couch that had been delivered earlier today. “Mind if I sit?”
“Go ahead,” he said, settling on the opposite end. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sweatshirt, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.
“You want to talk about it?” I asked eventually, keeping my voice light.
He shrugged, his gaze dropping. “Just... stuff on my mind. You know how it is.”
I did, but I also knew he was holding something back. My eyes drifted to the book on the coffee table—the one Paige had found. The Littlest Christmas Tree. “I was thinking about this,” I said, picking it up. “Looks like it meant something to you earlier.”
Aiden’s eyes flicked to the book, then away. “My mom used to read it to me,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “When I was a kid. It was... our thing.”
I took in his words, feeling the weight of them, and then asked gently, “Would you like me to read it to you?” It wasn’t about taking her place—just about offering him something that could bring comfort, even if just for a moment.
He shook his head quickly, almost defensively. “No, I’m fine,” he muttered, but his gaze lingered on the book. The longing in his eyes was unmistakable.
I waited a beat, giving him space to rethink. “It would be my pleasure,” I said softly. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”
He looked at me, his lips curving into a reluctant smile. “Okay. Maybe just a little... if you don’t mind.”
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “What happened to your copy?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.
He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “I threw it away after she died. I was so mad—at her, at the world. At everything. It felt like the only way to deal with it.”
His confession hung in the air between us, raw and unguarded. “I get that,” I said softly. “Sometimes anger’s the easiest emotion to express.”
He nodded, his fingers curling against his thigh. I flipped the book open, skimming the first page. “Should I even bother reading it to you, or...?”
His lips quirked, faint but genuine. “I’d like that,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
I gave him a moment to settle, then began reading the first few lines.
The words felt strange at first, but the story’s rhythm soon took over, and it became easier.
I could sense Aiden’s body relaxing next to me, his body language softening as the familiar story unfolded.
The more I read, the closer he drew to me, inching toward my side until his head finally came to rest on my shoulder.
I could feel the weight of his head against me, and something about it made my heart tighten in my chest. There was a kind of quiet vulnerability to him, comforting in its own way.
And I draped my arm around his shoulders, fully expecting him to stiffen, to pull away.
But he did neither of those things. I released a breath I didn't even know I was holding.
We sat in companionable silence, the words flowing between us like a gentle current. Aiden’s body grew lighter against me, his breathing deepening as the tension slowly left his body. He seemed to trust me, and that was something I hadn’t expected either.
“This is nice,” he murmured, his voice heavy with drowsiness. “Safe.”
The word settled deep in my chest. I tightened my arm around his shoulders, keeping him close. “I’m glad,” I said softly. “You deserve that.”
Aiden didn’t reply. His breathing evened out, and I could feel the soft weight of sleep pulling him under. I kept reading, my voice low, until I was sure he was fully asleep.
Carefully, I closed the book and set it aside on the coffee table, not wanting to disturb the calm between us.
Aiden was still nestled into my side, his weight heavy and warm.
I could feel his pulse beneath my palm as I slowly lifted him into my arms, holding him bridal style.
His body melted against me, and I felt a quiet ache in my chest—not from discomfort, but from the overwhelming sense of protectiveness that swelled up as I carried him toward the bedroom.
The sheets were a little rumpled, but I was careful as I laid him down on the bed.
I made sure he was comfortable, adjusting the blanket to tuck him in gently.
His face was relaxed now, free of the tension it had held earlier.
I watched him for a moment, his peaceful expression making something warm unfurl in my chest.
After a short while, I pulled the blanket up over him, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he slept. Something about the quiet of the room, the stillness of him, made me feel like I’d just been given something precious. Something I hadn’t realized I needed to protect.
I left the bedroom quietly, not wanting to disturb him. In the living area, I bent down and gathered the scattered books from the floor, stacking them neatly on the coffee table. The hoodie that had been draped across the chair was folded carefully and placed on the armrest.
As I finished, I took one last look toward the bedroom door.
Something inside me shifted, a feeling that I couldn’t quite define but that felt important, like it was the start of something.
I glanced back at the now-tidy room, my heart full, and without thinking, whispered, “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep that peace for you. ”