Chapter 6
six
. . .
Cole
Holly’s phone buzzes against the nightstand. I open my eyes. She’s awake beside me, staring at her screen.
“What is it?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer but turns the phone so I can read.
Sophie: Road crew finished the main route. So glad you’re safe!
Another bubble sits below it with a photo thumbnail.
I sit up, heat tightening behind my ribs. “What’s that?”
Holly opens it. The photo shows her in my kitchen yesterday, wearing my thermal shirt, her hair damp, and smiling at something off-camera. The caption reads: Our Holly looking cozy in mountain man fashion! Glad she’s safe. #LushHollow #StormSurvivors
Seven likes already. Three comments: hearts, relief, and one questioning if that’s Cole Hart in the background.
My chest tightens. I can’t get air.
Holly’s face is carefully blank. She doesn’t blink. “This is the selfie I sent to Sophie yesterday. When I texted to let her know I was okay.”
I stare at the screen. When people see Holly in the oversized shirt, it’ll be obvious. She looks like she’s mine.
My jaw locks. Heat climbs the back of my neck. “That picture is all over the volunteer group chat. Why would you post that?”
The words come out sharper than I intended.
She flinches, pulling back like I’ve slapped her. “What? No! I only sent it to Sophie. Like I said I would.”
“And now the whole town has seen it. Holly, you promised me. You said it was just for Sophie.”
“I didn’t post it! Sophie must have. I didn’t think to tell her to keep it private. But Cole, I would never—”
“It doesn’t matter who posted it! It’s out there.” My voice is flat. “You in my kitchen. In my clothes. Holly, I don’t… People don’t—”
“Don’t what?” Her voice could cut glass. She’s pulling away, physically and emotionally, wrapping her arms around herself. “Don’t take pictures in your space? Don’t tell anyone they were here? Don’t exist publicly in your clothes, looking like they belong to you?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
My throat closes. “I wasn’t expecting people to—”
“Know about me.” She finishes for me. “To see me looking like I’m yours.”
Damn. That’s exactly what I meant. And it’s exactly the wrong thing. “Holly—”
“I should get ready. The plow will be here soon.” She slips out of bed and grabs her clothes with quick, jerky movements.
“Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She won’t look at me, keeping her back turned as she pulls on her panties and jeans. “You’ve made it clear how you feel about people knowing I’ve been here. About people seeing me in your clothes. About anyone thinking we’re together.”
“It’s not you. The photo—”
“Isn’t the problem.” She finally looks at me. “The problem is what happens now. When we go back to town and everyone’s watching.”
I go still. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been here before, Cole. Someone says the right things in private. Then the second it’s public, the second people are paying attention, they’re gone.”
“I’m not Mark.”
“Logically, I know that.” Her voice cracks. “But I also know what it feels like to be picked in private and dismissed in public. And I can’t go through that again.”
“Holly—”
“I need space. I need to think. And I need to see what happens when we’re not trapped together.”
“Okay,” I say. “Take your space. But this isn’t a cabin thing. Not for me.”
She doesn’t answer, just pulls on the rest of her clothes and walks out, closing the door between us. The soft click echoes.
I sit, staring at the closed door. Then I get up and dress.
The plow comes at eight-fifteen, the blade scraping loudly against asphalt and packed snow. Behind me, Holly zips her duffel bag.
“I’ll drive you down in your car and have Jesse or Wells drive me back.”
“Okay.” She stares at her bag.
“I’m going to check the generator.” I head out the back and check the fuel level, exhaust venting, and oil. Everything’s under control.
Except this.
I go back inside. Holly stands by the door, her bag over her shoulder and her coat zipped. She’s ready to leave.
“Coffee first.”
“I’m fine.” Her voice is steady, but she won’t meet my gaze.
Still, I pour two mugs anyway and set one on the table for her.
She takes it. Wraps both hands around it but doesn’t drink. Steam rises between us.
“Thank you,” she says finally. “For everything. The shelter. The food. Fixing my car. All of it.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do. You didn’t have to help me.”
“Yes, I did.”
She looks up at that. “Why?”
“Because it was the right thing to do.”
“Right. Of course.”
She sets the mug down, coffee rippling, untouched. “We should go.”
The drive down the mountain is quiet. Holly stares out the window, her arms crossed. I keep my eyes on the road, hands locked on the wheel, and say nothing.
The town appears through the trees. Smoke rises from chimneys. Christmas lights glow.
Normal. Safe. Everything the ridge isn’t.
I park in front of her house on Pine Street. It’s small and yellow with a sagging porch.
She’s out of the car before I can kill the engine.
“Holly—”
“Thanks for the ride.” She grabs her duffel bag from the back seat and heads up the walkway.
I follow. “Let me check inside. Make sure the heat’s working.”
“I’m fine.”
“Holly—”
She turns, hand on the doorknob. “Cole, I appreciate your help. But I can take it from here.”
I should find a ride. But I don’t want to. “The porch step is loose. I can fix it.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
She studies my face. Then she nods once and unlocks the door.
Inside, the house is cold but not freezing. The old radiator ticks and clangs, warming slowly. Everything is organized. Books alphabetized. Mugs lined up by size. Even the throw pillows are symmetrical.
My throat clogs. This is so her.
The kitchen sink drips. I motion to it. “Let me fix that, too.”
Without waiting for an answer, I grab my toolbox from her car and get to work.
Twenty minutes, done. The porch step takes longer. Rotted board and loose nails. I replace both and test the weight twice.
When I come back inside, Holly is in the kitchen making tea.
“All set,” I say. “Step’s solid. The sink won’t drip anymore.”
“Thank you.”
“Here are your keys.” As I hand them back, I see the yellow smiley face keychain. I should leave. But my feet won’t move. “Holly—”
“I need to check in with Sophie about the volunteer schedule. There’s a senior center event I need to prep for.”
“Right. Okay.”
She looks up at me then. Her eyes are red. “Cole…”
My phone buzzes. I pull it out. Habit.
Jesse: Heard you had company during the storm. You good?
Holly sees me check it. Her face closes. “You must be needed elsewhere.”
“That’s not—”
“Thanks again.” The dismissal is final this time.
I leave.
I head to Roz’s for a ride home. The diner is packed with the lunch rush and locals catching up after the storm. Jesse sits in a corner booth.
I slide across from him. “I need a ride home.”
“Your guest leave already?”
“Holly Brooks. She got stuck.”
“I heard. Sophie posted about it in the group chat. You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
I don’t answer.
Roz appears with coffee and sets a mug in front of me without asking. “You look like hell, Hart.”
“Thanks, Roz.”
“Holly okay?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Good. She’s a sweet girl. Town loves her.” Roz refills Jesse’s mug. “You being careful with her?”
“What?”
“She’s not like us, Cole. She’s not a ridge person. She’s town. Community. And if you hurt her, this whole valley’s going to have an opinion about it.”
“I’m not—”
“Good. Because she’s been through enough. Moved here with nothing, built herself a place, and made herself useful. Last thing she needs is some hermit breaking her heart because he’s too scared to be seen.” Roz walks away before I can respond.
Jesse watches me. “You going back up or fixing this?”
I drain my coffee. “Fixing this.”
“Good. I’ll wait.”
At Holly’s, her car’s in the driveway. I knock.
She opens the door, phone in hand, surprised. “Cole?”
“Can we talk?”
She hesitates, then steps aside. I follow her into the living room. She sits on the couch. I take the chair across from her.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “About this morning. The way I reacted to the photo. I panicked and I hurt you.”
“Why did you panic?”
I lean forward, elbows on knees. “Because for three years I’ve been invisible. Nobody watching. Nobody expecting anything. And then that photo with people asking questions, seeing us together… It made it real. Public.”
“And that scared you.”
“Yeah.”
“Because of Emma.”
I nod. “Everyone saw me fail her. I wasn’t there when she needed me. And I hid up here where nobody could watch me fail again.”
“Cole, you didn’t fail her. An accident—”
“Everyone knows I was in Seattle when I should’ve been here. That I couldn’t save her.” My hands fist on my knees. “And when people start watching us, they’ll remember. They’ll wait for me to fail you, too.”
“I’m not asking you to save me. I’m asking you to choose me. There’s a difference.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because this morning, when you saw that photo, you made me feel like something to hide. Like I was convenient in private but too much work in public.”
The words cut deep because they’re true.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “You’re not convenient. You’re not something to hide. I just… I need time to get used to people knowing. People watching.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “How much time?”
“I don’t know.”
Wrong answer. I see it in the way her face closes off.
“Okay,” she says quietly. “I understand.”
“Holly—”
“I should get ready for the senior center event. Sophie’s expecting me.”
“Can I see you tomorrow?”
She studies my face, and her expression hardens. “Why? So you can take me to Roz’s and prove a point? One public breakfast and everything’s fine?”
“It’s a start—”
“Cole, I need more than a start. I need to know what happens the next time. When someone posts about us again. When your privacy gets invaded. When people gossip.” Her voice cracks.
“I need to know you won’t panic and make me feel like something to hide every time being with me costs you something. ”
I force myself to breathe. “What do you need?”
“Time. I need time to think about whether I can risk this again. Whether one breakfast is enough proof that you’ve changed.”
The words make me step back. But she’s right. “Okay. Fair. Take your time.”
“I will.” She moves toward the door. “Thank you for the apology. But Cole... I can’t go through this again. So when I decide, it needs to be because I believe you. Not because I want to.”
I stand. Head for the door. She follows. At the threshold, I turn back. “Holly?”
“Yeah?”
“Tomorrow at Roz’s I’ll prove it. I’ll show everyone you’re mine. No hesitation. No hiding.”
“And if you can’t?”
“Then you walk away, and I’ll deserve it.” I meet her gaze. “But I won’t fail. Not this time. Not with you.”
She studies my face, and something in her expression shifts. Not forgiveness yet, but maybe... hope.
“I need to think,” she says.
“I know. And if meeting at Roz’s needs to wait, that’s okay. When you’re ready… if you’re ready… call me.”
I leave before she can respond.