18. Colette
COLETTE
H endrix's teeth chatter as he tries to get comfortable on the couch downstairs. The wind whistles through the gaps around the armoire, and despite our makeshift barrier, the living room feels like an ice box.
"You can’t sleep there," I call down from the stairs. "You'll freeze to death."
"I'm f-fine." His voice quivers with each word. "Hockey players are used to the c-cold."
"Hendrix Ellis, you are too heavy for me to hide your body if you die. Get your stubborn self upstairs. Now."
He hesitates, then grabs his blanket and trudges up.
The upstairs of Michelle’s cottage is more of a loft than a second floor—her room is basically a glorified crawl space with a bed stuck in it.
With barely enough room for two people to stand between the bed and the wall, I climb onto the mattress to make room for Hendrix to walk in.
Khan stretches lazily across my pillow, claiming his territory with feline entitlement.
Hendrix appears with his blankets bundled in his arms—his broad frame filling the doorway. He surveys the tight quarters between the bed and wall, then the bed, and promptly spreads his blanket on the hardwood floor.
"Just take the bed," I say. "I'll sleep on the floor."
"No way am I letting you sleep on the floor. I'll just..."
It’s nothing short of comical to see him wedge himself into the narrow space. At six-foot-two, he barely fits in the gap.
"Oof," he grunts. The floor creaks ominously as he adjusts.
I watch him from the edge of the mattress, hanging my head down with amusement. He looks like a sardine. "Hendrix, don't be ridiculous. Take the bed."
"You are not taking the floor, and that’s final.”
I roll my eyes. "Then get up here with me. There’s plenty of room for both of us."
"Your furry friend seems to think otherwise," he snorts.
I shrug. “He can be our chaperone."
His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I remember our kiss in the snow. Heat creeps up my neck.
"I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
"Look, we'll each wrap up in our own blankets—like sleeping bags. No touching. It'll be like camping."
"Camping," he repeats slowly, like he's testing out the word. "With a chaperone cat."
I scoot Khan closer to my side. "He's named after a brutal Mongolian warrior. If you try anything, he’ll claw your eyes out."
Hendrix chuckles, gathering up his blankets. "Fair enough."
The bed dips as he settles in beside me, careful to keep his blanket-cocoon separate from mine. Even with the barrier between us, I'm acutely aware of his presence - the warmth radiating from his body, the fresh scent of his soap, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
The moonlight streaming through the window casts strange shadows across Hendrix's face, and I find myself studying his profile. He's positioned himself so far on the edge of the bed, I worry he might fall off.
"Are you actually comfortable like that?" I whisper.
"Mmhmm," he mumbles, though his body is practically defying gravity.
My heart does a funny little flip as I watch him struggling to maintain his precarious position.
It's oddly endearing how determined he is to respect my space, especially given his reputation as this aggressive enforcer on the ice.
The Hendrix Ellis I knew in high school would have made some crude joke by now, or at least tried to steal my blanket.
Khan purrs contentedly between us, completely oblivious to my internal turmoil.
Because that's what this is—turmoil. Here I am, lying in bed with the guy I've been actively trying to drive out of town, and instead of plotting his exile, I'm noticing how his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks and how the corners of his mouth twitch slightly when he's pretending to be asleep.
Then I remember this is same guy who's currently sabotaging my Christmas pageant and stealing my gym time and?—
He shifts slightly, and in the moonlight, I catch a glimpse of the same vulnerable expression he wore earlier when I told him about my parents. No one's ever looked at me quite like that before, like they wanted to protect me from every bad thing that's ever happened.
My stomach does another flip, and I squeeze my eyes shut. This is dangerous territory. I can't afford to see this softer side of him, can't let myself wonder if maybe I've been wrong about him all these years.
But as I lie here listening to his steady breathing, I'm finding it harder and harder to remember all the reasons I'm supposed to hate him and fall into a sweet, heavy sleep.
Pristine snowbanks glide by as we head back to Brookking.
The morning sun is deceptively bright, making everything sparkle like a Christmas card, but the temperature gauge on the dashboard reads a frigid minus fifteen.
Hendrix's truck is a smooth ride, but the building pressure in my lower abdomen is making me aware of every bump in the road.
Khan meows from his carrier in the backseat, probably protesting being stuffed in there after having free reign of Michelle's cottage all night. I shift in my seat, hyper-aware of Hendrix humming along to an old Rush song on the radio.
My cheeks flush as I remember waking up this morning. Somehow during the night, our careful blanket barrier had disappeared. I'd found myself wrapped in Hendrix's arms, my head tucked under his chin, our legs tangled together. The worst part? It felt... nice. Really nice. Warm and safe and?—
"You're quiet," Hendrix says, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
Because I woke up with my head on your chest and your arms wrapped around me, that's why. And worse—I liked it.
"Just tired," I lie, adjusting my scarf to hide my burning cheeks.
"Really? Because I slept great." He shoots me that insufferable smirk of his. "Best night's sleep I've had in ages, actually."
"The heating was broken and we nearly froze to death."
"I wasn't cold." His grin widens. "Were you?"
I feel my cheeks flush decide to fiddle with my phone instead of humoring him with an answer. The signal bars flicker between one and zero as we wind through the snow-covered countryside.
"Still no service?" Hendrix asks, keeping his eyes on the road.
"Nothing reliable. I need to call Michelle about that window. And probably her insurance company." I bite my lip. "I feel terrible about the Santa demolishing her front window."
"Hey, that's not your fault. Blame the wind. Or blame Santa. Maybe he’ll bring Michelle a new window in that magic sack of his.”
“Please don’t ever say the words “magic sack” again.”
Hendrix guffaws, that bright smile flashing across his face. A face I kissed last night.
"At least we found the boards in the shed," he says. "Though I'm pretty sure that's not what Michelle meant when she asked you to 'board' her cat."
The man isn’t even making sense, or maybe he’s just trying to make me laugh with a nonsensical joke. I’m not THAT uptight about Freudian slips. Am I?
“You boarded the window,” I say pragmatically. “Not the cat.”
Okay, maybe I could loosen up a little bit. Should I have laughed instead? Yeah. I totally should have laughed.
My phone suddenly buzzes with a flood of notifications. "Finally! Signal!" I scroll through the messages—three from Daisy and one from the school announcing canceled classes today. Hendrix’s phone pings, too.
"Classes are cancelled," I tell Hendrix, ignoring Daisy's texts burning a hole in my phone. I'm not ready to explain last night to my best friend. How do you even begin to explain something you don't understand yourself?
"See? Everything works out." Hendrix pats my knee, and I nearly jump out of my skin at the contact. His hand lingers for a moment too long before returning to the steering wheel.
The truck rumbles steadily along the snow-covered road, and I stare out the window, trying to make sense of the last twelve hours. What kind of temporary insanity possessed me to kiss Hendrix Ellis? The same guy who's been nothing but a thorn in my side since he came back to town?
And then, as if kissing him wasn't crazy enough, I invited him to share the bed.
Sure, it was practical – the room was freezing after that window broke.
But still. There were boundaries. Lines that shouldn't be crossed.
Lines that definitely got crossed when I woke up this morning practically wrapped around him like a human pretzel.
A tiny voice in my head keeps whispering that maybe I want to do it again.
Khan meows from the back seat, and I swear he's judging me. Some chaperone he turned out to be.
I sneak a glance at Hendrix. He's focused on the road, one hand loosely gripping the wheel, looking annoyingly calm and collected. Meanwhile, I'm having a full-blown identity crisis.
We hit a patch of ice, and Hendrix expertly corrects our trajectory.
My car breaking down was a blessing in disguise.
There’s no way I could have maneuvered these roads in my Civic.
But Hendrix is just cruising along the road like he cruises through life—with easy confidence.
Even so, each bump in the road is bringing on an increasingly urgent situation.
The coffee hits my bladder like a freight train. I squirm in my seat, crossing and uncrossing my legs. Why, why, WHY did I drink that awful instant coffee? It tasted like burnt rubber mixed with despair, but I was so desperate for caffeine…
"You okay there?" Hendrix glances over. "You're doing some interesting dance moves."
"I need to pee." I clench every muscle. "Like, really need to pee."
"We're at least an hour from anywhere. Can you hold it?"
"I've BEEN holding it." I press my thighs together, trying not to think about running water or waterfalls or—. "Hendrix? I really, really have to go."
"There's nothing out here for miles."
"I'm aware of that," I snap, bouncing in my seat. "Pull over. Now."
"But—"
"Hendrix Ellis, unless you want your precious truck's upholstery ruined, pull over right this second."