“You should… go lift something.”
“Already did.”
She finally looked up, and the air between us crackled like static before a storm. Her eyes were tired, but not unkind, just full of all the words she didn’t trust herself to say.
I wanted to tell her I hadn’t lied, hadn’t slipped back into who I was. That she didn’t have to forgive me, justbelieve me.But Lydia swooped in before I could open my mouth.
“Hey,” she said, sliding between us with a smile too wide to be innocent. “Drew, cocoa needs refills. Mel, come help me with the sign-in table before I faint from stress.”
Melanie hesitated, then followed her toward the door, not looking back. I let her go, because she needed space and I needed to stop making things worse.
The hours blurred after that. The gym filled with families and noise and the hum of survival. Lydia orchestrated like a general with a heart of gold. Riley manned the cocoa station, keeping everyone sugared and laughing. I worked the door and the generator, checking pipes, clearing snow off the back steps, hauling water, keeping people busy, warm, alive.
Each small task chipped away at the hurt.
Around four, Melanie passed me in the hallway with a stack of towels. She muttered a quiet “thanks” when I held the door open, and the way our shoulders brushed sent a jolt straight to my chest.
Later, I found her kneeling with two kids, helping them color Christmas trees on scrap paper, her hair falling forward as she laughed. For the first time since morning, I let myself smile.
When the power went out at seven, the room gasped, then cheered when the generator caught. The gym glowed amber under battery lanterns. Lydia sent me for cocoa refills, and as I passed the tables, a voice stopped me cold.
“Do you need more blankets?”
I turned.
Melanie stood in the doorway and her voice carried just enough warmth to sound like a peace offering.
Lydia, ever the instigator, pointed at me without turning around. “Ask the man pretending he isn’t thrilled you’re here.”
Melanie’s mouth curved, almost a smile, the kind that happens right before someone decides if they’ll fight or forgive.
“Do you need more blankets?” she asked again.
I nodded. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “Yeah, I do.”
She didn’t look away.
Neither did I.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Melanie
If irony had a thermostat, Reckless River just cranked it to one hundred.
I had come to this town to help my best friend move and start her dreams.
Now I was stuck in the community center with a guy that had a past showing up in his future, while a blizzard built a wall around us like the universe had a sense of humor and a mean streak.
The gym hummed with generator breath outside and the soft chorus of exhausted people pretending they weren’t afraid. Somewhere, a kid’s laughter pinged off the rafters like hope refusing to follow the rules. The air smelled like cocoa, wet wool, lemon cleaner, and winter.
And Drew kept being everywhere.
Not on purpose—just one of those logistics things. Every time I turned around to hand out a blanket, he was there with acot. Every time I bent to fix a zipper on someone’s coat, he was there with hand warmers. I reached for a lantern; he reached for the same one. His fingers brushed mine and my traitor heart had the nerve to do that startled-dove thing in my chest.
I caught him looking at me more than once. Not the usual heat that made my knees unreliable. Something steadier. The kind of look that asks a question without pushing for an answer. It made it hard to stay mad. It made it harder to stay smart.
“Blankets?” I asked a woman shepherding two sleepy kids toward the corner. She nodded, relief loosening her shoulders as I draped a thick navy one over each little body. The gym lights flickered, steadied, went out, then came back as the generator kicked harder. The room made that collective sound people make when they decide—in the same second—to be brave together.
