Chapter 9 Tell Her Early
NINE
Tell Her Early
Eli
The slam of the door rattles the cabin walls. For a second, I stand there, staring at the space she left behind, like maybe if I wait long enough, she’ll storm back in and tell me I’m an idiot and she’s not going anywhere. But the silence settles. Heavy. Crushing. She’s gone.
And the thing is… I didn’t even mean it.
Not really. Yeah, the decorations are a lot.
Yeah, she’s a lot. But that’s the point.
That’s Lauren. She takes ordinary things and makes them bigger, brighter, impossible to ignore.
Somewhere between her alphabetized bins and her color-coded tabs, I fell in love with the way she fills up every room.
And now she thinks I don’t want her.
I glance at the tree, at the moose ornament she hung front and center, even though it throws off the balance. My throat tightens. She didn’t just decorate this place—she made it a home. Something I haven’t had in years.
I sink onto the couch, elbows on my knees, and thread my fingers through my hair.
Fuck. I should’ve told her about Montana earlier.
The application. Everything. But how do you look your best friend in the eye—after the best night of your life—and say, “Oh, by the way, I might be gone next month”?
You don’t. You fumble. You hide. And now she thinks that’s all I wanted.
A fling before skipping town. The thought makes bile rise in my throat.
I don’t give a damn about Montana or decorations.
The only thing I care about is her. She should be curled up next to me as we laugh while she tries to steal my pudding.
Or me kissing her as an assault of peppermint candles wafts around us, telling her how amazing she is.
I’ve always lived my life on the quieter side.
But now that Lauren’s gone, I hate the quiet.
I applied for the job after I broke up with Julie, not thinking I’d get it.
Lauren’s right. I’m a runner by habit. I pack up and go when things get complicated.
But running isn’t the answer. She keeps me steady in ways I never thought I needed.
I should’ve chased her the second the door slammed.
Instead, I let fear hand me an excuse to hurt her.
Outside, tires crunch on the packed snow.
My delusional heart thinks maybe it’s her.
I fling the door open, but it’s not. A delivery driver hands me a box and offers a polite grin before disappearing into his truck.
My stomach does another flop. It’s the present I bought for her: a planner I wanted to give her for Christmas.
I toss it onto the counter. I fucked that up.
Needing sleep to clear my head, I stride into my bedroom, the dim light from the Christmas tree guiding me. As soon as I lay down, her scent envelops me. Vanilla and honey. I groan. This isn’t going to work. I give up and crash on the couch because every inch of the bed reminds me of her.
The next morning, my eyes are bloodshot from staring at the ceiling the entire night, sleep evading me.
All I could think about was Lauren. What I should have done differently.
What I should have said. No more what ifs.
My mind is already made up. Quickly, I throw on some clothes and head to the Holly Jolly Festival to find Lauren.
Once parked, I barrel down the paths, weaving past vendors and shoppers, and find Brie on duty outside Santa’s Workshop.
“Brie,” I pant. “Have you seen Lauren?”
“I have. In fact, she stayed at my house last night.” She studies my face for a beat before her tone softens. “But I don’t know if she wants to see you.”
“I don’t care. I need to talk to her. It’s important,” I plead.
“She’s by the cookie stand.” Brie gives me a look that’s half warning. “And Eli? Don’t take any more pieces of her heart. She only has so many.”
I nod. “I know. I want to put them back together.” I sprint to the cookie stand and yell, “Lo! Lauren!”
She steps through the open door. Her hair cascades over her shoulders, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She’s simply stunning. “Eli?”
“Lo.” My voice breaks. I stop two feet away, and everything I planned to say unravels into a single confession. “I shouldn’t have let you go last night. I screwed up.”
“You think?” She crosses her arms and nails me with that look that’s equal parts hurt and fury. “You didn’t tell me about Montana. You made me feel like I was too much. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard that from men?”
My chest cracks wide open. “I didn’t mean it like that.
You’re not too much, Lauren. You’re… everything.
And I didn’t tell you about Montana because the second you moved in, the second you lit up that cabin with your decorations and your peppermint candles and your bins—god, the bins—I knew I didn’t want to go anywhere. Not without you.”
Her eyes flicker, softening, but her chin stays stubborn. “Then why didn’t you say that?”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
The corner of her mouth twitches like she wants to smile, but she clamps it down.
I step closer, and my voice drops. “That night wasn’t a one-night stand for me.
It was… the best night of my life. And waking up with you, holding you, was the first time my house has ever been a home.
You’re not too much, Lauren. You’re exactly enough.
” I swallow hard. “You’re right. I was running away.
But not from you. I thought I wanted a change, and leaving seemed like the most logical thing to do.
But that wasn’t the change I was looking for. The change is you.”
“I’ve been here the whole time.”
“Yes. But… I wanted more than just a friendship. I didn’t know that until our almost-kiss.
I waged a war inside my head if it was a good idea or not.
Would it ruin what we had? But it only made it better.
I’m sorry for what I said. You’re the only thing that matters.
I want you here with me. Christmas decorations and all.
I am scared. I’m scared of everything I could lose and even more terrified of everything I could gain.
Because then I would know what it feels like to be truly happy. ”
“I’m scared too. I’ve never felt like this before.”
“Then we can be scared together. I got you a present.”
“But it’s only Christmas Eve.”
“It’s close enough.” I pull the wrapped planner from inside my coat.
She takes it and slowly peels away the wrapping paper. “It’s beautiful.” Her fingers trace the cover.
“It reminded me of you. Open it to December.”
Her fingers flip through the color-coded monthly tabs until she reaches December, and her eyes go wide at my handwriting on the 25th: Tell Lauren you love her. And under December 24th in slightly smaller print: Tell her early, just in case.
My mouth goes dry. “Lauren, I love you. I’ve loved you my entire life. Just recently, I found out how deep that love is. I’m not taking the job. I’m staying here with you.”
For a second, she looks like she might cry, but then she throws her arms around me, and I pull her to my chest. “Oh, Eli,” she says into my shoulder. “I love you too.”
She pulls back, eyes scanning mine, a sly edge returning. “But if you ever call my decorations ‘too much’ again, I will bury you in tinsel.”
Relief floods me, and I laugh. “Deal.”
This time, I pull her to me and press my lips to hers. The cold air swirls around us, but she’s warm against me, and for the first time in forever, I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
* * *
The next morning, I wake to the smell of coffee and the sound of someone humming Christmas carols off-key.
Through the sliver of the open bedroom door, my gaze zeros in on her wearing my flannel shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up, her hair disheveled from the night we just had.
She sways her hips in front of the stove as she pours batter onto a skillet like she owns the place. And maybe she does now.
I shove a hand through my hair and groan into my pillow, partly because I’m exhausted and partly because the view is enough to wreck me.
I thought the first time having sex with her was amazing, but the second time, she showed me who’s really in charge.
How is this my life now? Her in my shirt, making pancakes.
There’s no going back after this. I can’t.
She glances over her shoulder and smirks. “You’re finally awake.”
“Yeah.” My voice comes out rough, unused. “And you’re wearing my favorite shirt.”
She glances down, giving a little shimmy that makes the hem ride up dangerously high on her thighs. “Looks better on me.”
She’s not wrong. I drag myself out of bed and stroll into the kitchen, sliding behind her and pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. She smells like coffee and sugar and last night. My hands find her waist on instinct, pulling her against me.
“Careful,” she warns, flipping a pancake. “If you distract me, you’ll end up with burnt breakfast.”
“Worth it.” I nip her neck, just enough to make her squeak.
She elbows me gently. “We cannot make a habit of this.”
“Breakfast or me distracting you while you make breakfast?”
“Both.” She bites back a smile. “Although…” She tilts her head, pretending to think. “The distraction part might be negotiable.”
I spin her around and slant my mouth against hers. The kiss is slow and lazy, like we have all morning. She tastes like syrup already, sweet and sticky. When we finally break apart, she rests her forehead against mine.
“So…” she says softly. “Does this mean we’re officially more than friends?”
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Will you allow me the pleasure of being your boyfriend? To wake up next to you every morning. To hold you and kiss you.”
“Oh. I don’t know.” She laughs, my favorite sound. “That’s a lot of demands.”
“Fine. I’ll start smaller,” I murmur. “Just stay here. With me. Every day. Make pancakes in my shirt. Threaten me with tinsel. We’ll figure out the rest.”
“Calling you my boyfriend does have a nice ring to it. But just so you know…” She slides a pancake onto my plate and winks. “I’m not sharing the maple syrup.”
I laugh, tugging her close again. “That’s okay. I’ve already got the sweetest thing in the house.”
“I take it back.” She giggles. “With a line like that, I’m no longer calling you my boyfriend.”
“Too late. Can’t take it back now.”
I lean in for another kiss, ready to give her whatever she wants, because for the first time in a long time, home is less about four walls and a roof, and more about who you spend the rest of your life with. And somehow, I got the perfect person. Peppermint candles and all.
Thank you so much for reading Something About Yule.