Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Mrs. Garland gasps softly. “Lucy…”
Ash doesn’t flinch. He just steps closer, voice low and dangerous.
“Get off the ladder.”
I wave him off. “Busy!”
“Lucy—”
“Busy not dying,” I correct. “Well, busy trying not to. Same thing.”
The garland gets tangled on a stubborn branch, and I stretch higher to reach it. The ladder wobbles. My stomach lurches.
“Lucy,” Ash bites out. “I’m not asking again.”
“I’m almost done!”
“You’re going to fall.”
“No, I won—”
The ladder shifts violently to the right.
My breath shoots out of me. The ground vanishes beneath my boots. I make a noise that can only be described as a terrified squeak. And suddenly— Arms. Strong, solid, unshakeable arms wrap around my waist, hauling me against a chest that feels like a brick wall wrapped in heat.
I blink, dazed. Ash. He’s holding me. Actually holding me. Like I weigh nothing, like he does this all day—catch idiots who ignore him.
His breath hits my ear, rough and warm. “Told you.”
His voice—the sound of it right there—vibrates all the way down my spine.
I swallow, hands unintentionally clinging to his jacket. “Okay, fine. I almost fell. No need to look so smug about it.”
“Oh, I’m beyond smug.” He sets me down slowly, deliberately, making sure my boots hit solid ground. His hand stays on my waist longer than necessary. “I’m seconds from lecturing you into next week.”
I step back like his touch burns—which, annoyingly, it kind of does. “Don’t lecture me. I’m doing something nice.”
“Nice doesn’t mean safe.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“And you haven’t listened before,” he growls.
Mrs. Garland clears her throat. “I’ll, um… go get cocoa.”
She scurries off, leaving me and Ash alone in a halo of falling snowflakes and unspoken tension that could set the tree on fire without a single light bulb. Ash finally drops his hand from my waist, but his eyes stay locked on me. Dark. Stormy. Impossible to read. Except… not always impossible. Sometimes I catch something else behind the scowl. Something molten.
I force myself to break the staring contest. “Why are you everywhere I go?”
His answer is immediate. “Keeping the town in one piece.”
I snort. “Funny.”
He steps closer. I don’t move. Maybe I can’t. He lowers his voice. “Starting with you.”
The words hit me square in the chest. Heat blooms between us—slow, steady, unmistakable.
I cross my arms, desperate for something to hold. “You know, most people say things like ‘be careful’ or ‘let me help.’ You say ‘you’re a hazard.’”
“That’s because you are,” he mutters. “A walking, talking, overdecorated hazard.”
“I am festive,” I correct sharply.
“Unsafe,” he counters.
“Sparkly.”
“Distracting.”
My pulse jumps. “There it is. Again.”
He goes still. I should shut up. I should back off. I should pretend his words don’t send electricity skittering under my skin. But I don’t do any of those things.
Instead, I tilt my head. “Why do you keep calling me distracting, Ash?”
He exhales like he’s fighting something. Himself, probably. “Because you are.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“It’s all you’re getting.”
“What if I want more?” I whisper.
His jaw flexes. “Then you’re asking for trouble.”
A shiver runs all the way down my spine. “Why? Because you don’t like me?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth, Sparky.”
My breath catches. “Then what is it?”
His eyes drop to my mouth. My heart slams against my ribs.
He steps closer—so close that the cold air between us warms, charged. “I can’t decide,” he says slowly, “if you’re testing me… or trying to kill me.”
My laugh is shaky. “Why would I want to kill you?”
“Because,” he rasps, leaning in just enough to brush my hair with his breath, “you make me forget how to think.”
My knees almost buckle. “Ash…”
He pulls back just a fraction, eyes burning.
“Get out of my head, Lucy.”
“I’m not trying to be in your head.”
“You’re in it anyway.”
I don’t have a response to that. I don’t know if there is one.
We stare at each other like the snow isn’t falling, like the world isn’t turning, like the air between us isn’t vibrating with something wild. Then he breaks the moment—he clears his throat and points to the fallen ladder. “You’re done for the day.”
“I am not—”
“You are.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can.” He grabs the ladder and folds it up one-handed, like it weighs nothing. “And I am.”
“Ash—”
He turns, locking eyes with me again. “Don’t fight me on this.”
My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
“I’m trying to help,” he says, softer this time. “Let me.”
The softness is worse than the growling. It sinks under my skin, lingering. I exhale, deflated. “Fine.”
He watches me for a beat too long, expression unreadable.
“Good,” he murmurs, and there’s something almost… warm in his voice.
Almost.
Two hours later, the finishing touches on the town square are done—mostly thanks to the committee, partly thanks to Mrs. Garland’s surprise thermos of peppermint cocoa, and definitely not thanks to me being banned from ladders. I’m sweeping pine needles off the sidewalk when I sense him again. I don’t know how I know he’s there. I just… do. His presence is like static. Like a shift in the air. Like gravity tipping in his direction. I straighten and turn.