Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Carlos brushed the last of the snow off his shoulders as he held the door open for Lettie, stepping into the golden glow of the lodge lobby behind her.
He imagined taking her coat, hanging it gently by the fire, and handing her a mug of cocoa like they’d done this a dozen times before. Like they were—
Nope. Not going there.
He followed her to the front desk, his boots squeaking faintly on the hardwood. Amber was back on duty, all glossy lipstick and glittery nails, her neckline now plunging deeper than the local temperature. She leaned against the counter like she was posing for a snow-themed pin-up calendar.
Carlos cleared his throat. “Hi, Amber.”
“You remembered my name. Such a gentleman.”
“Did another room become available tonight?”
Amber didn’t even check the screen. “Mine’s free.”
“Oh,” Carlos said, blinking. He felt the tips of his ears go red. “That’s… generous.”
Lettie crossed her arms. “He’ll be staying in my room.”
Carlos turned toward her, surprised. There was a glint in her eye. It was half challenge, half don’t-test-me.
Amber’s brows lifted. “There’s no pull-out in that cabin.”
“You can sleep on the rug again,” Lettie said to Carlos.
“You can sleep in my bed,” offered Amber.
Carlos backed away a step, nearly knocking into a Christmas tree behind him. “Thanks, but I think I’ll hang with the bear.”
He turned and followed Lettie, who was already halfway to the door. She didn’t wait for him. He caught up with her just outside, crunching through the fresh layer of snow on the path.
His car was still miles back, buried halfway in a ditch, flashing its hazard lights into the void. He should’ve been frustrated. Annoyed. Maybe even embarrassed.
But he wasn’t.
Not even close.
Because being stuck in Honor Valley meant another night near her.
Not hovering or pushing—he knew better than that—but near enough to listen if she needed him.
Near enough to keep noticing the things no one else did: the way she turned her head slightly when something hurt.
The way her hands stilled when something mattered.
The rug again? Sure. The floor? Fine. He’d sleep standing if it meant another chance to see what she looked like in firelight.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
Lettie glanced sideways at him. “For what?”
He smiled, brushing snow from his shoulder. “For not sacrificing me to Amber. For letting me be the inconvenience you tolerate.”
She didn’t answer, but she didn’t argue either.
Inside the cabin, the warmth was only theoretical. The space was chilly, the air filled more with silence than heat. They’d each claimed separate corners. Carlos sat at the small table near the window. Lettie curled onto the bed, laptop balanced on her knees like a shield.
She hadn’t looked at him since they came in.
Carlos stared at the blinking cursor on his screen. It mocked him with its steady, pulsing beat—like it knew he had nothing to say. Or maybe too much.
He angled his head toward her. “Hey, Lettie?”
She didn’t look up. “Hmm?”
“I just wanted to say… I’m sorry. For earlier. When I laughed.”
That got her attention. Not her eyes but her body. She froze, spine going rigid, hands pausing over the keyboard like she was bracing for something sharp. Head tilting as though she was waiting for the blow.
Carlos immediately regretted bringing it up. He should’ve waited. Or just let it lie. He always tried to fix things too fast.
But then she exhaled through her nose and said, “Forget it.”
“I’d rather not,” he said quietly.
That earned him a glance. Brief but direct.
“It’s not the first time someone’s laughed at me. Won’t be the last.”
And just like that, she was back to typing. Her expression was blank, but her eyes—those piercing glacier-blue eyes—had gone dark around the edges, like someone had drawn a curtain behind them.
Carlos turned his attention to the fireplace. If he couldn’t fix what he’d broken, maybe he could at least make her a little more comfortable.
He knelt and fumbled with the logs, trying to remember the order. Was it kindling first, then the bigger pieces? There was a gas starter, too, but the knob was stuck, and he couldn’t find the long lighter—
“You’re going to smoke us out,” Lettie said flatly, suddenly beside him.
He looked up, startled, just as she crouched down and took the lighter from his hand.
Their fingers brushed. A little electric crackle zipped up his arm, catching him off guard.
It wasn’t the kind of thing he had imagined.
It was like the spark from a wool sweater or sliding socks across carpet. But deeper. Warmer.
Lettie pulled her hand back quickly, but her eyes snapped to his, wide for just a moment. So she’d felt it too.
Neither of them said a word as she lit the fire with quick, practiced efficiency. Within seconds, the flames caught and began to glow, casting flickering light across the room. Carlos watched the way the shadows danced over her face, softening the lines she always seemed to keep drawn so tightly.
She stood and walked back to the bed.
Carlos stayed near the hearth. “Can I ask you something?”
She didn’t look up.
“What did I do? To make you dislike me so much?”
That made her pause. Then, slowly, she looked over at him. “Seriously?”
He nodded.
“You bought my family’s legacy,” she said, voice flat. “You just… took it.”
Carlos didn't argue that he didn't make the purchase. He latched onto something else. “I didn’t realize you wanted to take over the magazine.”
“I didn’t.” Her eyes flicked back to her screen. “Doesn’t mean I wanted it sold off.”
Carlos was quiet for a moment, absorbing that. Not defending. Just understanding.
“I guess I just wanted it to stay in the family,” she added, softer now, as if the words surprised her by existing out loud.
He nodded slowly. “I get that.”
Silence again. Not quite as sharp this time.
“You know,” he said after a moment, “if you ever wanted to do a guest piece, I’d run it.”
She let out a single dry laugh. “Yeah, I’m not exactly your brand.”
“Try me.”
Her head tilted. “You want to print an exposé on the Mistletoe Mafia?”
Carlos straightened slightly. “Pitch it to me.”
Lettie closed her laptop and leaned back. “I’ve been interviewing local business owners—ones who didn’t make the Holiday Trail map this year. Turns out there’s a common denominator. A name that keeps coming up.”
She watched him for a moment, as if waiting for the punchline.
When it didn’t come, she said, “Mrs. White. Of the Tourism Board. According to multiple sources, she told certain shops that if they didn’t ‘Christmasify’ their entire inventory from November through December, they wouldn’t be included on the trail.
No peppermint candles? No maple Santa cookies?
No glitter-covered gnome earrings? No map spot.
No social media coverage. No free ad space. ”
Carlos felt his brow furrow. “That’s… intense.”
“Manipulative. Punitive. And it’s hurting small businesses.”
He thought of the empty shelves at the bakery. The discouraged look in the eyes of the candle makers. The handmade bookseller sign.
“That’s a story I’d print.”
Lettie's eyes narrowed. “You’re not just saying that?”
Carlos shook his head. “I’m not. It’s local. It’s real. And it matters.”
She stared at him like she didn’t quite know what to make of him.