Chapter Four – Sorcha
Sorcha hadn’t opened up about herself to anyone for a long time. She’d learned the hard way that sharing a part of yourself could have repercussions. She’d closed that part of herself off, and instead of talking about herself, she’d developed a knack for getting others to talk about themselves.
It served her well as a journalist.
Not so much for relationships, particularly of the romantic kind.
More than once, she had been accused of not letting people in. She’d always smiled and changed the subject; headlines were safer than heartlines.
But it was different with Christopher. She trusted him. Although she could not explain why. There was just something about him.
Yes, it sounded cliched, but it was the truth.
Or was she romanticizing that too?
Was she reading too much into her reaction to Christopher? She’d always been a romantic at heart, despite her attempts to bury that part of herself under layers of professional detachment.
As she sipped her cocoa, her mind wandered to the Christmases she’d imagined for herself when she was younger.
A house filled with laughter, children racing down the stairs at dawn to see what Santa had brought, a husband by her side watching their faces light up with wonder.
She’d wanted that and had assumed it would happen naturally as she built her career.
But the years had slipped by, assignment after assignment, and somehow that dream had faded into the background. Not disappeared, she told herself, just…postponed. Until postponement began to feel like permanence.
Sorcha studied Christopher over the rim of her cup.
There was something so solid about him, so present.
The kind of man who would make an incredible father, patient, kind, and attentive.
The thought formed before she could stop it…
Was this why their paths had crossed? Had fate been saving her dream for this moment, this place, this man?
No. That was ridiculous. She was here for a couple of days to write an article, then she’d be gone.
Moving on to the next assignment, the next town, the next step up the career ladder.
That was her real dream. To write impactful articles that made a difference and changed lives.
Not settling down in some picturesque mountain town with a man she’d just met, no matter how much he made her pulse quicken.
She set down her empty mug with more force than necessary, the ceramic clinking against the wooden table.
“I should get going,” she said, reaching for her notebook. “I need to stick to my schedule if I’m going to cover everything in the short time I’m here.”
Christopher nodded, wiping a napkin across his mouth. “Okay, what’s next on the agenda?”
Sorcha flipped open her leather-bound notebook. She really should switch to digital note-taking like her colleagues, but there was something about the feel of a pen on paper that helped her think. Her handwriting flowed across the page in practiced loops and slants.
“I was planning to visit the animal sanctuary,” she said, studying her itinerary.
For a moment, she nearly suggested he drop her back at the cabin so she could take her own car.
Independence had always been her default.
But then she glanced out the window at the snow-covered streets and reconsidered.
Her car was a compact sedan with city tires, not exactly built for these conditions.
She’d checked the weather forecast before leaving home, and there had been no mention of snow.
Maybe fate had stepped in, arranging this storm so she’d need Christopher’s help.
No, that was just her romanticizing again. The weather was just weather, not some cosmic matchmaking scheme. Still, the timing made her smile into her scarf.
“The animal sanctuary sounds perfect,” Christopher said, reaching for his wallet to pay the bill. “It’s about fifteen minutes from here, out past the old mill.”
“Great,” she replied, zipping up her coat. “Lead the way.”
They said goodbye to Ellie, who insisted they take a bag of freshly baked cookies “for the road,” and headed back out into the crisp winter air. The snow had stopped falling, leaving everything blanketed in a thin layer of pristine white.
Christopher’s truck was warm within minutes of starting up.
As they drove through town, Sorcha found herself stealing glances at his profile.
The strong line of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when he smiled.
He was just her type. If she had a type.
She’d never considered it before. Maybe her type was simply safe hands, steady heart.
They were passing the edge of town when something caught her eye. A hillside where children were sledding, their colorful winter gear bright against the snow, their laughter carrying through the air.
“I haven’t done that since I was a child,” Sorcha said, the words escaping before she could think better of them.
Christopher slowed the truck, looking over at the sledding hill, then back at her with a gentle smile. “Want to give it a go?”
She should say no. She had a schedule, an article to write, and professional obligations. But there was something in his expression—an openness, an invitation to joy—that made her usual excuses seem hollow.
“Yes,” she said, surprising herself with how much she meant it. And wanted it.
Christopher pulled the truck over to the side of the road and parked. “Okay, let’s go.”
“But we don’t have a sled.” Sorcha glanced in the back of the truck. Maybe he had one stowed away in there for emergencies. Christopher seemed to be a man who was prepared for every eventuality.
“That’s okay.” Christopher’s eyes brightened as he turned to her. “I know exactly where we can borrow some sleds.”
As they got out of the truck, Sorcha hugged her arms around herself against the chill.
The snow crunched beneath her boots, pristine and inviting.
A laugh escaped her as she caught sight of a small child tumbling off a sled, only to immediately scramble up and race back toward the hill. Damn, she felt so alive!
“How are we going to find…”
“Daniel is here with his kids,” Christopher said, pointing toward a man standing at the edge of the sledding area. “They’ll let us take a turn.”
“Is this the Daniel who was part of the tree team?” Sorcha asked as she followed Christopher through the snow.
Christopher reached back to help her across a particularly deep drift, his gloved hand wrapping securely around hers. That same electric current shot through her arm at his touch, making her breath catch. It was becoming familiar now, that jolt of awareness, but no less powerful.
“The one and the same,” he said with a grin. Then he laughed, his breath clouding in the cold air. “The tree team, I like that.”
“Maybe next year I’ll get you all T-shirts,” she said without thinking.
“I’d like that,” Christopher said. But did he mean the part about the T-shirts, or the part about her being here next year?
Heat coursed through her as she fought to get a handle on her erratic thoughts. The cold must have short-circuited her brain. She needed to focus on the story, and order would soon be restored.
The sledding field opened before them, filled with children’s laughter and excited shrieks.
Something about the scene tugged at Sorcha’s heart—memories of winter afternoons in her own hometown, racing down hills with neighborhood friends, before she’d grown old enough to find the small-town life limiting.
For a moment, she let herself remember the good parts: hot chocolate waiting at home, the simple joy of speed and snow, the camaraderie of shared winter adventures.
“Christopher!” A man’s deep voice called out, accompanied by a friendly wave.
“Daniel!” Christopher called back. “I thought it was you.”
They made their way over to where Daniel stood. Sorcha noticed how his attention seemed divided, one eye always on the slope where children raced down on colorful plastic sleds. A father’s vigilance, she realized.
“What are you doing here?” Daniel asked, clapping Christopher on the shoulder.
Christopher’s cheeks flushed pink, and Sorcha wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or something else. “Just showing Sorcha around,” he said. “She’s writing an article about Christmas in Bear Creek.”
Daniel’s eyes shifted between them, a knowing smile playing at his lips that made Sorcha wonder what silent communication was passing between the men. He extended his hand toward her. “Hi there. Welcome to Bear Creek.”
Sorcha shook his hand, noting the strength in his grip and the smudge of flour that still clung to his coat sleeve. There was warmth in the contact, friendliness, but none of that electric spark she felt whenever Christopher touched her. That, it seemed, was uniquely Christopher.
Before she could respond, two children came racing over, their cheeks flushed with cold and exertion.
“Christopher!” they cried in unison. The boy nearly collided with Christopher’s legs in his enthusiasm.
“Hey, Teddy, Maisie,” Christopher said, ruffling the boy’s hair with easy affection. “Having fun?”
“We’re going to get hot chocolate,” the girl, Maisie, said, her eyes bright with excitement. “Dad promised.”
“Have you come to sled?” Teddy asked, bouncing on his toes. “You can borrow ours while we’re gone!”
“That would be amazing,” Christopher said, looking to Daniel for permission.
“Of course,” Daniel nodded. “Take as long as you like.”
The children handed over their sleds with surprising generosity, each one explaining the merits of their particular model to Sorcha with serious expressions.
Sorcha thanked them profusely, touched by their easy kindness.
This was what made small communities special, she thought, this casual generosity, this assumption that of course you would share what you had.