Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Ash
Iopen the cabin door the night after our snowball fight and near kiss expecting pizza delivery.
Instead I get Lucy Snow.
She stands on my porch bundled in a soft gray coat, hair curled from the cold, cheeks flushed pink. She's holding a stack of children’s books—Holly’s favorites from the library.
The sight of her hits me like a punch to the ribs. A warm one. A dangerous one.
“Ash,” she says, breath visible in the freezing air. “I just came to drop these off.”
Just. As if anything involving her is ever just anything.
Before I can respond, Holly shouts from inside, “Is it Lucy?”
Lucy’s smile wavers. “Hi, sweetheart!”
Holly barrels toward the door, socks sliding on the wood floor, clutching her stuffed polar bear by the leg.
“Miss Lucy!” she beams. “You came!”
“She brought your books,” I say, stepping back. “So you can stop asking me to reread the same one twelve times.”
“I liked that one,” Holly argues.
Lucy laughs softly, and I fucking swear, the sound warms the entire damn cabin more than the wood stove. I nod toward the living room. “You can come in.”
She hesitates. “Only for a second.”
I know why she’s saying that. We’ve been orbiting something we shouldn’t.
And she’s trying to keep herself out of my gravity well. Smart. Impossible, but smart.
She steps inside. Snow melts in her hair and I want to brush it away. I don’t.
“Thank you for bringing the books,” I say, voice gruffer than intended. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know.” She looks up at me—really looks—and my chest tightens in that now-familiar, unwelcome way.
I clear my throat. “Holly, go put your books in your room.”
“Wait!” Holly squeals. “I need to tell Teddy something first.”
I raise a brow. “It’s almost bedtime.”
“It’s important,” she argues.
Lucy hides a smile.
Holly runs down the hallway, whispering loudly to her stuffed bear as she goes. “Come on, Teddy, we gotta talk.”
I try not to laugh. Fail.
Lucy swallows a smile too. “She’s… adorable.”
“She’s exhausting,” I counter. “And yeah. Adorable.”
Even saying the word makes me feel something I don’t want to name.
Lucy shifts closer to the door like she’s preparing to leave. “I’ll let you two—”
Then Holly’s door doesn’t close all the way. We hear it. Every word. Her tiny voice drifting down the hall:
“Okay, Teddy. You gotta listen. This is a wish, so you can’t tell anybody.”
Lucy freezes beside me. I go stone-still. Holly whispers fiercely, the way kids do when they think they’re being sneaky: “I want Miss Lucy to be my family.”
My stomach drops. Lucy sucks in a breath—sharp, silent, gut-level.
I feel everything inside me pull tight. Too tight.
Holly keeps going, whispering with heartbreaking honesty:
“I know she’s not my mommy. I know. But I want her to stay. She makes Uncle Ash smile the big smile he tries to hide. And she reads the best. And she smells nice.”
Lucy’s hand flies to her mouth. I can’t move. Holly’s voice softens even more:
“And when Mommy’s gone… I’m not scared when Miss Lucy is here. So I wish she could be ours.”
Jesus Christ. The words hit me dead center. Like a roof collapsing. Like a fire roaring too fast to outrun.
I hear Lucy sniff quietly.
Holly adds: “Please, Teddy. Don’t tell. It’s a secret wish.”
Silence swallows the cabin. Lucy stares at the floor like her heart just got punched out of her chest. Mine’s not doing much better.
She whispers, “Ash…”
“Don’t,” I say, voice low and rough.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t pretend that didn’t hit you.”
She swallows hard. “I’m trying not to cry.”
“Don’t,” I repeat, softer. “I can’t take it if you do.”
Her eyes lift to mine—bright, glassy, breaking. And I’m gone. Completely. Irretrievably. Gone. I drag a hand through my hair, pacing once because standing still feels like suffocating.
“She’s six,” I say. “Six. She shouldn’t be putting that weight on anyone.”
“It’s not weight,” Lucy whispers. “It’s love.”
“That’s the problem,” I mutter. “She loves too fast.”
“She learned that from you.”
I stiffen. “No.”
“Yes,” she insists, stepping closer. “Ash… you’re her entire world right now. And you’ve spent months trying to be strong enough for both of you. Strong enough for her. Strong enough for your sister. Strong enough for everything.”
Her voice softens, a tremor running through it. “But Holly’s not loving too fast. She’s loving exactly right.”
Something deep inside me cracks. Breaks. I look at Lucy—really look at her—and I realize something terrifying:
Holly isn’t the only one falling.
I take a step toward her. “Lucy.”
She takes one back. “Ash. I’m not—this isn’t—”
My voice drops. “Don’t lie.”
“I’m trying not to.” She presses a hand to her chest. “But this is complicated.”
“It doesn't feel complicated.”
“It should.”
“Should,” I repeat. “But doesn’t.”
She shakes her head. “You’re Holly’s guardian. You need stability, not—”
“You,” I cut in.
Her lips part.
“You’re what’s unstable?” I challenge. “You’re what’s dangerous? You’re what’s messy?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “Exactly.”
“No,” I growl. “You’re wrong.”
Her breath stutters.
“You walked into my life,” I say, stepping closer, “and everything got worse. Louder. Messier. I couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t focus. Couldn’t breathe.”
Her eyes flicker. “Ash—”
“But then…” I swallow. Hard. “Everything got better too.”
She stops breathing.
“The cabin got less quiet,” I murmur. “The days got easier. Holly laughed more. I laughed more.”
“You don’t laugh,” she tries, voice shaky.
“I do with you.”
Silence crashes down around us.
She whispers, “Ash… I can’t be a replacement for her mother.”
I nod once. “I know.”
“I can’t be a temporary comfort.”
“You’re not.”
“I can’t—”
She breaks off, struggling. I step closer, so close the air heats between us.
“You heard her,” I say softly. “She wants you.”
“I know.”
“Not as a replacement.” My voice dips, low and certain. “As an addition.”
She flinches like that lands too deep.
“Ash… what if your sister comes home and—”
“She will.” I nod. “Eventually.”
“And then what?”
Shit. She’s asking the question I’ve been running from.
“And then…” I choke. “I don’t know.”
Her fingertips drift to her bottom lip—a nervous gesture that pulls my eyes like a magnet.
“Ash… I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“I know,” I murmur.
“I didn’t want to get attached.”
“Too late.”
She lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah.”
“Lucy.”
She blinks up at me, eyes still glassy. I step close enough that our breath mingles. Close enough that if she leaned forward an inch—just one—we’d be touching.
“Whatever this is,” I say quietly, “you’re not doing it alone. I’m in it too.”
Her breathing stutters. “That scares me.”
“Me too.”
We stand there, trapped in the charged silence that keeps getting harder to walk away from.
I lift a hand, hesitating before I touch her. Not because I don’t want to. Because I want to too much. But gently—so gently—I run my thumb along her cheekbone, brushing away a tear she didn’t notice falling. She exhales like that breaks her.
“Ash…” she whispers, voice trembling.
I lean in, forehead almost touching hers, her scent filling my head, her body soft and tense and right there.
“Lucy,” I breathe.
Everything in me pulls toward her. Every instinct. Every ache. Every goddamn craving I’ve been swallowing for weeks. She doesn’t move away. She closes her eyes. Inhales. And for a moment—one suspended moment—we’re both leaning in. Not kissing. But close. Way too close.
Then Holly’s voice carries down the hallway again:
“Uncle Ash! Teddy says he’s hungry and I don’t know what bears eat!”
Lucy jumps back. I step away so fast I nearly smack into the counter.
We stare at each other.
Both breathing like idiots.
Both shaken.
Both wrecked.
“I—” She swallows. “I should go.”
I nod, unable to find my voice as she turns to the door. Her hand grips the knob, then pauses. She looks over her shoulder. “Ash?”
“Yeah.”
She hesitates. Soft. Vulnerable. “Tell Holly I loved her picture.”
I nod again. She steps outside into the cold. I watch her walk across the snow, scarf blowing in the wind, boots crunching softly. Every step she takes feels wrong.
Too far. Too away.
When the door closes, Holly runs out, dragging her bear. “Uncle Ash! Are books food? Teddy wants to know.”
But I barely hear her. Because the echo of her secret—I want Miss Lucy to be my family—is still ringing in the walls.
And worse: I want it too. Not someday. Not maybe. Not hypothetically. Now.
The realization hits like a freight train.
I am falling for Lucy Snow. Fast. Hard. Dangerously. And for the first time in years—I’m not sure I want to stop.