Edith handed me a fresh cookie, then one to him, placing it firmly in his palm when he hesitated. “Don’t argue. You need something sweet after wrestling my tree.”
He murmured something I didn’t catch—but he ate the cookie.
And just like that, something in the room softened. Not the lights or the warmth—that had always been there—but something quieter. Safer. The kind of moment that wrapped around you when you weren’t looking.
Edith kept talking—about kids I barely remembered, Halloween costumes gone wrong, and choir concerts where half the class forgot the words. I listened, but I also watched Cavil, how he stayed quiet but never distant, how his eyes flicked to me whenever Edith said something that made me laugh.
I hadn’t expected this—this feeling of… comfort. Of belonging. Sitting in a stranger’s kitchen, sipping cocoa with someone I barely knew, and feeling like maybe—just maybe—I wasn’t doing this alone anymore.
Edith, mid-story about students who’d left town or started families of their own, glanced between us again. Her tone dropped into something conspiratorial as she leaned closer, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“You know, dear,” she said softly, “you really ought to consider being together.”
The laugh that escaped me wasn’t the light, breezy kind. It had too much air and not enough joy—like it had tripped over panic on the way out. Cavil’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as he stared back down at his mug, shoulders held a little too still.
Edith didn’t notice. She kept on talking about first dances and graduation speeches, her voice full of fondness and old memories. But I could feel my face heating like I’d been caught in a lie I didn’t understand well enough to defend.
When we finally stood to leave, she tugged me gently aside. Her fingers pressed a small bag into my palm—tied with red ribbon, warm from the oven.
“These are for your young man,” she whispered, the words laced with so much knowing it made my chest ache. “He looks like he hasn’t smiled since Halloween.”
I smiled despite myself, a mix of gratitude and helpless amusement blooming behind my ribs. “Thanks, Mrs. Winslow,” I said, clutching the bag like it might protect me from how seen I suddenly felt.
Cavil stood by the door, hands in his coat pockets, that practiced stillness back in place. Whatever he was feeling, he buried it well.
Outside, the cold bit instantly at my cheeks. The air smelled like snow and distant fireplaces—like winter in every small-town movie I grew up loving. Flakes drifted down slowly, catching in my hair and lashes as we made our way back to the truck.
“Thanks for doing this with me,” I said quietly, my voice threading into the quiet between us. “I know you didn’t sign up for this much tree trauma.”
He glanced at me, just the side of his mouth twitching like it wanted to smile. “Beats paperwork.”
I laughed under my breath. There was something easier in our rhythm now—something quieter and truer than what had existed even this morning. We were still navigating whatever this was, still guarded in places. But the edges didn’t feel quite so sharp.
I slid behind the wheel, settling into the familiar shape of the seat, and turned the key.
Clunk.
The sound echoed through the cab like a warning shot.
I froze. So did he.
“That… didn’t sound promising,” I said, peering toward the dash as a few lights blinked like confused Christmas decorations.
Cavil’s brow furrowed. “Nope.”
For a second, neither of us spoke. The wind whistled faintly against the windshield. Then he leaned back, exhaling like a man preparing for battle. “We’ll make it through the next few stops. Probably.”
I gave a soft, skeptical snort and eased the truck into gear. The engine made another uncertain grumble but held—for now.
As we rolled slowly down the snowy street, I kept one hand tight on the wheel and the other curled around Edith’s cookie bag in my lap. A silly kind of comfort, maybe—but real. Tangible.
And beside me, Cavil didn’t say anything more. But he stayed. And somehow, that was enough.
The snow kept falling. The road curved out ahead. And somewhere between the cold creeping into the cab and the soft rustle of pine needles in the back, I realized I didn’t feel quite so alone anymore.
Chapter7
Cavil
