11. Sophia
11
SOPHIA
T he mug of mulled wine is warm against my hands, the spicy scent wrapping around me like a familiar hug. I take a sip, savoring the cinnamon and clove that always remind me of my Nana and then of Mom—two women who perfected the recipe, passing it down like a sacred holiday ritual. The blanket I’ve wrapped around my shoulders feels almost too warm, but the brisk December air nipping at my cheeks makes it worthwhile. From my perch on the porch, I marvel at the spectacle of the sun setting behind the mountaintops, painting the sky in oranges, purples, and pinks. The snow-covered street is too quiet, with a faint golden glow spilling from neighbors’ windows. Christmas lights twinkle in reds, greens, and whites, but the silence presses down, heavy with its own weight.
And then I see it—Ray’s car pulling into the driveway just a few houses down the street.
The sleek black SUV is impossible to miss, a sharp contrast to the idyllic holiday scene. It feels like a wolf prowling through a peaceful forest, dangerous yet magnetic. My heart leaps, and I force myself to take another sip of my wine to calm the flutter inside me. But it’s no use. The sight of him stepping out of the car, the way he moves—fluid and purposeful—sends a ripple of heat through me. His copper-red hair catches the fading luminance of the sunset, making him look like he’s been carved straight from the mountains behind him. Broad shoulders, a commanding presence that feels at odds with the serene neighborhood.
Ray lifts a hand in greeting when he notices me; it’s a small wave, understated yet deliberate. I return it, my other hand gripping the mug too tightly. He turns toward the back seat, opening the door to help Pete climb out. The boy is bundled up in a striped jacket, his ginger hair sticking out like a beacon. He’s holding a box, and his little face is alight with a mixture of curiosity and determination.
I set my mug on the small table beside me as I stand, letting the blanket slide onto the chair I vacated. The cold air bites harder now that I’m moving, but I ignore it, my feet carrying me toward the driveway as if on autopilot.
“Hey,” I say softly, stopping a few feet away from them. My breath fogs in the air, but Ray’s proximity burns hot enough to make me forget the chill. His piercing blue eyes lock onto mine.
“Sophia.” My name on his lips is a low rumble, almost a growl. He clears his throat and adds, “Glad you could make it.” He straightens, towering over me, yet there’s no menace in his gaze—only cautious warmth, which surprises me.
Pete’s innocent voice cuts through the charged moment. “Sophia! We got ornaments! Lots of them! Wanna see?”
I crouch slightly to meet Pete’s level, smiling at the boy’s infectious excitement. “Ornaments, huh? What kind? Snowflakes? Stars?”
“All of them!” Pete declares with a grin, clutching the box to his chest like it’s a treasure trove.
Ray chuckles, a deep, throaty sound that sends butterflies fluttering in my stomach. “He insisted we needed to buy every ornament in the store.”
“You can never have too many,” I say, glancing up at Ray. His expression softens just a fraction, but it’s enough to make my heart skitter.
“Want to come in?” he asks, his voice steady.
“Sure. I’d love to.”
The moment I step inside, I’m struck by the contrast. Ray’s house is stunning, with clean lines and a modern design, with tall windows that frame the towering pines outside. But it’s also... so empty. The high ceilings and minimalist décor make the space cold, devoid of the chaos that usually comes with the holidays. No lights, no garland, no stockings hanging by the sleek black fireplace. It’s like the house is holding its breath, waiting for life to fill it.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, meaning it, but my voice is softer now, almost reverent.
Ray shrugs, setting the shopping bags down on the thick carpet in front of the fireplace. “It’s just a house.”
“No tree?” I ask, looking around as Pete darts past me, heading straight for one of the bags.
Ray shakes his head. “Not this year.”
The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning left unsaid. My gaze flicks to Pete, who’s already pulling out ornaments and spreading them across the floor. The sight of him, so small in this vast, quiet space, tugs at something deep inside me.
“Hey, Sophia!” Pete calls, holding up a glittery red bauble. “Look! Isn’t this cool?”
I crouch beside him, pretending to admire the ornament, but my mind is elsewhere. I glance up at Ray, who’s watching us from a few steps away, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—those piercing, stormy baby blues—betray a flicker of raw feelings that break my heart. Loss. Grief.
Pete tugs on my sleeve, pulling me back to the moment. “Dad says I can’t put these up without a tree.”
“Well,” I say, tilting my head playfully, “we’re going to need to fix that, aren’t we?”
Pete nods eagerly, and I stand, dusting off my jeans. “Ray,” I say, crossing my arms and meeting his gaze, “you can’t have ornaments without a tree. It’s like having hot cocoa without marshmallows.”
He raises an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You calling me out, Sophia Masters?”
“Absolutely,” I reply, my tone teasing but firm. “And I’m bringing reinforcements.”
“Reinforcements?” he echoes, his smirk growing.
“Yep.” With over-the-top dramatic gestures, I pull out my phone and scroll down the contacts. “Consider yourself officially under a Christmas decoration intervention.”
A few minutes later, my family arrives like a whirlwind, armed with boxes of lights, garlands, and the pièce de résistance—a tall, freshly cut pine tree. Ray looks slightly overwhelmed, but he takes it in stride, stepping back as Mom, Dad, and Ben sweep into the living room like seasoned holiday warriors.
Pete’s eyes are wide with delight as my dad helps him untangle a string of lights, and my mom starts unpacking ornaments with the precision of a general preparing for battle. The room, which had felt so still and somber before, is now alive with laughter and the soft hum of holiday music playing from my Ben’s Bluetooth speaker.
I glance at Ray, who’s standing by the kitchen island, watching the scene unfold with an expression I can’t quite read. There’s a tension in his shoulders, but his eyes—those guarded, beautiful eyes—seem lighter somehow like he’s letting himself breathe for the first time in a long time.
“You okay?” I ask, walking over to him.
He nods, his lips curving into a faint smile. “This wasn’t what I expected.”
“Christmas chaos?” I tease, nudging him lightly with my elbow.
“Something like that.” His gaze softens as he looks at me, and for a moment, the noise and movement around us fade into the background. “Thanks for this. For... everything.”
I shrug, trying to downplay the warmth spreading through my chest. “You’re welcome.”
Before I can say more, Pete’s voice rings out. “Dad! Come help me with the star!”
I turn to see him standing by the tree, the star in his hands and a hopeful grin on his face. I laugh, glancing back at Ray.
“Duty calls,” he murmurs as we join Pete.
When Ray carefully places the star on the tip, his gaze returns to me. There’s so much heat in it that it’s enough to make my cheeks flush.
The tree sparkles with lights and ornaments, filling the room with the warmth and joy Christmas is meant to bring. But beneath it all, there’s an undercurrent of something unspoken. I can feel it in the way Ray watches me, in the moments when his guard slips just enough to reveal the dark, deep pain he’s carrying.
With Pete cheering beside me, I can’t help but wonder what it would take to bring light back into Ray’s life. And if I’m willing to risk everything to try. I know I should tread carefully. My marriage taught me that even the most solid-seeming foundations can crumble, leaving you buried under the ruins. Ray’s eyes, though—those stormy blues that hide so much pain—pull at me in ways I’m not sure I can resist. But what if I’m wrong? What if trying to bring light back into his life only drags me further into the darkness?