Chapter 5
Noel
I wake up on Christmas morning wrapped in Kyler's arms, and it feels like the best gift I've ever received.
Sunlight streams through the bedroom window. Actual sunlight, not the gray half-light of the storm. I blink at it, disoriented, then realize what it means.
The blizzard's over.
My stomach drops.
Kyler's still asleep, his face relaxed in a way I haven't seen while he's awake. He looks younger like this. Peaceful. I trace the line of his jaw with my fingertips, memorizing it.
His eyes open, immediately finding mine.
"Morning," he says, voice rough with sleep.
"Merry Christmas."
Something warm flashes in his eyes. "Merry Christmas."
He pulls me closer and kisses me, slow and sweet and thorough. I sink into it, trying not to think about the sunlight. About what it means.
When we finally come up for air, he brushes his thumb across my cheek.
"You okay?"
"Yeah." I force a smile. "Just... the storm stopped."
His expression shifts. He understands immediately what I'm not saying.
"The roads might not be clear yet," he says.
"Maybe."
But we both know it's only a matter of time.
We get up and head downstairs. The cabin looks different in the daylight—cozy and charming instead of dark and isolated.
I hadn’t planned to stay past Christmas morning. The rental was only for one night—a spur-of-the-moment escape I figured I’d regret in the morning. But now, seeing the sunlight pouring through the windows, I wish the storm had lasted a little longer.
Our makeshift popcorn garland still hangs over the mantel, looking even more pathetic in the full light of day.
But I love it.
Kyler builds up the fire while I make coffee. We move around each other with the ease of people who've been doing this for years.
"I should check the road conditions," he says, pulling out his phone.
I busy myself with mugs, not wanting to see his face when he finds out we can leave.
"Plows are out," he says after a moment. "Main roads are clear. Mountain roads should be passable by this afternoon."
"Oh." I keep my voice light. "That's good."
"Noel—"
"I should probably call the rental company. Sort out this whole double-booking thing." I'm talking too fast, filling the silence before reality can crash in. "Get a refund or—"
"Noel." He's suddenly right behind me, hands on my shoulders. "Look at me."
I turn, and the expression on his face makes my chest ache.
"I meant what I said last night," he says quietly. "This isn't just the storm. This isn't just... convenient proximity or whatever you're telling yourself."
"I know. I just—" I shake my head. "This is crazy. We live in different places. We have different lives. What are we supposed to do, exchange numbers and hope for the best?"
"Yes." He says it simply, like it's obvious. "Exactly that."
"Kyler—"
"Where do you live?"
"Nashville."
"I'm in Lexington, Kentucky. That's what, three hours?" He cups my face. "I can do three hours. Can you?"
Hope flutters in my chest, fragile and terrifying. "You'd want to try? Really try?"
"I haven't wanted anything this much in two years." His thumb brushes my cheekbone. "So yeah. I want to try."
I kiss him before I can talk myself out of it. Before logic can intervene and remind me of all the ways this could go wrong.
When we break apart, he's smiling. Actually smiling.
"Now," he says, "it's Christmas. And we have a few more hours before you have to leave. So what do you want to do?"
I glance around the cabin. At the fire. The popcorn garland. The morning light making everything golden.
"Can we just... stay here? Like this?"
"Yeah." He pulls me against his chest. "We can do that."
We spend the morning tangled together on the couch. He tells me about his workshop—about the smell of fresh-cut wood and the satisfaction of seeing a piece come together. I tell him about the chaos of twenty five-year-olds hopped up on holiday sugar and the pure joy of watching them learn to read.
"I want to meet them," he says. "Your kids."
"They'd love you. Especially when they found out you build things." I grin. "You'd never escape. They'd have you making toy boats and dollhouses for the rest of your life."
"Sounds terrible," he deadpans, but his eyes are warm.
Around noon, my phone buzzes. I glance at it and see a voicemail from the rental company.
"I should listen to this," I say reluctantly.
I put it on speaker. A cheerful voice apologizes profusely for the double-booking, explains it was a computer glitch, and offers us both a full refund plus a free week at any of their properties.
"Well," Kyler says when it ends, "at least we don't have to fight over who gets to keep it."
"I kind of liked fighting with you."
"We can still fight." He pulls me into his lap. "I'm sure we'll find something to argue about."
"You're probably a morning person."
"Guilty."
"See? Completely incompatible." But I'm smiling as I say it.
His expression turns serious. "I don't want you to go."
"I don't want to go either."
"So don't." He says it quietly, but there's an intensity in his eyes that makes my heart race. "Stay. One more night. We can have Christmas dinner together."
I should say no. Should be sensible. Should remember that I have a life to get back to.
"Okay," I whisper instead.
The relief on his face is everything.
We spend the afternoon making Christmas happen. Kyler finds a frozen chicken in the freezer and declares he can roast it. I make instant mashed potatoes and discover there's a box of stuffing mix in the pantry. It's not fancy, but it's ours.
While dinner cooks, we decorate. I add more popcorn garland. He finds pine branches outside and arranges them on the mantel. I queue up a Christmas playlist on my phone.
The cabin transforms.
"It looks good," Kyler says, surveying our work.
"It looks like Christmas."
He pulls me close, swaying slightly to the music. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For reminding me what this is supposed to feel like." He kisses my forehead. "I forgot. For two years, I forgot that Christmas is supposed to be about joy. About being with someone who matters."
Tears prick my eyes. "You matter too, you know. You matter so much."
"I'm starting to believe that again."
We eat dinner at the small kitchen table, plates piled high with food that's simple but delicious. Kyler tells me stories about Maren—funny ones, sweet ones, the kind that celebrate a life instead of mourning it. I listen and laugh and feel honored that he's sharing this with me.
After dinner, we curl up on the couch with the last of the cocoa mix. The fire crackles softly, the only sound besides the faint whistle of wind outside.
Kyler stretches an arm along the back of the couch and draws me closer until I’m tucked against his side. “You know,” he says, “this is the first Christmas in two years that doesn’t feel like something to survive.”
I tilt my head to look at him. “What does it feel like instead?”
He meets my eyes. “Like a beginning.”
Something tight in my chest loosens. “Mine too.”
We sit like that for a long time, watching the fire burn down to embers. Every so often, he presses a kiss to my temple, and I think about how strange and perfect it is that two people could get snowed in, fall apart, and find something whole again.
Later, when we finally head upstairs, the room glows gold from the last of the firelight. He brushes his thumb along my jaw.
“I don’t want to let you go tomorrow,” he murmurs.
“Then don’t.” I prop myself up on one elbow, heart hammering. “Come back with me—to Nashville. Stay for a few days. Meet my world.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. And then I’ll come to Lexington. See your workshop. Meet your world.” I smile. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
“Together,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word. Then he grins. “I like the sound of that.”
He pulls me down for a kiss that deepens quickly, until it’s all warmth and breath and promise.
And as we lose ourselves in each other again, I think about how I came here looking for peace.
Instead, I found something more. I found a man who makes me feels safe, and perfectly at home.