Chapter 11
Cole
Iignore the raw guilt that’s been gnawing at my stomach since I saw Hailey’s expression at the coffee shop. I can’t get it out of my head.
“Yo, Cole!” Jake’s voice cuts through the clang of metal stands and the sharp whine of drills. “You want the Douglas firs along the north fence or by the gate?”
I tip my chin toward the fence. “Fence. They sell faster when parents can park close. Makes it easier to haul.”
He nods, and I grab a fresh tree from the trailer, hoisting it onto my shoulder. The trunk bites into my glove, sap sticking, pine needles scratching my jaw. I drop the tree onto the sawhorses and start trimming the base.
She probably hates me. Good. She should.
It’ll make it easier for her to forget about the elevator if she realizes now that I have no good intentions. Hopefully, she’s already moved on. Maybe she went out this weekend, met some guy her age who doesn’t come with a jaded heart and a decade of regret.
“Generator’s running. We’re live!” Travis yells, flipping the switch. The lights blink on across our booth. The smell of warm cocoa and spiced nuts has already made its way down to this end of the market.
I shove my gloves in my pockets and take a step back, scanning the crowd as it starts to grow.
Parents with toddlers in puff coats. Teenagers holding hands.
I pause for a second, realizing that for the first time in several years, seeing couples happy and in love at Christmas didn’t immediately trigger a negative, miserable reaction.
I’m about to ask myself why when I look over and do a double take. Just a few booths down, manning the hot cocoa station is Hailey. I stop, almost slipping on the snow. She has a bright-red scarf framing her face and big white puffy earmuffs.
She looks… happy. She’s laughing with the woman next to her and chatting with the customers. The tightness in my chest eases and I find myself smiling as I watch her. I knew she wouldn’t struggle to fit in or find friends; there’s no way you’re not magnetically drawn to her if you’re around her.
She tips her head back to laugh again, red scarf brushing her cheek, and I know I’m screwed. Because no amount of distance, guilt, or self-control is going to make me stop wanting her. Not now that I’ve really seen her.
I force myself to look away, to focus on the trees, the work, anything that doesn’t involve the thought or memory of her body against mine.
The saw hums low as I cut another trunk, sawdust dusting my gloves. I grab the pricing gun and tag another row of firs, trying to force myself into the rhythm of it. Tag, slide, staple. Repeat.
But the more I keep seeing her face, smiling at people, at me… It makes me realize I’m an asshole. Instead of being an adult about things, I made her feel like shit about it.
“Time to man the fuck up, Cole.” I say the phrase I’ve said to myself a hundred times since I turned my life around. It’s the reminder I tell myself when I’m avoiding things instead of addressing them.
Snow flurries drift through the lights, catching in my jacket and the brim of my Santa hat, something Travis made the crew wear tonight “for holiday cheer.” The damn thing’s too tight and itchy, but I keep it on.
“Cole, you good on trees?” Jake calls from behind the trailer.
“Yeah,” I shout back, even though I’m not.
I’m a mess. I’m standing behind a stack of trees like some kind of lumberjack stalker, pretending to check twine tension while watching Hailey pour cocoa into paper cups.
It’s pathetic, I know, but my eyes keep finding her anyway.
The red scarf. The faint pink in her cheeks.
The way she bites her bottom lip when she’s concentrating on not spilling cocoa.
For a second, she glances up. Our eyes almost meet across the crowd, and my stomach drops. I jerk my head down, suddenly fascinated by the bungee cord around a spruce.
Real fucking smooth, dude.
I keep my head down and stay busy or at least pretend to. But every few minutes, I catch myself stealing another glance. She’s laughing again, handing a cup to a kid in a blue coat who is smiling at whatever she’s saying to him.
She disappears from view for a few minutes, moving down the line of customers, and I tell myself that’s good. Space is good. I can sell some trees, finish out the night, and we can both just… be adults. Five minutes later she’s walking straight toward me with a damn cocoa in her hand.
I straighten from where I’m adjusting a tree stand and wipe my gloves on my jacket.
“Hi,” she says, stopping in front of me like we didn’t make out in an elevator and then pretend it never happened. Her breath fogs between us. “Truce offering.” She holds out the cup.
The top has a generous dollop of whipped cream that’s dusted with cocoa powder and a peppermint stick is tucked into the sleeve. It’s stupidly festive. It’s also the last thing I deserve.
“Thanks.” My voice comes out low. “You didn’t have to—”
“Well.” She lifts her brows, mouth quirking. “You looked very serious over here. Figured I should bring Christmas cheer to the grumpy contractor Santa.”
My eyes narrow. “Grumpy… contractor Santa?”
She points to my head. “You’re wearing the hat.”
“Oh, right.” I reach up and tug the itchy thing from my head. I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “You’re really gonna come over here and roast me on my own lot?”
“Someone has to keep you humble.” She shrugs with a little grin. “Besides, I needed a break from pouring cocoa for sugared-up kids. Thought I’d come mock you instead.”
God, she’s cute.
“Your company always do this?” she asks, looking around at the trees, the guys, the lights. “Run the tree corner?”
“Yeah.” I nod toward the banner behind us. “We’ve been doing the trees the last few years. It’s always a highlight for the guys.”
She smiles, acting completely fine, like we’re back to normal. “I just found out my company volunteers too. They threw me at cocoa duty tonight.”
“I see that.” I tip the cup toward her. “You’re good at it.”
Her shoulders lift in a little pleased shrug. “I like Christmas. And sugar. And being out and about.”
“Guess it works out, then.” Silence slips in for a second, more awkward than my responses if possible.
I tap my cup, unable to avoid it any longer.
I’m about to say something about the coffee shop, about my project manager Mercedes, whom she saw me with, about how I should’ve handled it, when she says, “Look—”
We both pause when she notices my open mouth. “You first,” I tell her, nodding for her to go. Because I owe her that, at least.
She shifts her weight, blowing out a breath of air. “I was just gonna say… it doesn’t have to be weird now.”
I watch her face, the way she’s deliberately casual. She’s trying to make this easy on me, and somehow that makes me feel worse.
“I don’t need, like, a whole breakdown of your life,” she continues. “Nor do I need to know anything about it, because it isn’t my business. So it doesn’t have to be awkward between us. And I won’t say anything.”
Guilt punches me right in the sternum. I look down at the cocoa. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her keeping my secrets.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “Maybe I’m just looking for a loophole here, but it doesn’t feel like lying if we just don’t say anything. There’s no reason for Maddie to know anyway. It’s… not her business.”
She lets out a short, sarcastic huff, lips curling. “I wasn’t talking about Maddie.”
I look up. “What?”
“I meant the other woman,” she says, eyes on mine now, clear and sharp under the market lights. “The one from the coffee shop. Pretty sure it wouldn’t go over well if she found out you were kissing me, now would it?”
Ah. So that’s what she thinks and this play it cool and casual bit was a way to get me to think we were cool.
I can’t help it as my mouth pulls into a slow smile.
Not because I like that she’s jealous. Because she’s wrong and thinks she’s right.
Because there’s something smug in her tone that hits me dead center.
“You think you caught me, huh?” I say, voice low, a little amused.
Her chin tips. “I think I’m not stupid.”
“You’re not,” I agree immediately. “Far from it.”
“Then don’t play dumb,” she fires back. “I get it. You have… something… going on with someone. Totally fine. Not my business. I’m not gonna blow up your spot.”
I open my mouth, but she keeps going.
“I just wanted you to know I’m not, like, sitting over there at the cocoa booth, plotting to tell on you.” Her brows lift. “I can keep my mouth shut.”
I should tell her right here. Should tell her Mercedes works for me, that it was a work conversation, that I’m not sneaking around with anyone. That the only line I’ve crossed lately was with her.
But she adds, casual as anything, “Does Maddie know you’re a cheater?”
And just like that, whatever hint of a smile I had is gone. My jaw tightens. “You know,” I say slowly, “I was actually going to apologize when you came over here but fuck that.”
She blinks, taken aback for half a second. Then she recovers. “Don’t bother.”
“Hailey.” I take a step closer to her, but she steps away, clearly uninterested in whatever I have to say. Her eyes flick over my face like she’s weighing whether she should say whatever is on the tip of her tongue.
Her mouth parts a little, but before I can press it, before I can explain the whole damn thing so it’s not festering in her head—
“Hailey!” the other woman calls from the cocoa booth, waving an arm. “Hey! We need you. The line’s long!”
Hailey glances over her shoulder. The line has doubled, people shifting from foot to foot in the cold. She curses under her breath, then looks back at me.
“We’re not done with this,” I tell her quietly.
She shakes her head. “We actually are.”
Then she turns and hurries back through the snow, those puffy earmuffs engulfing her face, red scarf swinging, leaving me standing there with cooling cocoa in my hand and a fresh, burning need to set the record straight.
I stare down at the half-empty cup in my hand. Every muscle in my body’s wired too tight. I toss the cup in the trash, literally laughing out loud at myself.
“I’m so fucking fucked,” I mutter under my breath.
Jake shoots me a questioning look from the other end of the lot, but I wave him off before he can ask. Because yeah, there’s no explaining this one. Not without sounding like an idiot.
I grab a tree from the stack, hoisting it onto my shoulder just to have something to do. The pine needles scrape my neck. The trunk’s heavier than I anticipated. All I can think about is the look she gave me before she walked off.
Like I was exactly what she thought I was, some lying asshole who toys with women for fun. It shouldn’t fucking matter what she thinks about me. My life is none of her business and vice versa. Except every time I tell myself that, it lands with less conviction.
Because she got to me. She’s under my skin and in my head and I’m not sure I want her gone.
The guys start wrapping up near ten, the flow of customers slowing as the temperature drops.
I check the cash box and log a few notes for tomorrow, anything to keep my hands busy.
But I keep glancing toward the cocoa booth, waiting for her to look up, to maybe give me something, but I don’t see her.
“You got it?” I ask Travis before stepping away.
“Yup, heading out after I put this last lock on the trees.”
I try to hurry toward the cocoa tent without making it obvious, but when I reach it, it’s already closed up.
“Left early,” The woman who was with Hailey tells me when I pass by. “Didn’t feel great, I think. Said she’d see us tomorrow.”
I nod, force out a thanks, and head back toward my truck. Every step crunches loud against the snow, too loud in the quiet that’s settled over the market. My nose is cold, my hands jammed deep in my jacket pockets.
I should just let it go. But the image of that look on her face when she accused me of cheating plays on Repeat.
She doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know a damn thing about me… But damn if I don’t want her to.
I climb into my truck, slam the door, and sit there with the engine off. My hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles going white. The truck’s cab is cold. I turn the key, the engine rumbling to life, but I don’t move. My heart’s in my throat, pounding like it’s begging me not to do something stupid.
“Don’t do it, man,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Do not fucking do it.”
But even as I say it, I’m already picturing the drive. The turn onto her street. The soft yellow glow in her apartment window.
I exhale hard, rub a hand over my face, and drop my head back against the seat. Because the truth is, I’m already too far gone. And no amount of telling myself to stay away is going to change the fact that I want her anyway.