10. Levi

CHAPTER 10

Levi

Mom insisted we decorate the Christmas tree tonight, a tradition she clung to like a lifeline. Christmas had always been her anchor, especially since the morning Dad left. It was during the peak of the holiday season, one December day when he said he was running errands and never came back. After that, Mom had thrown herself into making every Christmas feel magical, as if the lights and laughter could fill the empty space he left behind.

She’d also invited Aiden, who was now standing near the fireplace, carefully arranging a string of lights around the mantel, his brows furrowed in concentration. His lips moved faintly, like he was counting each loop and twist. There was something endearing about the way he worked, deliberate and focused, as though this small task carried the weight of the world.

Paige was anything but focused. My sixteen-year-old sister burst into the living room, a dusty cardboard box balanced precariously in her arms. Her cheeks were flushed, and bits of attic dust clung to her sweater. “Look what I found!” she exclaimed, setting the box down before flipping it open with exaggerated flair.

The contents spilled out—a mishmash of old Christmas decorations, from a chipped ceramic angel to strands of hopelessly tangled tinsel. Nestled among them were several well-worn holiday books, their spines cracked and edges frayed from years of handling.

“Paige, at least try not to make a mess,” I said, my tone more resigned than stern.

“Oh, please, Mr. Grinch,” she quipped, sifting through the pile like a kid on Christmas morning. “It’s called adding character . Besides”—she plucked a book from the heap with a triumphant grin—“look at this treasure! The Littlest Christmas Tree. You remember this, right?”

She held up the book, its once-bright cover now faded and creased. The sight stirred something faint in my memory—not mine exactly, but Mom’s voice reading it to Paige when she was little. It was one of her favorites, a story about an overlooked tree finding its place.

“Classic bedtime vibes,” Paige declared, tossing the book toward me with a smirk.

I caught it reflexively, glancing down at the familiar cover. “Right. A masterpiece.”

“You loved it,” she countered, already distracted by the tinsel. “Hey, Aiden, back me up. Doesn’t Levi give off bedtime storyteller energy?”

Aiden, standing near the fireplace, paused mid-loop of the lights. His gaze flickered toward me, amusement softening his expression. “Definitely,” he said, his smile almost shy.

“Not you too, Aiden. I thought we were on the same team.” The words came out teasing, though his quiet grin melted away any edge they might have carried.

Mom entered just then, her apron dusted with flour. “What’s all this noise?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at the mess.

“Levi’s reading us bedtime stories,” Paige announced without missing a beat, her voice dripping with faux innocence.

Mom’s lips twitched as she adjusted the wreath hanging above the doorway. “Don’t forget the voices,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “It’s not a proper story without voices.”

“You’re all impossible,” I muttered, tucking the book under my arm as if that would end the conversation.

“Oh, don’t pretend,” Paige said, draping tinsel around her neck like a boa. “You love being here, bossing us around and pretending to be grumpy. It’s your thing.”

Aiden’s soft laugh joined the banter, and I noticed how it lit up his face. The sharp edges of his usual guarded demeanor seemed to soften here, under the glow of Christmas lights and surrounded by my family’s chaos. It made me want to keep looking, to catch every flicker of those rare moments when he let his guard down.

“Hey, Aiden,” I said, nodding toward the tree. “You’ve got a better eye for this stuff than I do. Think you can help me figure out where to hang these ornaments?”

He hesitated, as though weighing the invitation, then stepped closer. “Sure. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

We fell into a quiet rhythm, sorting through ornaments and deciding where each one should go. I found myself stealing glances at him—the way his fingers brushed over the delicate glass baubles, the way he tilted his head when he stepped back to admire our work. There was something soothing about working beside him, like he belonged here even if he didn’t quite believe it yet.

“Oh! I almost forgot this,” Paige said, holding up a gaudy star topper. It was covered in glitter that had long since begun shedding, but Mom refused to replace it. “Levi, you’re tall. Put this up there, will you?”

“On it,” I said, retrieving a ladder and then taking the star. As I climbed up to place it on the highest branch, Aiden stepped closer, his hand lightly resting on the side of the ladder. The simple gesture steadied more than the ladder—it steadied me. I placed the star carefully, pretending not to notice, but the warmth of his quiet support lingered. When I climbed down, our hands brushed briefly as he handed me another ornament.

“Thanks,” I said, meeting his eyes.

“No problem,” he replied, his voice soft.

Paige flopped onto the couch, declaring her work done for the night, and Mom retreated back to the kitchen to finish baking. Aiden lingered near the tree, his gaze sweeping over the room.

“Looks good,” he said, almost to himself.

“Yeah,” I agreed, watching him instead of the decorations. “It does.”

As the evening wound down, I noticed Aiden pick up The Littlest Christmas Tree from where I’d set it on the table earlier. His fingers traced the yellowed pages gently, and for a moment, I saw something in his eyes—a softness that felt out of place for a book that was clearly meant for preschoolers. But there was a quiet reverence in the way he held it, as if it offered him a quiet comfort.

“You could take it with you to the chalet, you know. Read it to your heart’s content.”

Aiden hesitated, his fingers lightly tracing the edges of the book, as if weighing my words. “I don’t know... I’m not sure it’s?—”

“It’s just a book,” I said, my smile softening. “It’s yours if you want it.”

For a moment, Aiden looked unsure, but then, as if my words had cracked open some door, he tucked the book under his arm with a quiet nod. “Thanks,” he murmured, that faint smile playing at the corners of his lips again.

He didn’t reply, but that faint smile lingered, like he was warming to the thought of carrying a piece of comfort with him. My chest tightened, wanting to find a way to make him smile like that more often.

As the evening wound down, Aiden thanked Mom for having him, his voice quieter but full of warmth. She pulled him into a quick hug, and for a moment, I noticed how stiff he went in her arms—his body a little frozen, as if unsure of how to react. But then, just as quickly, he relaxed into the embrace, his shoulders softening as though he couldn’t help it. I caught that subtle shift, how he let himself be held, and it hit me harder than I expected—Aiden had been starved for affection, and he didn’t always know how to take it.

The hug lasted only a few seconds before Aiden pulled away, but in those brief moments, I could feel the weight of it. Something unspoken passed between them, and I vowed to show Aiden the same kind of love and affection that I wished I could have given him when he was younger.

“You did great tonight,” I said as we walked toward the chalet. The snow crunched softly under our boots, the chill in the air making our breath visible. The path between the main house and the chalet wasn’t long, but it gave us just enough time to slip into our own thoughts, the quiet of the night wrapping around us.

“Thanks. It was fun,” Aiden said, looking at me in a way I couldn’t figure out.

When we reached the door, I paused for a moment, making sure Aiden had his keys in hand. It was a small gesture, but it felt right—like a way to show him I had his back without saying anything. “You good?” I asked, my tone casual but warm.

“Yeah,” he said, offering a brief smile. He shifted a little, like he was deciding whether or not to say something more, but instead he just nodded. “Goodnight, Levi.”

“Goodnight, Aiden,” I replied, giving him a little space to step inside.

I headed back to the main house, trying to shake the feeling that there was more to that fleeting look in his eyes. As soon as I stepped inside, Paige pounced. “So,” she began with a grin that spelled trouble, “are you gonna admit you have a crush now, or are we still pretending?”

“A crush?” I scoffed, peeling off my jacket. “On who?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the guy you were making goo-goo eyes at all evening,” she said, flopping onto the couch.

“Paige, that’s enough,” Mom said, though her tone was more amused than stern. “He’s just being kind to our guest.”

“Right,” Paige said, drawing out the word. “Kind. That’s what we’re calling it.” She turned to me, her grin widening. “How old is Aiden, anyway?”

I frowned, thinking. “His brother Nicholas mentioned he just graduated college, so I’d guess around twenty-two? Way too young for me.”

Mom shook her head, a knowing look in her eyes. “You’re only thirty, Levi.”

Paige’s eyes went wide. “Only thirty? Mom, Levi’s practically a dinosaur. Aren’t there rules about that?”

“Watch it,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her. “You’re skating on thin ice.”

She just laughed, darting out of the room before I could retaliate. Mom gave me a soft smile as she returned to her baking, leaving me alone in the living room. I sank into the armchair, my mind wandering back to Aiden—to the way he’d held that book, to the flicker of something in his eyes after Mom hugged him.

That fleeting look nagged at me, like an itch I couldn’t scratch. Something about it didn’t sit right.

I stared at the glowing Christmas tree, the lights casting soft reflections off the glass ornaments. Paige’s teasing still echoed in my mind, but it faded under the persistent tug of worry. What had I seen in Aiden’s eyes? Sadness? Loneliness? Whatever it was, it had been gone in a blink, buried beneath his polite smile.

I sighed, glancing at the clock. An hour had passed since I walked Aiden back to the chalet. Mom’s quiet humming came from the kitchen, a familiar melody she always sang while baking. I stood and stretched, trying to shake the unease settling in my chest.

“I’m going to check on something,” I called over my shoulder, heading for the door.

Mom appeared in the kitchen doorway, a knowing look in her eyes. “Check on something?” she repeated, her tone laced with amusement.

“Yeah,” I said, too quickly. “Something.”

Her smile widened, but she didn’t call me out. “Tell him goodnight for me.”

I paused, caught, but she’d already turned back to her mixing bowl. Shaking my head, I grabbed my jacket and stepped outside. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and wood smoke.

As I approached the chalet, I noticed movement through the thin curtains. Aiden’s pacing caught my eye—his silhouette restless. He rubbed the back of his neck, then his arms, like he couldn’t quite settle. My gut tightened. What was bothering him?

I knocked lightly on the door, hoping not to startle him. A moment later, the door cracked open. Aiden stood there, his hair mussed and his cheeks flushed, like he’d been moving nonstop. He was wearing soft pajama pants patterned with cartoon reindeer and a loose sweatshirt that hung slightly off one shoulder. Something about the boyishness of it made my chest ache.

“Levi?” His voice was uncertain, his fingers tightening on the edge of the door. “Is everything okay?”

“I was about to ask you that,” I said gently. “You looked…” I paused, not certain about what I wanted to say. “Mind if I come in?”

He hesitated but stepped back, allowing me inside. The chalet was pleasantly warm. A few stray socks and a hoodie were draped over the armchair, and a stack of books was scattered on the floor near the couch. Not messy, exactly—just lived in.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said quickly, brushing the socks aside to make space on the chair.

“It’s fine,” I said, waving it off. “Looks like you’ve been busy thinking.”

He laughed softly, a self-conscious sound. “Something like that.”

I nodded toward the couch that had been delivered earlier today. “Mind if I sit?”

“Go ahead,” he said, settling on the opposite end. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sweatshirt, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.

“You want to talk about it?” I asked eventually, keeping my voice light.

He shrugged, his gaze dropping. “Just... stuff on my mind. You know how it is.”

I did, but I also knew he was holding something back. My eyes drifted to the book on the coffee table—the one Paige had found. The Littlest Christmas Tree. “I was thinking about this,” I said, picking it up. “Looks like it meant something to you earlier.”

Aiden’s eyes flicked to the book, then away. “My mom used to read it to me,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “When I was a kid. It was... our thing.”

I took in his words, feeling the weight of them, and then asked gently, “Would you like me to read it to you?” It wasn’t about taking her place—just about offering him something that could bring comfort, even if just for a moment.

He shook his head quickly, almost defensively. “No, I’m fine,” he muttered, but his gaze lingered on the book. The longing in his eyes was unmistakable.

I waited a beat, giving him space to rethink. “It would be my pleasure,” I said softly. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

He looked at me, his lips curving into a reluctant smile. “Okay. Maybe just a little... if you don’t mind.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “What happened to your copy?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “I threw it away after she died. I was so mad—at her, at the world. At everything. It felt like the only way to deal with it.”

His confession hung in the air between us, raw and unguarded. “I get that,” I said softly. “Sometimes anger’s the easiest emotion to express.”

He nodded, his fingers curling against his thigh. I flipped the book open, skimming the first page. “Should I even bother reading it to you, or...?”

His lips quirked, faint but genuine. “I’d like that,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

I gave him a moment to settle, then began reading the first few lines. The words felt strange at first, but the story’s rhythm soon took over, and it became easier. I could sense Aiden’s body relaxing next to me, his body language softening as the familiar story unfolded. The more I read, the closer he drew to me, inching toward my side until his head finally came to rest on my shoulder. I could feel the weight of his head against me, and something about it made my heart tighten in my chest. There was a kind of quiet vulnerability to him, comforting in its own way. And I draped my arm around his shoulders, fully expecting him to stiffen, to pull away. But he did neither of those things. I released a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

We sat in companionable silence, the words flowing between us like a gentle current. Aiden’s body grew lighter against me, his breathing deepening as the tension slowly left his body. He seemed to trust me, and that was something I hadn’t expected either.

“This is nice,” he murmured, his voice heavy with drowsiness. “Safe.”

The word settled deep in my chest. I tightened my arm around his shoulders, keeping him close. “I’m glad,” I said softly. “You deserve that.”

Aiden didn’t reply. His breathing evened out, and I could feel the soft weight of sleep pulling him under. I kept reading, my voice low, until I was sure he was fully asleep.

Carefully, I closed the book and set it aside on the coffee table, not wanting to disturb the calm between us. Aiden was still nestled into my side, his weight heavy and warm. I could feel his pulse beneath my palm as I slowly lifted him into my arms, holding him bridal style. His body melted against me, and I felt a quiet ache in my chest—not from discomfort, but from the overwhelming sense of protectiveness that swelled up as I carried him toward the bedroom.

The sheets were a little rumpled, but I was careful as I laid him down on the bed. I made sure he was comfortable, adjusting the blanket to tuck him in gently. His face was relaxed now, free of the tension it had held earlier. I watched him for a moment, his peaceful expression making something warm unfurl in my chest.

After a short while, I pulled the blanket up over him, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he slept. Something about the quiet of the room, the stillness of him, made me feel like I’d just been given something precious. Something I hadn’t realized I needed to protect.

I left the bedroom quietly, not wanting to disturb him. In the living area, I bent down and gathered the scattered books from the floor, stacking them neatly on the coffee table. The hoodie that had been draped across the chair was folded carefully and placed on the armrest.

As I finished, I took one last look toward the bedroom door. Something inside me shifted, a feeling that I couldn’t quite define but that felt important, like it was the start of something. I glanced back at the now-tidy room, my heart full, and without thinking, whispered, “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep that peace for you.”