Chapter 5
five
. . .
Holly
I wake to the sound of a door closing. Careful. Like someone not wanting to wake me.
I sit, disoriented. All I see through the window is darkness. I throw back the quilt and get out of bed.
The fire’s burning low in the main room. And…
Cole’s gone.
The cabin’s empty. His coat’s gone from the hook. His boots are missing.
Dread pools heavy in my gut.
The bag. He went for the bag.
I check the time on my phone: 3:47 a.m.
Cole said he’d wake me. Why didn’t he wake me?
I peer out the window. Snow falls. Not the gentle kind. The horizontal, blinding kind that erases everything.
My chest tightens.
How long has he been gone? Five minutes? Ten?
I pad to the door and stop. Should I wait? He knows the ridge and is capable, and he told me not to go out.
But what if something happened? What if he’s hurt?
I check my phone again: 3:49 a.m.
Two minutes. It feels longer.
I’ll give him ten. If he’s not back by then, I’ll…
What? Go after him and make things worse?
I pace, counting the seconds and watching the window.
3:52.
The wind howls. Snow pelts the glass.
3:54.
This is stupid. I shouldn’t have asked him to get the bag. I should’ve…
3:56.
Ugh. I can’t stand here doing nothing.
I grab my coat and shove my arms in. Pull on the boots. No time for gloves or a hat. I’ll be fast. Just to the edge of the porch to see if I can spot him.
I open the door, and the wind slams into me, causing me to stumble back.
Okay. Maybe this is a bad idea.
But I’m already outside. Well, sort of. And the car is parked close. I can see…
The wind shifts, and I lose my bearings. White.
Oh no. Where’s the cabin?
I turn. But I see only trees and snow and…
Panic claws up my throat. “Cole!” My voice is thin, swallowed by wind.
I take a step. Then another. My boot catches, and I stumble, catching myself on a tree trunk.
My hands are going numb. I should’ve grabbed gloves. Should’ve…
“HOLLY!” His voice is strong. Close.
Relief floods so hard my knees buckle. “Cole!”
He appears through the white, and his face shows a mix of fury and fear.
He grabs my arm. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
“You didn’t wake me. You said you’d wake me. I thought you might be hurt.” My teeth are chattering. I can’t stop them.
“How long have you been out here?”
“I don’t know. A couple of minutes or so.”
He curses, shrugs off his outer coat, and wraps it around me. Then he pulls me against his chest, one arm locked around my waist. “Stay close. Eyes on me. Don’t let go.”
We push through the wind together. I can barely see or feel my feet. But Cole’s solid beside me, guiding and holding me up when I stumble.
The cabin materializes out of the whiteness. Relief stings my eyes.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” His voice is flat, all function, as the wind tries to rip me backward.
“I—”
“Not now. Move.”
He muscles me inside and shoulders the door shut. His hands are already checking my coat, sweater, and skin. “You’re cold.”
Tremors rattle through me. “I’m—”
“Don’t tell me you’re fine.” He moves clinically. “Coat off. Now.”
I fumble with the zipper. My fingers won’t work. He helps, peeling off the snow-stiff layers, and swears under his breath. “Sit.”
I do, by the fire, and he piles blankets around me. Wool and fleece wrap me tight.
“I’m sorry—”
“Not yet.” He goes to the kitchen. Water runs, mugs clatter, and the kettle hisses.
He comes back with a compact emergency kit containing gauze, glucose, and instant heat packs.
He doesn’t read the labels. His hands move like a checklist. He cracks then tucks a heat pack at my palms and another at my neck.
He crouches and slips a digital thermometer under my tongue. The world narrows to his steady hands and the tick of plastic against my lip. The readout chirps. “Ninety-six point two.”
Cole kneels to unlace my boots. He makes another trip to the kitchen.
“Sip.” A mug appears in my hands. Steam, cinnamon, and the first bite of warmth. “Small sips. Slow.”
Heat stings my mouth before it soaks in. Pins and needles wake my fingers.
“You scared me.” He doesn’t look up. “I don’t like being scared.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Save sorry for later.” He motions for my socks. “Warm first.”
He rubs my hands between his, watching color creep back into my white knuckles. When he looks up, the clinical edges soften.
“Next time, you call me.” His voice is firm. “You wait for me. I will come get you.”
“That’s not—”
“It is now.” His thumb traces a slow line over my wrist, checking my pulse, staking a claim. “A decision like this deserves care.”
I nod, heat blooming beneath my skin that has nothing to do with the mug.
“Good?” His forehead tips to mine, a question without pressure.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He sits beside me and pulls me against him, sharing body heat. His heart hammers under my ear.
We stay like that until I stop shaking and warmth creeps back into my fingers and toes. His heart slows as my body returns to normal.
“Better?” he asks finally.
“Yeah. Much better.”
“Good.” He reaches beside the chair and picks up my wet, snow-covered duffel bag. At least it’s intact. “I got your grandmother’s recipes. They’re safe.”
Tears fill my eyes. “You went out in that storm for a bag of recipes.”
“No. I went out in that storm for you. For what matters to you.” He sets the bag on the table. “That’s what you do when you care about someone.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“You’re welcome. Now don’t ever scare me like that again.”
“I was scared. You didn’t wake me, and I thought—”
“I know. But Holly, you could’ve died out there. Five more minutes and you would’ve been hypothermic. Ten and I might not have found you in time.”
The reality slams into me. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. But you have to promise me that if anything like this happens again, you’ll wait. You trust me to come back. Because I will. Always. But I can’t do my job if I’m worried about you being out there too.”
“Your job?”
“Keeping you safe. That’s the deal. That’s what this…” He takes a breath. “That’s what you mean to me.”
“What do I mean to you?” My voice comes out smaller than I intended.
He pulls back so I have to look at him. His eyes are intense and afraid in a way I haven’t seen before.
“Everything,” he says. “You mean everything. And when I heard your voice out there, when I realized you were in danger because of me…” He swallows. “I can’t lose someone else. Not like that. Not you.”
Tears burn behind my eyes. “You won’t lose me.”
“You don’t know that. Nobody knows that. Emma didn’t know. One minute she was laughing on the phone, the next…” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t save her. But I can save you. And I will. Every time. As many times as it takes.”
“Cole—”
“I need you to understand.” He cups my face, and his thumbs brush my cheekbones. “What you said about being convenient and people only picking you when it’s easy.”
I bite my lip.
“You’re not convenient.” His voice is fierce. “You’re necessary. You’re…” He pauses. “You’re the first thing that’s made sense in three years. The first person who’s made me want to try again. To open that door instead of keeping it locked.”
“The closet door with all the Christmas things.”
“Yeah. But it’s not just Christmas. It’s living instead of existing and letting someone in instead of staying alone because it’s safer.”
“Is it? Safer?”
“I thought so. But you know what’s actually safe?” He leans his forehead against mine. “This. You. Choosing to be brave enough to care about someone even when it’s terrifying.”
A tear spills over, and he catches it with his thumb.
“I’m terrified,” I admit. “Of getting hurt again. Of being the placeholder. Of—”
“You’re not. I promise you, Holly. You’re not convenient. You’re not a placeholder. You’re the person I want. The person I choose. On purpose. Not because you’re here. Because you’re you.”
More tears fall. I don’t try to stop them.
“I’ve never…” My voice breaks. “I’ve never had someone pick me like that.”
“Then let me be the first.”
He kisses me. Soft at first, then deeper when I open for him. His hands slide into my hair, and I grip his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him closer, to feel his weight and heat and certainty.
He makes a sound low in his throat and pulls me onto his lap. I straddle him, aware of the hard length of him beneath me, separated only by thin layers of fabric.
My temperature rises. “Cole—”
“I need you,” he says against my mouth. “Need to feel you. Need to know you’re here. Safe. Mine.”
“I’m here. I’m yours.”
His hands slide under my shirt, rough palms against bare skin, and I arch into him. He groans. “I want this. You.”
“Yes.”
“Holly—”
“I’m sure, Cole. I want you. I want to know what it feels like to be chosen on purpose. And…” I take a breath. “I told you that I’ve never done this before. So I need you to be patient with me.”
His expression softens. “I remember. And I will be. I promise you, Holly. We’ll go at your pace. You tell me if it doesn’t feel right. You tell me to stop, and I stop. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Say it back.”
“If anything doesn’t feel right, I’ll tell you. If I want to stop, you’ll stop.”
“Good. And we use protection. Non-negotiable.”
“Okay.”
“I need to hear you say it.”
“We use protection. I agree.”
His gaze searches mine. “Nervous?”
“A little.”
“Good. Means you’re paying attention.” He pulls back enough to kiss my forehead. “I’m nervous too.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. Because this matters. You matter.”
My throat tightens. “Cole—”
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers.
“No.”
“Tell me if I can kiss you.”
“Yes. Please, yes.”
His mouth finds mine.
Soft at first. Careful. Testing.
I lean in, and he deepens it, one hand sliding to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair. The other anchors at my waist, pulling me flush against him.
He tastes like coffee. His beard rasps against my skin, and I shiver, not from cold this time.
I fist my hands in his flannel and pull him closer, needing more contact, more heat, more him.