“Why, is that not okay?”
“It’s just… Christ.”
She felt a chill crawl across her skin.
“Liam?”
He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “Cass, I didn’t know… I shouldn’t have assumed you were comfortable with everything.”
“What?”
“All of it,” he said quietly. “The stuff in the kitchen. Upstairs. The mirror. The way I talked to you. I thought… I guess I just figured you’d tell me if I was going too far.”
“I would’ve,” she said quickly. “Liam, I wanted all of that.”
“Did you, though?” he asked, finally looking at her. “Or did you just not know how to say no?”
Her stomach twisted. “That’s not fair.”
“I’m not trying to accuse you,” he said, voice tight. “I just… You’re still figuring out who you are, Cassidy. What you like. What you want. And I’ve been treating you like you already know. Like you’ve done this before. And maybe that wasn’t fair of me.”
“I do know what I want,” she said, her voice shaking now. “I want you.”
He looked at her like he didn’t believe her.
“You’re not a mistake,” she whispered.
“But what if I become one?” he asked. “What if I’m rushing you into something you’ll regret?”
She shook her head, tears burning now. “I haven’t regretted a single second.”
But it didn’t matter. She could see it in his face—he wasn’t hearing her. He was stuck in his own head, tangled up in guilt and doubt.
And just like that, the warmth between them turned brittle.
“Let’s go,” he said after a beat. “I’ll drive you home.”
Cassidy nodded, but her heart ached.
FORTY-FOUR
LIAM
Thursday, December 18th
Liam knew Cassidy was looking for some kind of reassurance on the drive home, but he couldn’t give it to her.
Instead, he gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded and kept his eyes fixed on the road, pretending the patches of ice demanded his full attention. The truck’s heater hummed low, fighting against the cold that had settled in their clothes from the walk across the snow-dusted parking lot. He turned the radio on, hoping it would fill the silence between them.
The same holiday station that had played on the way to the Festival of Trees was still on, only now it was Bing Crosby crooning “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” The irony wasn’t lost on him.
Outside, Maple Falls was washed in the soft glow of Christmas lights strung across porches and storefronts, twinkling like tiny stars against the snowy streets, already dark in the early evening. Neighborhood houses were decked in long strands of colored bulbs, some blinking in cheerful patterns, others glowing steadily in warm golds and soft whites. Iciclelights dripped from eaves, looking fragile and delicate dangling above the snowbanks below, while inflatable snowmen and Santa Clauses swayed gently with each gust of wind.
None of it helped ease Liam’s mind.
He couldn’t help it. His mind was replaying the last twenty-four hours—not a highlight reel of passion, but a slow, creeping worry that he’d pushed her too far. The way she had trembled and moaned, how she’d come undone for him again and again. It had felt like shared desire in the moment. But now? Now he couldn’t stop wondering:
What if it was too much, too fast?
