Chapter 42 Dove
DOVE
The bells above the bookstore door jingled softly as a customer walked in, the sound blending with the faint Christmas music playing through the old speakers mounted on the walls.
The store smelled of cinnamon and pine, thanks to the garland draped across the shelves and the candles Christina had insisted on burning near the register.
Warm light spilled from the frosted windows, making the small shop feel like a snow globe scene come to life. Outside, Hollow Hills was in full holiday swing, its cobbled streets dusted with fresh snow and lined with twinkling lights.
It was December in Hollow Hills, and that meant traditions. The entire town looked like it had been plucked out of a Hallmark movie, with wreaths on every lamppost and cheery red ribbons strung between the storefronts.
A massive tree stood in the town square, its branches adorned with handmade ornaments, and a star that the mayor ceremoniously placed on top every year.
There was the annual “Candlelit Stroll,” where the townspeople paraded down Main Street with lanterns, singing carols while snow fell softly around them.
And, of course, the “Great Gingerbread Contest,” which had everyone from the local bakery to the firehouse vying for the title of Best Gingerbread Creation.
This year’s top contender was a life-sized gingerbread replica of the town’s historic clock tower.
I should have felt the magic of it all—the charm, the warmth, the joy. But as I stacked a new shipment of books on the table near the window, I realized I didn’t feel any of it. Not really. I was here. I was functioning. But it was all surface-level, like I was going through the motions.
In the quiet moments, when the hum of the store died down, and I was left with nothing but my thoughts, that was when the ache hit me hardest.
That was when I thought of him.
Ashton.
It was ridiculous. I hated him, didn’t I?
I should hate him. He’d taken me, broken me, made me feel things I shouldn’t have felt, and then…
then he’d told me to leave. He’d said those awful, cruel things, torn me apart, and I still couldn’t get him out of my head.
I hated myself for it. For the way my mind would drift back to him when I was alone, for the way his face haunted my dreams.
“Dove!” Christina’s voice snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts. She was standing by the counter, holding two steaming cups of coffee and grinning like she’d just won the lottery. “I brought caffeine. You’re welcome.”
I rolled my eyes but smiled despite myself. “Thanks. I think I’ll need it to get through today.”
She handed me a cup, her expression softening as she studied me. “You’re working too much,” she said. “You should come out with me tonight. The Candlelit Stroll is happening, and it’ll be fun. You love it every year.”
“I’ll pass,” I said quickly, taking a sip of coffee to avoid her gaze. “I’m not in the mood for carols and crowds.”
Christina leaned against the counter, her brow furrowing. “You’re never in the mood for anything anymore. You can’t keep doing this, Dove.”
“I’m fine,” I said, a little too sharply. I wasn’t, but I didn’t want to admit that—not to her, not to anyone.
“You’re not,” she said, her tone gentler now. “You’re just pretending to be.”
I sighed, setting the coffee down and crossing my arms. “What do you want me to do, Christina? Forget everything that happened? Pretend like it didn’t—”
“I want you to stop punishing yourself,” she interrupted. “And maybe… maybe you should talk to him.”
I stiffened, the mention of him instantly putting me on edge. “We’re not doing this,” I said, shaking my head. “Not today.”
“Dove, he saved you,” Christina said, her voice firm. “He risked everything to get you away from that psycho. He’s not—”
“He’s not a hero!” The words came out louder than I intended, and I immediately felt the weight of the customers’ curious glances.
I lowered my voice, my hands trembling as I gripped the edge of the counter.
“He’s not a hero, Christina. He’s the reason I was in that situation to begin with. He’s the reason I’m… like this.”
Christina didn’t flinch at my outburst. She just looked at me with that infuriating mix of patience and concern. “I know he hurt you,” she said quietly. “I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. But I also know you care about him. And he cares about you.”
I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “If that’s how he shows he cares, I want no part of it.”
Her eyes softened, and she reached out, resting a hand on my arm. “I just… I don’t want you to close yourself off, Dove. You deserve to be happy.”
I swallowed hard, my throat tight as I fought back the emotions threatening to overwhelm me. “I can’t do this right now,” I said, stepping away. “I need to get back to work.”
Christina sighed, clearly wanting to push the issue, but she didn’t. Instead, she gave me a small nod and grabbed her coffee. “Fine,” she said. “But this conversation isn’t over.”
She left the store a few minutes later, and I was grateful for the quiet that followed. But as I stared out the window at the snow falling gently on the cobblestone streets, I couldn’t help but think about what she’d said.
I didn’t know if I could ever forgive Ashton. But the truth—the awful, aching truth—was that no matter how much I wanted to hate him, a part of me still loved him.
And I hated myself for it.
The day dragged on, each hour slower than the last. I tried to keep my focus on work, but my thoughts had other plans.
Customers came and went, smiling and chatting as they picked out books for holiday gifts.
The warm hum of festive cheer surrounded me, but it all felt distant, like I was watching it through a fogged window.
I forced a smile when people came to the register, ringing up their purchases and offering polite holiday wishes, but it was mechanical. Inside, my heart felt heavy, like a weight I couldn’t shake. Every quiet moment, every lull in the day, my mind betrayed me, dragging me back to Ashton.
The way he looked at me. The way he held me. The way he made me feel, seen in a way no one else ever had. And then… the way he broke me, piece by piece, until I didn’t know who I was anymore.
I shelved books in the back corner of the shop, staring blankly at the spines, my hands trembling slightly as the memories flooded in.
His rare, almost hesitant smiles. The quiet strength in the way he stood beside me, like he was shielding me from the world.
The dark intensity in his eyes that made me feel like I was the center of his universe, even when I didn’t want to be.
And then his voice—cold, cutting, cruel—when he told me to leave.
I shook my head, swallowing hard as I blinked back tears. Stop it, Dove. You’re better than this.
By the time night fell, the shop was nearly empty, the last customer leaving with a cheery “Merry Christmas!” I locked the door behind them, glancing out the window at the bustling street.
The Candlelit Stroll was in full swing, families and couples walking arm in arm with glowing lanterns and candles, their faces lit with joy.
The air smelled of roasted chestnuts and spiced cider, and the faint sound of carolers drifted through the crisp winter night.
I flipped the shop’s sign to “Closed” and grabbed my coat, pulling it tightly around me as I stepped outside.
The cold air hit my cheeks, sharp and refreshing, and I took a deep breath, trying to ground myself.
The streets were crowded, people laughing and chatting, the glow of lanterns making everything feel magical.
But I felt so far removed from it all, like I didn’t belong in this world anymore.
I turned to lock the door, fumbling with the keys in my gloved hands, when I bumped into someone.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said quickly, stepping back. My eyes moved up to meet theirs, and my breath caught in my throat.
It was him.
Ashton.
He stood there, towering over me, his dark coat dusted with snow and his hair tousled from the cold wind.
His eyes—those piercing, stormy eyes—locked onto mine, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
The world around us seemed to blur, the bustling streets and the cheerful voices fading into nothing.
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. My heart was racing, my chest tight with a mix of emotions I couldn’t untangle. Anger. Pain. Longing. All of it crashing into me at once.
“Ashton,” I breathed, his name slipping from my lips before I could stop it.
He didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just stood there, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite name. Something that made my knees feel weak and my heart ache all over again.
And in that moment, all the walls I’d tried so hard to build came crumbling down.