Chapter 21
HAZEL
“Bread, milk, peanut butter, fruit, meat…” I mutter under my breath, scratching off each item on my list with a dull pencil.
Pretzel peers from my coat pocket, his tiny nose twitching as though he, too, is judging my choices.
My cart is already overflowing—more than enough food for two weeks, three if I stretch it. But indecision gnaws at me.
I’m a mood eater. Always have been. And right now, my mood is an absolute mess.
I stop in front of the freezer aisle, staring at the glowing rows of prepackaged meals—the kind you throw in the oven and hope for the best. Comforting, sure.
But not the same as cooking from scratch.
Not the same as the hearty breakfast Benjamin’s mom had whipped up like it was nothing. Not the same as—
Cinnamon rolls.
That’s what I’m really craving. Warm, gooey, dripping in frosting. A cinnamon roll and—
Benjamin’s kisses.
My chest aches at the thought. My fingers tighten around the cart handle, and before I know it, I’ve pulled out my phone for the hundredth time today. Still no notifications. No texts. No missed calls.
Not even a damn thinking of you.
I sigh, hard, and shove the phone back into my pocket. My heart feels too heavy for something as small as a missed message.
With a sharp tug, I yank open the glass freezer door, grab two packages of frozen cinnamon rolls, and toss them into my cart. They’ll taste like cardboard—I already know it. But at least they’ll be something.
Would anything taste right without him?
A strange, magnetic pull tightens in my chest—so sudden and strong I stiffen, my hand still on the freezer handle. Slowly, cautiously, I lift my head.
And then I see him.
Benjamin.
Standing at the end of the aisle, broad shoulders filling the space, his blue plaid flannel and suspenders familiar enough to stop my heart.
For a heartbeat, the world tilts into something unreal—like a scene from one of those corny rom-coms. His eyes lock with mine across the stretch of fluorescent-lit tile and cold metal shelves.
And in that moment, every memory crashes back—the snow, the warmth of his bed, the sound of his laugh, the kiss under the mistletoe that had set every nerve in my body on fire.
My fingers tremble as I step away from the freezer. Pretzel squeaks, as if reminding me to breathe.
He’s here.
He’s really here.
Benjamin takes a step forward, then another, his gaze never leaving mine. There’s something raw in his expression, something that strips me down to the bone.
“Hazel,” he says when he finally reaches me. His voice is low, rough—like gravel and honey all at once.
“Benjamin,” I whisper, but it comes out shakier than I want. I clear my throat, trying to force a smile. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Grocery shopping?”
“Not exactly.” He glances at my cart before his eyes flick back to mine. “I was looking for you.”
My heart stutters. “For me?”
He nods, and suddenly he looks like he’s holding back a storm. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Hazel. The way you smile. The way you made my whole damn house feel brighter just by being in it. I thought if I gave you space, maybe it would fade. But it hasn’t. It’s only gotten worse.”
My throat tightens, and I grip the cart like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. “Benjamin…”
“I stopped by your house, but your car wasn’t there.
I went to the candy shop, but it was closed up for the night.
” He takes another step, close enough now that I can smell the pine and smoke clinging to his clothes.
Close enough that the heat rolling off him makes me want to fall into his arms. “Goddess damn it, Hazel, I felt like a stalker, but I had to find you. Had to tell you.”
“How did you find me?” I resist the urge to reach out and run my hand down the front of his flannel.
“I don’t know—no, I do know. I could feel you.” He thumps his chest. “I was driving down Main Street and just followed my instincts. It led me here.”
“Why didn’t you call? Or text?” My voice comes out breathless, tangled with all my worries and hopes.
“I was worried you’d changed your mind.”
“What made you think that?”
“I… I don’t know.” He twists his hands—and that’s when I see it. My hat.
“Then Nathan found me in the forest, chopping wood, and offered to return your beanie. And I lost it.”
“So you drove all the way to town to return my hat?” I lift a brow.
“No. I came for you—to see you. I don’t care if it’s too soon.
I don’t care if it’s complicated. I just need you to know—” His jaw works, his hand raking through his hair as if the words hurt to say.
“I don’t want to imagine another winter, another Christmas, another morning without you. You’re it for me, Hazel.”
Tears blur my vision before I can stop them. My lips part, but nothing comes out except a breathless laugh. “Goddess, Benjamin, I know it’s only been a week, but do you have any idea how many times I’ve imagined you saying that?”
Relief softens his features, and in the next breath, he’s closing the distance. One strong hand cups my cheek, the other braces against the cart—and then his mouth is on mine.
It’s not tentative like the mistletoe kiss. It’s hungry, claiming. A kiss that leaves no room for doubt. The kind that says forever without a single word.
The cinnamon rolls slide from my cart and hit the floor, but I don’t care. Not when his lips taste better than anything I’ve ever known.
When he finally pulls back, breath ragged, his forehead rests against mine.
“So what do you say, sugarplum?” he whispers. “Ready to stop running from this?”
I smile through my tears, my hands still gripping his suspenders like I’ll never let go. “I was never running, Benjamin. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”
His answering grin steals the rest of my breath, and then his mouth is on mine again, sealing the promise we both already knew in our hearts.
This wasn’t just a kiss.
This was home.
“The groceries!” I squeal as Benjamin captures me in his arms and claims my lips in a breath-stealing kiss the moment I step out of my car.
“It’s freezing outside—they can wait,” he growls against the side of my neck as one hand snakes under the hem of my sweater.
“Benjamin!” I yelp, squirming in his grip as his lips graze my jaw.
“Say my name again, sugarplum.” His voice is low, teasing, and the nip of his teeth against my skin sends a delicious shiver through me.
I try to wriggle free but only end up pressed tighter against him. My breath hitches as his palm works over the tight knots in my back, kneading away the long day. The ache melts under his touch, but the heat he leaves in its place is infinitely more distracting.
“What will the neighbors think?” I groan, though it comes out more like a whimper as my head tips back against his shoulder.
“They’ll think I’m taking care of what’s mine.” The words come out soft, possessive, before he finally loosens his hold.
I exhale shakily, trying to gather myself. He moves to the trunk I left open, scooping every single grocery bag into his arms like it’s nothing.
“Show off,” I mutter, rolling my eyes, though I can’t keep the grin from tugging at my lips. My gaze betrays me, lingering on the way his flannel stretches across his shoulders, the effortless flex of muscle. Goddess, he looks good just carrying groceries.
He shoots me a smirk, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Let me at least get the door,” I grumble, desperate for something to do besides ogle him.
I shut the trunk and hurry up the path, fumbling with the keys before pushing the front door open. Benjamin breezes past me like he owns the place, depositing the bags on the counter with a thud. He looks like a giant in my small cottage with its low ceilings. How had I not noticed that before?
I start unpacking, sorting perishables into the fridge, pretending my pulse isn’t still racing from being pinned against him. He moves around me with casual confidence, pulling out a pot and setting something on the stove.
“Wait a second.” I pause, watching as he sprinkles seasoning into broth. “I thought the groceries could wait. Now you’re making dinner?”
He doesn’t look up. “That was before I heard your stomach growl when you walked through the door. I’m not about to let my mate starve.”
My heart lurches at the word. My hands freeze mid-reach for the carton of milk. “Mate? As in, fated mates?”
The spoon stills, his shoulders tightening. For a beat, the only sound is the quiet simmer of broth. Then he slowly turns, meeting my gaze. His eyes are darker now—stormy, steady. “Yes. As in fated mates.”
The room tilts, my breath catching. Fated mates. My hand finds his forearm almost instinctively, grounding me as the truth sinks in.
“When did you know?” I whisper, my teeth worrying my bottom lip.
“The moment you stepped out of your car that first night.” His voice is low, unyielding. “Looking for a tree, hair a mess from the wind, cheeks red from the cold. You were stubborn, fiery, determined—and I knew. My bear knew.”
Emotion swells thick in my chest. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”
His mouth quirks, though his eyes remain serious. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh hey, I know we’re complete strangers, but you’re mine for eternity. By the way, don’t bother leaving—I’ll just follow you home.’ You had one thing on your mind that night—getting that damn tree.”
A startled laugh bursts out of me. I double over, clutching my stomach as tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “You have a point.”
Benjamin just watches me.
Wiping my eyes, I manage, “But that tree brought me to you. If I hadn’t been half as stubborn as I am, I would’ve given up when every shop in town was sold out.
” I step into him, my arms circling his neck, the warmth of him chasing away every lingering doubt.
“Thank goodness for meddling old Harry. He’s as bad as your gran. ”
“I’m glad you didn’t give up.” His hands slide to my waist, drawing me closer. He brushes a kiss against the tip of my nose, playful and sweet, and my heart melts.
“I’m glad you cut down that tree for me… and then rescued me,” I murmur, tightening my hold. “Was that… was that the bond?”
His forehead rests against mine, eyes closing as if the answer is too much to bear.
“I think so,” he admits, voice rough. His thumb strokes along my hip, like he can’t help touching me. “I should never have let you leave.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” I tease, narrowing my eyes as Benjamin pulls me closer, lifting me like I weigh nothing. “You’re going to have to leave that cabin in the woods more often than just Christmas now.”
“Are you inviting me to move in, Miss Hazel?” His brows lift with mock indignation, though the grin tugging at his lips gives him away. “Whatever will my mother say?”
“I’m sure she’ll survive.” I nudge his shoulder with mine as he sets me down on the counter. “Maybe we can even convince her and your dad to visit town more often. They might even like it.”
He shakes his head with a soft laugh, then leans in so close I can feel the warmth of his breath. “Perhaps. But first, let’s get you fed before your stomach tries to gnaw its way free.”
My cheeks heat as I remember the very audible growl it let out earlier. “Traitor,” I mutter, rubbing my midsection.
Benjamin doesn’t miss a beat. He spoons steaming chicken noodle soup into a bowl, blows gently across the surface, then lifts the spoon to my lips. “Open.”
I roll my eyes, but when his gaze locks on mine—those stormy-blue eyes that undo me every single time—I obey. The moment the broth touches my tongue, it floods me with a warmth that goes deeper than hunger. It feels like home. Like him.
He grins knowingly. “Good?”
“Dangerously good,” I admit, chasing the taste with another bite.
We fall into an easy rhythm, passing the spoon back and forth, laughing when a drip lands on my chin and he leans in to kiss it away.
By the time the spoon scrapes the bottom of the bowl, my stomach might be satisfied—but my body is starving for something else entirely.
I lean closer, lowering my voice. “Still hungry.”
His gaze darkens, understanding sparking instantly. “Good. Because I’m not sure I’ll ever get enough of you, Hazel.”
Before I can quip back, Benjamin sweeps me into his arms. My laugh echoes as he carries me into the living room, depositing me in the same nest of blankets where this all began. He turns and busies himself at the hearth until the fire crackles to life, bathing the room in a golden glow.
When he crawls over to me, his lips brush mine with a tenderness that steals the breath from my lungs. My magic hums, alive beneath my skin, thrumming in time with his heartbeat against my chest.
I cup his face, whispering the truth I can’t keep in anymore. “You should’ve told me that first night.”
His smile is faint, almost guilty. “I wanted to. But how do you tell a stranger you’ve just met that they’re your fated mate?”
“You could’ve said, ‘Oh hey, I know you just want that damn Christmas tree, but by the way—you’re mine.’”
He laughs, low and rough, the sound vibrating against my lips. “You would’ve run.”
“Maybe.” I grin, threading my fingers through his hair. “But maybe I would’ve stayed. After all, that tree brought me to you.”
He presses his forehead to mine, his voice a vow wrapped in velvet. “And I should never have let you leave.”
My breath catches. Because he’s right. Neither of us can walk away now. Not after this. Not ever.