The snow crunched beneath my boots, each step a soft drumbeat against the quiet hush of winter. The air was crisp, biting at my cheeks, but I didn’t mind. Something warm pulsed in my chest—steady, glowing—strong enough to keep the cold at bay. My arms were full of decorations I hadn’t planned to buy: a snow globe with swirling flakes frozen mid-dance, a strand of garland dotted with bright red berries, and a ceramic Santa that winked up at me with mischievous eyes. Ridiculous. Festive. Sentimental. And somehow… exactly what I needed.
“Why did I buy these?” I whispered to no one, smiling despite myself. The question floated into the night, unanswered but oddly comforting. Maybe it was because the house still felt too empty. Too quiet. Or maybe I was just clinging to something familiar—to the mess and magic of Christmases that used to mean more. When laughter filled the corners. When love didn’t feel quite so complicated.
As I turned down my street, the neighborhood shimmered with lights—soft blues, golds, reds strung across porches and windows like stars caught mid-fall. My breath caught for a moment. The lights looked like hope. Like home.
I stopped at my door, fingers brushing the worn frame, and let the weight of the moment settle. Coming home had been harder than I expected. And yet… I was still here.
Inside, I kicked off my boots and set the decorations on the table, peeling off my scarf with a sigh. The soft glow of the string lights I’d hung weeks ago greeted me, casting golden shadows across the kitchen walls. It was simple, but it was mine. I found my old Christmas mix CD tucked in a drawer beneath napkins and recipe cards I never used, and the second the first song played—one of those croony, nostalgic classics—I felt something inside me release.
I began to decorate. Slowly. Thoughtfully. The garland went over the mantle. The snow globe found its place by the window. The music filled the empty spaces, wrapping around me like something close to peace. My mind drifted back to earlier—The Book Nookcrowded with laughter, familiar faces wrapped in scarves and good cheer, Christian handing out cookies like a mischievous elf, Noah tucked behind the counter grinning at every new recommendation.
And then there was Cavil.
Quiet. Steady. Always watching, never pushing. Justthere.
I paused halfway through draping the garland; the pine needles tickling my fingers, when the image of him flickered through my thoughts. Cavil—standing in the corner ofThe Book Nook, hands shoved in his coat pockets, gaze steady and unreadable. He hadn’t said much, not like Christian or Noah, but his silence had spoken louder. He’d watched the room, watchedme, with that quiet intensity that made it hard to breathe. He hadn’t looked at me like someone he used to know. He looked at me like he was trying to remember who I had become—and whether there was space for him in that new version.
With each decoration placed—each ribbon adjusted or ornament hung—I found myself moving through memories, as if they were tucked between garlands and nestled in the lights. Moments between us that hadn’t meant much at the time, but now shimmered differently. A quiet joke. The brush of his arm. The way he listened when no one else did. Something about those small moments had grown roots inside me when I wasn’t looking.
I set the little ceramic Santa down on a shelf beside an old photo of my grandmother holding me on a snow-dusted porch, her smile frozen in time. I stared at it for a long moment, then glanced at Santa’s crooked, painted grin.
“What do you think?” I asked softly.
He didn’t answer, of course. But somehow, he understood.
This year felt different. Lighter. Not because the weight was gone—but because I had finally decided to stop carrying it alone. Decorating didn’t feel like a chore this time—it felt like a quiet rebellion against the grief that had sat in this house for too long. It felt like reclaiming something I didn’t know I’d lost.
And as Bing Crosby filled the space with warm, golden notes, I let myself drift—for once—into the dream of what could be.
Of whatmightbe, if I stopped holding back.
The world outside the window grew darker, but the light inside glowed brighter, dancing off tinsel and old wood and hope I hadn’t dared name until now. And in that flickering warmth, I wondered if maybe—just maybe—there was still time for new beginnings. Even the kind that looked like him.
I had just started to settle, my body swaying gently to the rhythm of Bing Crosby, the warm twinkle of lights casting a soft glow across the room. The garland curled perfectly across the mantel, and for the first time in what felt like years, I feltstill. Safe, even.
Then came the knock—loud, sharp, jarring. The music stuttered in my mind as my heart lurched painfully against my ribs. I turned to the window, and the breath froze in my throat.
Leo.
He stood on the porch like a shadow that didn’t belong to this season, framed by the amber porch light, his face caught between darkness and flame. His presence crawled under my skin instantly, like something cold and unwelcome sliding down my spine. The familiar bubble of anxiety and anger began to rise—so fast, so hot, I nearly dropped the ornament still in my hand.
I stepped back from the door, instinct taking over. I didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want tohearhim. Not tonight. Notever, really. I hoped he’d leave if I stayed quiet.
But Leo never did know when to stop.
“Callie! You in there?” he shouted, his voice slamming against the door, thick with derision. “You sleeping with my brother now?”
The words hit like a slap.
I stared at the door as if it might disappear. As if ignoring it might erase the moment, push it back into the recesses of some dream I could shake off. But I’d pictured this too many times—him showing up, demanding answers he didn’t deserve, barging into the life I was finally starting to reclaim. I just never thought he’d saythat.
“It’s none of your business,” I said, trying to keep my voice firm. The tremor was there, though. I heard it. Felt it.Hatedit.
He laughed. That awful, bitter sound that always made me feel small. “None of your business?” he echoed, mocking. “Look at you. Cozy little setup. Cavil stepping in like some sad white knight? This is a goddamn joke.”
My jaw clenched. Fury, fast and sharp, bloomed in my chest.
“Don’t act like you’re some kind of saint,” I snapped. “You don’t get to waltz back into my life and pass judgment.”
