We sat there for a while longer, wrapped up in each other and the quiet comfort of the night. The world outside might have been cold and uncertain, but here with Daryl, everything felt just right.
Chapter14
Daryl
The fire crackled, casting a warm glow across the garage-turned-living-room. Beth sat beside me on the old leather couch, her bright eyes reflecting the dancing flames. She chattered on about some new drink she was planning for her café, her excitement contagious even to my reluctant ears.
"I just think peppermint mocha is so overdone," she said, waving her hands animatedly. "What if we did something with cinnamon and a hint of orange? Something cozy but unexpected?"
I nodded, more to keep her talking than out of genuine interest. Her voice had a way of filling the space, making it less lonely. I found myself relaxing against the worn cushions.
"Your place seems nice," she said after a while, glancing around. "Kind of like a time capsule."
"Not much has changed since my folks died," I admitted, surprising myself with how easily the words came out. "I guess I like it that way."
She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Sometimes, old things have their charm."
We lapsed into silence for a moment, just listening to the fire's soft crackle. Beth's presence was soothing in a way I hadn't expected. I found myself wanting to keep the conversation going.
"You mentioned you write songs," I said, breaking the quiet.
Her eyes widened slightly, and she blushed. "Oh, that? It's just a hobby. Nothing serious."
"Still," I pressed, "it takes guts to put your thoughts into words and music. Like tonight."
She laughed softly. "Says the guy who fixes cars and keeps to himself."
I shrugged, feeling a rare smile tug at my lips. "Different kind of guts, I guess."
Beth leaned back, her shoulder brushing mine. It was a small touch but felt significant in the intimate setting. "So, why don't you celebrate Christmas?" she asked gently.
I sighed, staring into the flames. "Bad memories mostly. It’s hard to find joy in something that used to mean pain."
She nodded thoughtfully, not pushing further. Instead, she shared stories about her childhood Christmases—happy ones filled with laughter and family traditions. It painted a stark contrast to my own experiences but didn't feel like rubbing salt in old wounds.
"You know," she said after a while, her voice softening, "Christmas isn't just about what it used to be or what it's supposed to be. It can be whatever you want it to be now."
Her words lingered in the air between us, heavy with meaning yet light with hope.
For once in my life, I didn’t have an immediate comeback or deflection. Instead, I let her words sink in and looked at Beth—really looked at her—and saw more than just the cheerful façade she wore so well.
Maybe there was something worth discovering beneath all that brightness after all.
"I'm glad I met you, Daryl Walker," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm glad my car broke down and you were there."
"Oh, yeah?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. I tried to keep my tone light, but the way she looked at me made it hard to be flippant.
She nodded, her eyes never leaving mine. "Yeah."
Her honesty caught me off guard. For once, I didn't have a snarky reply or a gruff retort. Instead, I found myself leaning in closer, drawn to the sincerity in her gaze.
Our lips met softly at first, almost tentatively. Her breath was warm against my skin. My hand moved to cup her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin under my calloused fingers.
The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent. She responded with equal fervor, her hands sliding up to tangle in my hair.
I pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. They were bright and alive, filled with something that looked a lot like hope. It was a look I hadn’t seen directed at me in a long time.
She smiled softly and leaned in again, her lips finding mine with renewed passion. This time, there was no hesitation. We kissed like we were trying to make up for lost time—time spent hiding behind walls and guarded smiles.
