Chapter Fourteen
Ava
Winter Carnival arrives like it always does—loud, bright, and stunningly unbothered by the fact that half the town spent last week buried under a blizzard.
By sunset, Main Street glows under strings of lanterns made from ice and tea lights. Kids tear across the snow-packed road like gremlins. Someone set up a cocoa tent that smells like cinnamon and nostalgia. The air tastes like sugar and frost.
I love it every year.
This year, it feels different though.
Because this year, Jax Taylor is here.
Voluntarily. Sort of.
Violet bounces beside us, all puffy coat and sparkly hat and fourteen-year-old hopefulness. Jax walks on her other side, shoulders hunched against the cold, boots crunching in a rhythm so steady it almost blends into the music drifting from the speakers.
He said he didn’t want to come.
Then Violet said, “Please?”
And the stubborn, avalanche-surviving mountain man folded like a wet napkin. Now he walks like a man calculating escape routes while pretending he’s not calculating escape routes.
People glance our way. A few wave. Some whisper.
We ignore it. Or try to.
“It’s not usually this crowded,” I tell Jax as we weave through a cluster of families.
“It’s crowded enough,” he mutters, eyes narrowing at a group of teenagers running past. “Do they all have a death wish?”
“They’re children.”
“Same thing.”
I bite back a smile. “Relax. This is supposed to be fun.”
“For who?”
“Your new fan club, apparently.”
He stiffens. “Ava.”
“What? I’m just saying—after the avalanche, you’ve become the mysterious town icon. The hermit resurrected. People are curious.”
“They should be less curious.”
“Good luck with that.”
We reach the game stalls, and Violet lets out a delighted gasp. “The ring toss! Mom, can I—?”
I barely get out a “Go ahead,” before she’s halfway across the snow.
Jax watches her with an expression I can’t quite decode. Not fear. Not discomfort.
Something softer. Something tender.
When I glance up at him, he looks away quickly, jaw tightening. “She shouldn’t run on ice like that.”
“You’re adorable when you pretend you’re not worried,” I tease.
He growls something that is, generously, 60% consonants.
Violet picks up the plastic rings, winds up, and throws. The ring arcs gracefully… then bounces off the peg and plops into the snow with all the majesty of a dead fish.
“Oof,” I say.
“She aimed wrong,” Jax says.
I blink. “You can tell that from here?”
“I can tell that because it was obvious.”
Before I can comment on this budding expertise, Violet tries again. Same result. She huffs, cheeks pink, and glances back at us.
Jax shifts. Then, very quietly, he says, “She wants the fox.”
I look over. Sure enough, the prize Violet’s been side-eyeing the entire time is a stuffed fox with big button eyes and obnoxiously fluffy ears.
“You noticed?” I ask.
He shrugs, pretending boredom. “She keeps looking at it.”
He grumbles something that might be profanity in another language, but… he approaches the stall.
I stay back and watch as the teen running it perks up immediately—clearly thrilled to have a new victim. Jax studies the rings, the pegs, the trajectory. He picks up a ring and tests the weight like he’s about to conduct a physics experiment.
Then he throws.
The ring sails cleanly through the air and lands with a satisfying clink around the center peg.
Violet gasps so loudly half the carnival turns to look.
Jax does it two more times, because of course he does.
When the teen hands him the fox, Jax looks at it like he’s not sure if he’s supposed to accept or interrogate it. He walks back toward us, expression torn between awkward and quietly proud.
Violet beams. “You got it!”
He hands it to her with a small, almost shy nod. “Seemed important.”
She throws her arms around him without warning.
He freezes. Completely. Like someone has hit the pause button.
But when she lets go, there’s a tiny, stunned softness in his eyes that knocks something loose in my chest.
“Thank you,” she says, hugging the fox close. Then she spots her friends and lights up. “Mom, I’m gonna go with Emma and Rowan. They’re doing the lantern parade!”
I open my mouth to say no.
Jax beats me to it. “Stay where we can see you,” he says, voice firm but gentle.
Violet salutes dramatically and runs off. And then it’s just the two of us.
Lantern light reflects off the snow, turning everything golden. The air tastes like cocoa and pine. Kids shriek with laughter in the distance. Tiny bells jingle with every gust of wind. Jax stands beside me, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders tight—but not as tight as they used to be.
“She’s a good kid,” he says quietly.
“She is.” My voice slips out softer than I expect. “She… really likes you.”
He swallows. “She shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m—” He cuts himself off.
“Because you’re what?” I press gently.
He doesn’t answer, but he turns to look at me. Really looks at me.
And I feel that look all the way down to my bones. A slow warmth spreads between us, soft and frightening. His breath clouds in the cold between us, mingling with mine. The lanterns flicker. Snow drifts lazily like feathers.
I don’t move toward him. I don’t have to.
He steps closer first. His hand grazes mine—barely a touch, but enough to light up every nerve ending I own. My breath catches. His eyes drop to my mouth, then flick upward again, conflicted, aching, drawn.
“Jax,” I whisper.
Something in him breaks. Or gives in. I’m not sure which.
He leans in slowly—like he’s afraid he’ll spook us both—and when his mouth touches mine, it’s not hungry or frantic or wild.
It’s soft. Gentle.
A question instead of a claim. A beginning instead of a collision.
His lips brush mine once, hesitant, reverent—then again, deeper this time. My fingers curl into the front of his jacket, pulling him closer without meaning to. His hand cups the side of my jaw, thumb trembling slightly against my cheek.
It is sweet. And devastating.
And over far too soon.
He pulls back first, breath unsteady, eyes open in a way I’ve never seen before—bare, stunned, undone.
“Ava,” he says, like he’s not sure what to do with my name in his mouth.
I open my lips to speak—
But Violet’s laughter rings out from across the square, bright and familiar and grounding.
Jax steps back.
The space he leaves behind aches.
But the air between us is changed now—charged, warm, pulsing with the echo of a kiss that should’ve never happened… and yet feels like it was always waiting for us.