16. Claire
Claire
Y ou should stay away from me, Claire.
The words echoed through my head like a persistent drumbeat. Even as I stood there, watching Christian’s retreating form, the sting of his dismissal gnawed at me. Enough was enough. I’d given him space, offered him warmth, and yet here I was, still an outsider in his world.
I marched over to the hallway that led to the stairwell, each step fueled by frustration.
The festive decorations seemed to mock me.
Lights twinkled cheerfully, wreaths hung with care, and the scent of pine filled the air.
But all of it felt hollow without understanding why Christian kept pushing me away.
The echo of his footsteps faded as I stood there, heart pounding, the memory of his lips on mine still fresh.
He’d initiated that kiss, surprising me with a tenderness that spoke volumes he refused to say aloud.
My fingers traced my lips absentmindedly, recalling the warmth that had briefly chased away the chill in my bones.
I leaned against the banister, staring up the stairwell. I didn’t need to know every detail of his past or what he was running from. Trust wasn’t built on grand revelations but small moments, shared gestures. That kiss had been a start.
He had to feel something; otherwise, why initiate it? He didn’t have to lay his soul bare for me, but I wanted him to know I was here for him. No judgment, just understanding. And if he told me no, fine. I'd drop it and respect his boundaries. But running away wasn’t my style anymore.
I climbed the stairs two at a time, determination fueling each step. Reaching his door, I hesitated only a moment before knocking. Three firm raps.
Nothing.
“Christian, we need to talk.” My words were steady despite my racing heart.
After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open a fraction. His face appeared in the sliver of light, eyes guarded but curious.
“What is it?” His voice was gruff, walls firmly back in place.
"You can't do that," I said, the frustration evident in my voice. "You can't just kiss me like that and run away."
"Run away?" Christian's eyebrows shot up, and I could hear the offense in his tone.
Good.
"I didn't take you for a coward," I continued, feeling a surge of defiance.
"Coward?" he repeated, the word dripping with disbelief.
I pushed past him into the room, and he closed the door behind us. The small space felt charged with tension. I started pacing, my thoughts tumbling out faster than I could catch them.
"I get that you can't say everything," I said, gesturing wildly. "And I get that you maybe don't want to. You don't know me very well. I get that. But you kissed me?—"
"You don't realize what I have to deal with," he interrupted, his voice strained. "The last thing I want is to drag you into my shit."
His words hit me like a bucket of cold water. He stood there, a mix of anger and something else—something deeper, more painful—in his eyes.
"Christian," I said softly, trying to reach him. "You don't have to handle everything on your own. You don't have to keep pushing people away."
"It's not that simple," he snapped, running a hand through his hair. "You think I'm just being difficult? You have no idea what kind of mess I'm in."
"Then tell me," I urged, taking a step closer. "Let me in."
He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "It's not your problem to fix."
"I'm not saying it is," I insisted. "And I'm not trying to downplay what you went through and what you still might be going through.
But I know… I know you're interested in me.
At least, I hope you are? You don't seem like the type of person to kiss and just want…
you know… but if you are, that's fine, there's no judgment there. It's just, that's not me, so…"
I sucked in a breath and finally looked up at him.
Christian looked at me for a long moment, the walls he'd built around himself wavering slightly. He opened his mouth to speak but seemed to struggle with the words.
"I'm not asking for your life story," I said gently. "And I'm not… I'm not here asking you to let me help you… if I even could. I just…"
His shoulders slumped slightly, the fight draining out of him. The silence stretched between us as we stood there, both caught in a moment that felt like it could change everything.
Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "What do you want from me?"
I opened my mouth, then shut it.
What did I want?
A relationship?
Was that even fair to ask of him?
"I... I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean... I shouldn't be here. The last thing I want is to force you into..."
I blew out a breath, frustration and confusion swirling inside me.
"Claire," he said.
"No, it's fine," I replied, shaking my head. "I'm sorry."
"Don't—"
I turned to open the door, but Christian's hand shot out, slamming it shut. The force of it vibrated through the small room. I turned back to him, my heart racing, confusion etched on my face.
Before I could utter another word, he kissed me. It wasn’t the hesitant kiss from before; this was raw and passionate. His hands cupped my face, pulling me closer as if he was afraid I'd slip away.
My mind went blank for a moment, overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch. Every inch of me felt electrified as his lips moved against mine, communicating everything he couldn’t put into words.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathless. His forehead rested against mine, eyes closed as if grounding himself in the moment.
"I don't want to push you away," he murmured, voice rough with emotion. "But you'll regret being with someone like me."
"Let me decide that," I whispered back, reaching up to run my fingers through his hair.
He looked at me then, really looked at me, and for the first time since he'd arrived at the inn, I saw a glimmer of vulnerability in his eyes.
Maybe this was unfair to both of us. Maybe it would end in heartache. But right now, standing here with him, it felt like the most honest thing in the world.
And sometimes honesty was all you needed to start something real.
"Claire," he whispered again.
I shuddered at the sound of my name in his low voice. His breath warmed my cheek as he played with a strand of my hair, winding it around his fingers.
"I don't want you to deal with the rumors," he murmured, his tone heavy with regret.
"It's a small town," I pointed out. "I've been dealing with rumors my whole life."
"These are different," he said, his eyes darkening. "I can't even go back home. You don't understand."
"I know I don't," I replied, meeting his gaze steadily. "I know."
His hands tightened around the strand of hair, his expression pained. "These hands, Claire," he said, voice rough and broken. "They've killed."
"I know."
"You don't," he insisted, his grip on my hair loosening. "I don't regret anything I did. Any of it."
His gaze was piercing, searching my face for any sign of hesitation or fear. I stared at him, understanding dawning on me slowly. This was more than just a troubled past; this was a man who had done what he believed necessary, no matter the cost.
My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to process the weight of his confession. I reached out, placing my hand over his where it rested against my cheek.
"Christian," I whispered, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside me.
He looked at me, vulnerability flickering in his eyes for just a moment before it was replaced by that same guarded look.
"I'm not asking you to justify anything to me," I said softly. "I'm just asking you to… to give me a chance."
His eyes softened slightly, but the pain and guilt remained etched into his features. He didn't pull away this time; instead, he leaned in closer, resting his forehead against mine once more.
We stood there in silence, the weight of our shared moment pressing down on us like a tangible force. For now, it was enough just to be together in this room, no words needed to bridge the gap between our fractured souls.
And sometimes silence was all you needed to understand each other completely.
"What if what I did comes back to hurt you?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "You're already going through so much. I don't want to?—"
"You won't," I interrupted, my voice firm. "Let me decide that."
He looked at me, his eyes searching mine for any sign of hesitation or doubt.
"We don't have to... we don't have to label it," I said, my heart pounding in my chest. "We can take it one day at a time. That's it. We don't have to be serious or?—"
"I'm not a good man," he said, cutting me off. "And when it comes to... to that, I'm either all in or I'm nothing. It's who I am. If you're mine, you're mine. That's it."
I swallowed hard at the intensity of his gaze, the raw emotion etched into his features.
"Then let me be yours," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he replied, his eyes darkening with something.
I stood on the balls of my toes and kissed him again, pouring every ounce of emotion I had into that kiss. His lips were warm and demanding against mine, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only us.
His hands slid up to cup my face, pulling me closer as if he was afraid I'd slip away. The kiss deepened, and I felt the barriers between us start to crumble. It was fierce and tender all at once—a desperate need to connect and a silent promise that we would face whatever came our way together.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathless. Our foreheads rested against each other’s as we stood there, trying to steady our racing hearts.
"Claire," he murmured again, his voice rough with emotion.
I opened my eyes and looked up at him, seeing the vulnerability in his gaze.
"I want this," I said softly. "I want you."
He closed his eyes briefly, as if absorbing my words, before looking back at me with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat.
"One day at a time," he said, his grip on me tightening slightly.
"One day at a time," I repeated, knowing that whatever lay ahead, we would face it together. "Anyway, I... I should go," I stammered, the words barely forming as my mind spun in a thousand directions. "I need..."
I didn't even know what I needed. Air? Space? A moment to process the storm of emotions swirling inside me?
"But..." I licked my lips, trying to gather my thoughts. "Maybe we'll see each other later? We could... there's an ice rink or maybe..."
Now I was babbling, the nervous energy pouring out of me in a rush of words.
"I'm going to?—"
Before I could finish, Christian's lips were on mine again, silencing me with a kiss that melted every coherent thought. I leaned into it, savoring the warmth and certainty in his touch.
"Tonight," he whispered against my lips, his voice a soft promise.
"Tonight," I said, my heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and nerves.
I left his place, feeling a strange blend of exhilaration and disbelief. Leaning against the wall just outside his door, I stared up at the ceiling and let out a laugh that bubbled up from deep within me. It was the kind of laugh that came from pure joy and relief.
Without thinking, I did a little dance right there in the hallway, my feet moving to an invisible rhythm fueled by excitement. Then, with a skip in my step, I headed down the stairs.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt genuinely light-hearted. Whatever challenges lay ahead for Christian and me, we'd face them together. And for now, that was enough.