Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
NATALIE
Calder’s family arrives in waves—first with laughter, then with snow, then with all the joyful, chaotic energy of people who have somehow survived a winter road and are determined to celebrate the fact.
His mom is the last through the door.
She steps into the warm cabin, shakes snow from her coat, and gasps aloud when she sees the tree.
“Oh, Calder,” she whispers. “It’s beautiful.”
He clears his throat, hands in his pockets, pretending he didn’t preen just a little.
“It was teamwork,” he says, glancing at me.
His mom follows his gaze.
And then her hands fly to her mouth.
“You must be Natalie.”
I smile, holding out a hand, but she ignores it and pulls me into a hug so warm and earnest it almost undoes me.
“Thank you,” she murmurs. “Thank you for helping him. Thank you for making this feel like a Christmas again.”
My throat tightens. “You’re very welcome.”
She steps back, eyes shining. “He hasn’t decorated in years.”
I don’t say anything.
Calder doesn’t either.
But something softens between us—an unspoken acknowledgement that this moment matters.
The kids race to the cocoa bar. Mia unwraps matching pajamas from her duffel. Theo tries to help but gets distracted by the garland. Troy offers to chop vegetables and very nearly slices his thumb instead.
And right in the middle of all the chaos, Calder stands beside me, shoulder brushing mine anytime someone walks past.
It feels…right.
Like I fit here.
Like I’ve stepped into the exact place I didn’t know I’d been missing.
We move through the afternoon preparing dinner.
His mom tells me stories about him as a kid—quiet, curious, prone to fixing things that weren’t broken.
The kids hang dissolving candy canes in their juice.
Mia coos over the tree. Theo tries to help with stockings and immediately tangles two of them together.
It’s warm.
It’s messy.
It’s joyful.
And something in my chest fills in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
I’m stirring a pot on the stove when I hear it.
“…just don’t want her thinking this is more than it is.”
Calder’s voice—low, hushed, strained.
I freeze.
His sister murmurs something back, but her words are too soft to make out.
Calder answers, voice tight.
“She’s doing a job. I’m not dragging her into family expectations. I don’t want her getting the wrong idea.”
Something cold bolts through me.
Wrong idea.
Job.
Not dragging me in.
I swallow hard, turning the spoon in the pot mechanically. My vision blurs slightly around the edges. Behind me, laughter bubbles from the living room. The fire crackles. The tree glows softly.
But inside me, the warm feeling evaporates.
I paste on a smile I don’t feel when the kids ask for more cocoa. I dodge Calder’s eyes at dinner. I make myself small in a room that felt perfectly safe an hour ago.
When it’s finally winding down—kids in pajamas, stockings hung, dishes soaking in the sink—I slip out onto the porch to breathe.
Snow drifts down in soft spirals. My breath fogs the cold air.
He doesn’t want me thinking this is anything.
He doesn’t want complications.
He doesn’t want…
Me.
The door creaks behind me.
I stiffen.
“Natalie?”
His voice is gentle, cautious.
I swipe my sleeve across my cheek, hoping he can’t tell. “Hey.”
He steps onto the porch, letting the door fall closed behind him. The cabin light glows warm across the snow. He stands a few feet away—hands in his pockets, shoulders tense beneath his flannel.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say too quickly. “Just needed air.”
He exhales, thick and heavy. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’m not avoiding you.”
“You haven’t looked at me in two hours.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Nat.”
The nickname hits low. Familiar. Heavy.
I close my eyes.
“Did I do something?” he asks quietly. “Say something?”
“No,” I whisper. “Not to me.”
He goes still.
Then softer—almost painfully soft—“What did you hear?”
I swallow. “Just something about… not wanting me to get the wrong idea.”
He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Natalie.”
“I get it,” I say, forcing a smile he can’t see. “We’re from different worlds. I’m here for a job. I’m not expecting anything—”
“No,” he says sharply.
I blink.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says. “Not even close.”
He steps closer—one slow, careful step—and my heart stumbles against my ribs.
“I wasn’t trying to push you away,” he says, voice breaking at the edges. “I was trying not to scare you off.”
My breath catches. “Scare me off?”
He nods once, jaw tight. “I’ve done this wrong before. Rushed things. Let people down. I didn’t want you thinking I expected anything—or that you owed me anything—just because you’re here helping my family.”
I stare at him, confusion and hope tangling inside me until I can’t tell them apart.
“I wasn’t protecting myself from you,” he says quietly. “I was trying to protect you from me.”
Oh.
Oh.
Heat blooms under my skin—slow and bright.
He moves closer. Then closer still.
Until the porch light catches the faint snow in his hair.
Until I can feel his breath on my cheek.
Until the world narrows to the steady warmth of him.
“Natalie,” he murmurs, voice low and rough in the cold air, “I’ve wanted you from the moment you stood in my doorway.”
The breath I’ve been holding shatters into a visible cloud.
“And I’ve been fighting it,” he says. “Hard.”
“Why?” I whisper.
“Because wanting you feels big.” He swallows. “Feels like something I shouldn’t start unless I know I won’t want to stop.”
My heart isn’t beating anymore. It’s soaring. Burning. Lighting up every dark corner inside me.
“And right now,” he finishes, voice barely above the wind, “I don’t want to stop.”
I inhale sharply, the cold air cutting through the heat rising everywhere else.
“Calder,” I whisper, stepping closer, “you don’t scare me.”
He closes his eyes like the words physically hit him.
When he opens them again, something unguarded glows there—soft, deep, certain.
“Come here,” he murmurs.
He doesn’t grab me.
Doesn’t pull.
Just opens the space between us.
I step into it.
His hands slide to my waist, warm even through my sweater, grounding me, anchoring me, undoing me. My hands find his chest—solid and steady beneath flannel—and then his forehead rests gently against mine.
The world goes quiet.
The snow drifts.
The porch light flickers.
And he kisses me.
Slow at first—just the soft press of lips meeting lips in the kind of way you can’t breathe through.
Then deeper, warmer, unmistakably hungry.
His hands tighten at my waist.
Mine slide up to his shoulders.
He exhales into my mouth like he’s been holding that breath for days.
“Natalie,” he murmurs against my lips, “God—”
I thread my fingers into his hair, and he groans, low and quiet, pulling me closer.
The kiss changes—heat blooming where warmth was. His body pressing mine gently against the porch wall. My hands tugging him down to meet me. A slow, sweet ache curling deep in my stomach.
He kisses like he feels everything. Like he’s been starving and I’m the first real thing he’s tasted in years. Like he doesn’t want this moment to end.
Then he pulls back just far enough to look at me, breathing harder, eyes dark and warm.
“We should go inside,” he says, voice rough.
Not hesitant. Not unsure.
Just full of wanting—and offering.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Take me inside.”
His breath catches.
He takes my hand.
The cabin glows warm as he leads me through the doorway. Away from the snow. Away from the uncertainty.
Calder closes the door behind us with a soft, decisive thud, shutting out the cold and the world beyond this cabin.
The fire crackles low in the stove. Candlelight warms every surface.
The tree glows faintly in the corner. And suddenly the tiny living room feels like it’s holding its breath with us.
He doesn’t let go of my hand.
If anything, he holds it tighter—like he’s anchoring himself, like he’s anchoring us.
When he turns to face me, the look in his eyes knocks the air out of my chest.
Not hesitant.
Not conflicted.
Just wanting, deep and certain and warm enough to melt every inch of winter outside.
“Natalie,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, “tell me to stop if you want me to. Because I won’t. Unless you want me to.”
I step closer until my chest brushes his, until his breath warms my cheek.
“No stopping,” I whisper. “Not tonight.”
Something inside him breaks open—quiet and devastating. His hand slides to my jaw, his thumb brushing my cheekbone as if he’s memorizing the shape of me. The other slips around my waist, drawing me against him slowly, giving me every chance to pull away.
I don’t.
He kisses me again. Deeper this time, richer, nothing careful about it now. His mouth moves over mine with a tenderness that feels devastating, like he’s been holding this in for years.
I curl my fingers into the hem of his shirt, feeling heat and strength beneath soft fabric. He groans softly against my lips, and the sound sends a warm ache spiraling low in my belly.
The kiss grows, deepens, turns slow and hungry. His hands explore my waist, my back, pulling me closer until there’s no space left to negotiate. My breath comes faster, his lips tracing down my throat, his stubble scraping gently across my skin in a way that makes my knees weaken.
“Calder…” I whisper, fingers sliding up into his hair, tugging lightly.
He inhales sharply, and his hands tighten at my hips, guiding me backward with gentle insistence until the backs of my legs brush the couch.
He pauses—just for a heartbeat—searching my face, checking, grounding.
I nod, breathless. “Yes.”
His forehead rests against mine in a soft exhale of relief. Then he cups my face in both hands and kisses me again—slow, reverent, tasting like snowmelt and firelight and something that feels terribly close to falling.
He pulls me down onto the couch with him, my body settling against the solid warmth of his. His hands slide beneath layers of fabric in slow, deliberate exploration, touch warm and sure and devastatingly tender. My breath hitches. His lips trail along my jaw, my throat, lower.
His hands slide up to cup my breasts, molding his work-hardened palms against the smooth skin. My eyes cross as his thumb swipes against a puckered nipple, drawing it to a peak.
Against my thigh, I can fell his cock growing harder, thicker. I want to see it. I want to feel it.
I want to taste it.
I give into my instinct. Opening his jeans, I slide my hand under the waist and pull him free. His cock springs to attention. Tearing my mouth from his, I lick my lips and wrap my hand around his impressive length.
He hisses my name.
I grin. “Do you like that?”
He nods slowly.
My smirk grows. “Then I wonder what you’ll think about this.”
I slide down his body, tracing his hard edges with my free hand and lower myself between his knees.
He bucks up off the bed as I wrap my mouth around his thick, throbbing head.
“Fuck, that feels…” his words die into a groan as I take more of him into my mouth. Licking the salty pre-cum from his tip.
His fingers slide into my hair, cradling the back of my head as I bob up and down on him. Pumping his shaft as I do.
I can feel his desperation. I can feel how close he is.
But just when I think I’m about to take him over the edge, he pulls my head back. His cock comes free with a festive plop.
My brow knits together. Before I can ask what’s wrong, he pulls me up and tangles his tongue with mine.
My pulse is racing, both of us are gasping for breaths when he eases back to press his forehead to mine.
“You first,” he says.
Then, flipping our bodies so I’m on my back, he finishes removing my clothes. Unwrapping me like a present. Stroking each piece of skin reverently with his fingers and his lips.
I’m already soaked through for him when his mouth finds my pussy. His tongue makes long, sweeping strokes of my seam before finding my clit. He applies just the right amount of pressure. Makes just the right circular motions to have my toes curling into the comforter way too fast.
All too aware of his family down the hall, I bite my lip to keep from screaming as I find my release.
The aftershocks of ecstasy are still rolling over me when he moves his body over mine. There’s a quick rip of foil. The slide of late.
He presses the head of his cock to my entrance and waits for me to open my eyes. When I do, I see desire and more—so much more—shining at me.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod, gripping his shoulder and pulling his lips to mine as I rise to meet him. He plunges into me, and our mutual groans mingle together. We move against each other, finding a rhythm that suits us both.
When I’m close to coming again, I bite his bottom lip. “Don’t make me beg.”
His lips curve against mine. He lifts my knees so he can hit that spot inside of me that I most need.
And when I dive into the pool of pleasure again, he finds his own release. Pulsing inside of me until we’re both replete.
The fire pops softly.
The two of us are tangled in heat and breath and soft. Whispered words as the world outside fades to nothing but snow and the quiet miracle of finding exactly who you didn’t know you were missing.
Later—long minutes or hours, I can’t tell—Calder wraps an arm around me, drawing me against his chest. His breath is warm at the top of my head. His fingers trace lazy circles along my spine.
I feel known. I feel loved.
He presses a soft kiss to my temple.
“Stay,” he murmurs.
I know he doesn’t just mean for tonight. I curl against him, heart full.
“I’m not going anywhere.”