Chapter 4
Kyler
I wake up with her in my arms, and for the first time in two years, I don't feel hollow.
The afternoon light has faded to early evening. The storm's still raging outside, but inside our little cocoon of blankets, everything is warm. Peaceful.
Noel's curled against me, her hand resting over my heart, her breathing deep and even. I watch her sleep and try to remember the last time I felt this... settled.
Not since Maren.
The thought should bring guilt, but it doesn't. Maren would've kicked my ass for spending two years in self-imposed isolation. She was all light and laughter, and she would've hated knowing I'd turned into this—a hermit who avoided holidays and human connection.
She would've liked Noel.
The realization doesn't hurt the way I expect it to. Instead, it feels like permission.
Noel stirs, her eyes fluttering open. When she sees me watching her, a slow smile spreads across her face.
"Hi," she murmurs.
"Hi yourself."
"How long was I asleep?"
"Couple hours."
She stretches beneath the blankets. "We should probably eat something," she says. "Real food, not just each other."
I raise an eyebrow. "Did you just—"
"Yep. And I'm not taking it back." She grins, climbing out of bed and pulling on my flannel shirt. It hangs to mid-thigh on her, and the sight of her wearing my clothes does something primal to my chest. "Come on, mountain man. Let's raid the kitchen."
We head downstairs, and I watch her move around the kitchen like she owns it—opening cabinets, pulling out pasta and canned sauce, humming some melody I don't recognize. She's added her red scarf to the back of a chair. Her boots are by the door next to mine.
The cabin doesn't feel like a hiding place anymore.
It feels like home.
"What?" she asks, catching me staring.
"Nothing." I move to help her, our shoulders brushing. "Just thinking."
"Dangerous activity."
"Says the woman who makes decisions based on feelings."
"Feelings are valid data." She hands me a pot. "Water?"
We work together to make dinner, and it's surprisingly easy. Natural. She tells me about her students—little kids with big personalities. I find myself telling her about a commissioned piece I'm working on, a dining table for a couple celebrating their fiftieth anniversary.
"That's romantic," she says, stirring sauce. "Building something that'll last that long."
"That's the goal. Build things that last."
She glances at me, something soft in her expression. "Is that what you want? Things that last?"
"Used to think I had it." I lean against the counter. "Maren and I had plans. House, kids, the whole thing. Then she was gone, and I couldn't... I couldn't picture any of it without her."
"And now?"
I look at her, at this woman who burst into my solitude wearing a ridiculous amount of optimism and somehow made me want things again.
"Now I'm starting to think maybe there are different versions of forever," I say quietly.
She sets down the spoon and crosses to me, sliding her arms around my waist. I pull her close, breathing in the scent of her.
"I'm scared," she admits. "This is fast. Really fast."
"I know."
"But I don't want to slow down."
"Good." I tilt her chin up. "Because neither do I."
I kiss her, and she melts against me. The pasta water starts to boil over, and we break apart laughing.
After dinner—which we eat curled up on the couch by the fire—she gets quiet. Thoughtful.
"What are you thinking about?" I ask.
"Christmas." She traces patterns on my chest. "You said you don't celebrate anymore. But it's Christmas Eve. Doesn't some part of you miss it?"
I'm quiet for a long moment. "All of it,” I admit. “The lights. The music. The stupid traditions Maren loved." I pause. "She'd make me dance in the kitchen while we cooked. Every year. Same Bing Crosby album."
"That sounds perfect."
"It was." My throat tightens. "I haven't listened to Christmas music since she died. It just... it reminds me of everything I lost."
Noel sits up, turning to face me. The firelight catches in her dark hair, making her look ethereal.
"What if," she says slowly, "we made a new memory? Just a small one. Nothing that erases what you had… I would never ask you to do that. But something that's just ours."
"Noel—"
"I know it's a lot. And if you say no, that's okay. But Kyler..." She takes my hand. "You're allowed to heal. You're allowed to find joy again. She would want that for you."
The truth of it hits me square in the chest. Maren would want that. She'd want me living, not just existing.
"What did you have in mind?" I ask.
Her face lights up. "I saw bags of popcorn in the kitchen."
I raise an eyebrow. “Popcorn?”
Twenty minutes later, we're sitting on the floor by the fire, stringing popcorn with a needle and thread she found in a kitchen drawer. It's ridiculous. The popcorn keeps breaking. Half of what we string, we end up eating.
But I'm smiling.
Actually smiling.
"This is the saddest garland I've ever seen," I tell her, holding up our creation.
"It's perfect." She drapes it over the mantel. "Very rustic chic."
"That's not a thing."
"It is now." She pulls out her phone. "And now, the most important part."
"Noel—"
"Trust me."
She scrolls through her music, and suddenly Bing Crosby's voice fills the cabin. "White Christmas."
I freeze.
She sets down her phone and holds out her hand. "Dance with me."
"I don't—"
"Yes, you do. You danced in the kitchen with Maren. So, dance in the living room with me." Her eyes are gentle but determined. "You don't have to forget her to move forward, Kyler. You just have to take one step."
I stare at her outstretched hand. At this woman who showed up and turned my whole world sideways in less than twenty-four hours.
Then I take her hand.
She steps into my arms, and we sway by the firelight. It's not smooth—we're both sliding on the floor in our socks, and there's barely enough room between the couch and the fire. But it doesn't matter.
Because for the first time in two years, Christmas doesn't feel like a wound.
It feels like a beginning.
"Thank you," I murmur against her hair.
"For what?"
"For not letting me hide."
She pulls back to look at me, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Thank you for letting me in."
I kiss her as the song fades into the next one. And in that moment, in this storm-wrapped cabin on Christmas Eve, I realize something.
I'm not just surviving anymore.
I'm living.