Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
COVE
Filming used to feel like paradise after coming home from working at a school full of sick tiny humans. Muscle memory, breath and instinct all lining up like they always have. I turn on the lights, hit record, become her. CottonCandyKisses. Sweet voice. Soft eyes. Controlled chaos.
Lately, though?
It feels like trying to dance in shoes that don’t fit anymore.
I sit back on my heels after the last take, blinking at the red light still glowing on the camera. My body is loose, pliant, worked over in all the familiar ways—but my head isn’t where it’s supposed to be. Something’s missing.
Everest left and I’m killing time until I have to meet with Lorna. I watch the playback with a critical eye, arms wrapped around myself, jaw tight. It’s good. Technically flawless. My timing is right. My reactions land. The performance is polished.
But my gaze keeps sliding away from the lens.
It’s subtle. Most people won’t catch it. Lorna definitely will.
I don’t look hungry. I look… bored.
I shut the laptop off harder than necessary and lean back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like it might have answers. The truth presses at the back of my throat, sour and undeniable.
I don’t want them watching me.
I want him watching me.
The way Everest looks at me isn’t practiced or transactional or expectant. He doesn’t consume me like a product. He sees me—like he’s trying to memorize something he’s afraid he’ll lose.
It’s ruined me.
There’s a knock on my door not even twenty minutes later.
I don’t have to open it to know who it is.
“Door,” Lorna calls, amused. “Unless you’ve decided to fake your own death again.”
I open it in leggings and one of Everest’s hoodies—oversized, soft, worn at the cuffs. He left it here two nights ago and I haven’t even pretended to give it back.
Her eyes flick to it immediately, then to my face. She smiles like a shark who’s scented blood.
“Well,” she says, breezing past me. “Someone’s glowing. And judging by the way you’re moving, someone’s also sore.”
“I did Pilates,” I lie. “I thought I was meeting you at BTL?”
She snorts and drops onto my couch, crossing her legs. “You hate Pilates. And I was driving around getting coffee and a salmon bagel, thought I’m in the area, why don’t I just pop in instead.”
“Fine, I didn't do Pilates. I filmed a scene that was more intense than normal. Branching out.”
“You’re branching into feelings,” she corrects. “And it’s showing on camera.”
“My content’s fine,” I reply defensively.
“It’s great,” she says easily. “That’s not the problem.” She tilts her head, studying me. “You don’t want the audience anymore,” she says. “You want an audience of one.”
I open my mouth to deny it. Nothing comes out.
Lorna’s expression softens just a fraction. “You like this one.”
I shrug. “He’s fun.”
“You don’t get this weird about fun.”
“I’m not weird.”
She raises a brow. “You’re wearing his clothes.”
I glance down like I’ve just noticed. Heat crawls up my neck. “He stayed over.”
“Mmm.”
“And cleaned my apartment,” I add before I can stop myself.
Her eyes widen a fraction. “Oh no.”
“And made breakfast.”
“Oh no.”
“And didn’t expect anything in return,” I finish quietly.
Lorna leans back, lips pursed. “He’s boyfriending you.”
My stomach flips.
I hate how much I like that word.
She watches my face shift through about six emotions I’m not controlling very well. “This is where I remind you that emotional attachment is bad for business.”
“I know.”
“And that lines get messy.”
“I know.”
“And that men don’t always wanna stay when they realize how intense this job is.”
That one lands.
Hard.
My chest tightens, memories stirring whether I want them to or not—my dad’s voice, sharp and absolute. People leave, he’d said once, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles went white. You don’t give them the chance.
I’d learned early how to be self-contained. How to be enough for myself. How not to need.
Everest is a problem because he doesn’t feel like a risk.
“I can handle it,” I tell her.
Lorna studies me for a long moment. “Just don’t forget who you are.”
I nod.
I don’t tell her I’m scared I already know.
Everest shows up the next morning like he belongs here.
Not knocking timidly. Not hovering in the doorway. He lets himself in with the spare key I gave him without thinking and moves through my space like he’s memorized it already.
I wake to the sound of cabinets opening and closing. Soft music playing from my phone and the clink of dishes.
For one terrifying second, I think I’m still dreaming.
Then he appears in the doorway with a mug in his hand and that crooked, careful smile that makes my knees weak.
“Morning,” he says. “I hope you like eggs.”
I push myself up on my elbows, hair wild. “You’re… domestic.”
“I Googled.”
I laugh, dragging the blanket around my shoulders as I follow him into the kitchen. He’s already cleaned. Like, cleaned, cleaned. Counters wiped, the sink’s empty.
“Everest,” I say slowly. “What did you do?”
He freezes. “Too much?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“But also,” I add, stepping into him, wrapping my arms around his waist, “please, never stop.”
He relaxes instantly, arms sliding around me like it’s instinct. Like it’s easy.
This is what scares me.
Not the sex. Not the intimacy. Not even the feelings.
It’s the normal.
The way he kisses my forehead without thinking. The way he asks about my meeting with Lorna and actually listens to the answer. He’s undoing years of careful armor just by existing like this.
Everest keeps glancing at me like he’s got something on his mind he’s too scared to mention. His leg’s bouncing, and that’s how I know he’s nervous. Everest doesn’t fidget. He’s calm, grounded. The kind of guy who’d probably take a nap during an earthquake.
“Hey,” he says, shifting so he’s facing me more directly. “Can I talk to you about something?”
My stomach tightens. That’s never a good sentence. That’s the kind of sentence that makes people lose their lunch and run for the hills.
“Okay. You’re acting weird. What’s up?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I know you already said no, but… I want to ask again.”
I blink at him. “Ask what again?”
He exhales slowly. “Christmas. With my mom. With me.”
Oh. That. The one I shut down quick last time.
My mouth opens, then closes again. I didn’t think he’d bring it back up. I didn’t think he’d want me there that badly. Hell, I didn’t think he’d want me this badly.
“I just…” He shrugs. “I get it if it’s too soon. I really do. But I want you there, Cove. I want you with me. And not just for my mom or the stupid mistletoe or whatever. I want to wake up on Christmas morning and know I get to see your face that day.”
Oh God.
“Everest…” I whisper, chewing the inside of my cheek, torn between the old reflex to protect myself and the new, terrifying desire to actually be seen.
He gives me a tiny smile, more hope than pressure. “Will you come?”
I almost say no again. Out of fear. Out of habit. But then I remember my dad’s itinerary—the trip to Colorado with his new girlfriend and their ski passes and hot tub suite. He won’t even be home.
And the truth is…
I don’t want to be alone.
Not on Christmas.
So before I can give myself time to talk myself out of it, I nod.
“Okay,” I say, voice a little shaky. “I’ll go.”
His face softens and he crosses the room, pulls me into a hug so tight I think I might pass out.
“I swear, it’ll be chill,” he murmurs against my temple. “Just my mom, food, maybe some awkward childhood photos. No pressure.”
I laugh. “That sounds like pressure.”
He pulls back enough to meet my eyes. “You’ll look beautiful in all the embarrassing baby-photo lighting.”
I groan and shove his shoulder. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
He grins. “You’re lucky I love you.”
I don’t say it back.
Not yet.
But I smile. And that smile, I think, tells him everything.
I text Lorna an hour later.
Me: Going to meet the mom. Pray she doesn’t hate me.
She replies immediately.
Lorna: Don’t flirt with her husband.
I snort and toss my phone onto the bed.
I agonize over what to wear.
Not because I want to impress her—okay, maybe a little—but because I want to be respectful but also still me.
Eventually, I settle on a soft cream sweater that hugs my curves, high-waisted jeans that make my ass look like a damn blessing, and caramel leather boots I thrifted in high school and refuse to give up. I curl my hair, then talk myself out of it, then curl it again.
By the time Everest texts Here, I’m pacing like I’m about to go on stage instead of… meeting someone’s mom.
But it’s not just someone. It’s his mom. And I’m me. Which feels complicated in ways I haven’t even unpacked yet.
When I open the door, he smiles like I’m the only girl on the planet. Like I could’ve worn a trash bag and he’d still say I looked pretty. And for a second, that makes it worse. Because what if she doesn’t see what he sees?
Still, he opens the passenger door for me like a damn gentleman, and I try not to panic the whole drive there.
We don’t talk much. Not out of awkwardness—Everest just has this calm about him that makes silence feel welcomed and warm. Which is exactly what he offers me the moment we park.
His fingers find mine the second we step out of the car. Like muscle memory.
“You ready?” he asks.
No. Not even a little.
But I nod. “As I’ll ever be.”
We walk up the drive together, hand in hand.
His mom’s house is a one-story cottage-style ranch, tucked into a quiet neighborhood with big trees and Christmas lights wrapped tight around the front porch columns.
There’s a faded wooden star on the door and the kind of welcome mat that actually makes you feel welcome.
The flower beds are mulched and bare for the winter, but you can tell someone cares.
The porch creaks under our boots, and my stomach somersaults.
Everest squeezes my hand. “You’re good. I promise.”
I nod, swallowing past the sudden dryness in my throat.
Then he opens the door.
“Mom,” Everest says warmly, his voice steady and full of pride. “I want you to meet my girlfriend—” He steps aside, hand still looped with mine. “This is Cove.”
The glass she’s holding hits the floor before I understand what’s happening. Punch splashes and ice scatters on the hardwood floor.
I flinch, heart lurching as her face drains of color. Not just pale—white. Like every ounce of blood has abandoned ship.
Her mouth opens a maniacal laugh. “This isn’t funny,” she says. “Where is he? Where is that bastard?”
I freeze.
Everest turns to me, confused, then back to her. “Mom—what are you talking about?”
She staggers back like the question was a slap. “No,” she says, her voice thready. Then again, louder. “No. No. No no no—”
I feel cold. Like the floor dropped out from under me.
Everest steps in. Instinctive. Protective. His arm slips around my waist, anchoring me. He presses a soft kiss to my temple, trying to keep me grounded.
“She’s not normally like this,” he whispers against my skin, but his voice trembles.
He’s scared too.
He turns back to her, jaw tight. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he says evenly, “but I’m with her. So whatever this is, can we please just—”
That’s when she breaks.
“You can’t be together!” she screams. “That’s sick!”
Sick.
My stomach drops.
“What?” I whisper. “Why?”