Chapter Eleven

As we lay in a sweaty, exhausted heap in front of the fire, the sound of Az's steady breathing mixed with the crackling of the fire lulls me to sleep, and I find myself falling in and out of consciousness. That's until I remember that I still have a tree to decorate. I don't care how comfortable this is, it would be a cardinal sin if I left a tree naked on the most important day of the year.

"Do you have any clothes I can borrow?" I ask, pushing myself off of a drowsy Az to sit. I scoop his flannel up off the floor and shrug it on. I mentally kick myself for forgetting my only clothes at the hot springs. How am I supposed to decorate with no pants on?!

Az harrumphs in response. "In my bedroom, the middle drawers. Take anything you'd like."

I return a few minutes later sporting his flannel and a pair of briefs tied at the side. I toss Az a pair of briefs as well.

"I thought you liked me naked?" he asks.

"I do, but tree decorating is very serious business. I don't need your package distracting me." I laugh at my own pun. Az rolls his eyes. I rub my hands together with glee. "Now, where are those decorations? Let's get to work."

We spend the next half hour dressing the tree. Az was right. The box of ribbons and shredded fabric is closer to garbage than actual Christmas decor, but it's better than nothing. I'm a teacher with a hot glue gun license and a website filled with color-coordinated Pinterest boards; I know how to stretch a pathetic one-hundred-dollar classroom budget and make it last the whole year.

By the time I'm done decorating, the tree doesn't look half bad; it could even be a contestant in a tree decorating competition. It wouldn't win, but it wouldn't be immediately disqualified either.

"Wow, nice work," Az says as he stands next to me to admire my work. He's holding two camping mugs, and he hands me one.

We settle back on the bearskin rug and Az adds a couple more logs to the fireplace. It's so cozy, drinking hot chocolate on Christmas next to a roaring fire underneath a beautiful evergreen. All we're missing are some poorly decorated sugar cookies with red dye 5 frosting and hand sewn Christmas stockings.

"Looks like we forgot one decoration," Az says, reaching into the box and retrieving a wooden star. He hands it to me. I get the honor of hanging the last ornament on the tree.

"It's so cute!" I say, running my fingers over the rough edges. I can tell it was carved by hand and the bumpy imperfections only make it more beautiful. When I hold it in both hands, the small, weightless ornament takes me back to December 1st—the last time I saw Melinda.

She had been ignoring my calls for weeks. I assumed she needed some time after the divorce to collect her feelings, but after the radio silence on her end continued, I began to worry. Decorating Christmas trees was our thing, a tradition we had participated in at the beginning of every December for the past ten years. I may be crafty and resourceful, but I'm nothing compared to my ex-mother-in-law. She could take a box of broken Christmas decorations and turn a boring living room into a scene that belonged on the front page of a Holiday Home magazine.

The day rolled around and still no word from Melinda. I went to our favorite antique store, hoping to find the perfect tree ornament I could give to her as an olive branch. Something that said: Sorry I left your son, but we both know he sucks, and this has been coming for a long time. Can we still be friends? Because you're the most important person in my life.

I was examining a hand carved Rudolph when the front door chimed. I lifted my head and my heart stopped.

"Melinda!" I rushed to her; the reindeer still clutched in my hands. I was ready to throw my arms around her and never, ever let go. I'd listen to her rattle off her excuses explaining why she had been ghosting me, no matter how lame they were, and I would accept them without a second thought.

I stopped in my tracks, just a foot away from her, when she gave me that look. Like all she saw was a stranger rushing towards her.

No. It was worse than that. Like she was seeing right through me.

"Holly," she said in a formal, flat tone I didn't recognize. She tipped her chin in my direction, like you do when you accidentally lock eyes with a stranger on the street, and moved past me, heading to the Santa Claus figurine section without another word.

I turned and rushed out of the store, my face beet red and tears streaming down my face. In my panic, I had forgotten I was still holding the Rudolph ornament. The store alarms went off. My last image of Melinda was her watching me through the glass window as a security guard stopped me right outside the entrance and asked if I was going to pay for the ornament I had just stolen. I couldn't get a word out before he hooked my elbow and hauled me off to his office.

"Holly." Az's deep timbre brings me to the surface, saving me from drowning in my own memory.

"Sorry," I mumble, wiping my eyes. He quirks a questioning brow at my wet cheeks. "Happy and a little sad," I admit.

He nods softly. I don't offer any explanation, but I have a feeling in my heart that he already knows. Hanging the ornament on the closest branch, I scoot closer to him, burying my face in his chest. I inhale his smoky scent and it relaxes me.

Az is a good one. I haven't known him for very long, and I tend to cling onto people who maybe aren't the best for me, but I trust him. Too bad this trip technically ends tomorrow, or however long it takes them to dig my car out. And I don't know if this—whatever this is—is strong enough yet to ask him if he'd like to stay in contact. Maybe meet in Winter Bliss for coffee if he's feeling extra adventurous?

Az made it quite clear that he has no intention of leaving the mountain. Ever.

I lift my head from his chest to admire our hard work. "This tree is so beautiful," I sigh, running my fingers along a branch. "It's so sad that the forest fire destroyed all the ones around the cabin. Did you say you were here when it happened? I bet it was some dumb tourist who didn't put out his campfire properly."

Az's body tenses around me. He clears his throat. "I started the fire."

I turn in his arms to look up at him. "You what?"

His throat bobs. "It was me." He stares longingly at the fire for a moment. I can see the orange flames reflected in his onyx eyes, and he looks so heartbroken. I get the sense he"s drowning in his own sad memory.

I straighten. "You love this mountain. Surely, it was an accident. What happened?"

He shakes his head once, dragging his gaze away from the fire to stare down at me. "I did it on purpose." He exhales a shaky breath. "I thought I was better after my time in the psych ward, but it's funny when you think you're past something, and your ghosts find a way to come back to haunt you." The corner of his mouth rises into a rueful smile. "I lost control again. It started off as a harmless flame, but once the first tree started burning, I set another one on fire, and another." He pauses, rubbing the base of his horn. "Demons love to watch fire burn, and the bigger it gets, the harder it is for us to want to put it out. It's a deep instinct that consumes us. Still, it's no excuse. I shouldn't have been so reckless." By the time he's done, his voice is shaking.

I take his hand in mine. "How did you get it to stop?"

"Some orcs happened to be camping nearby. They were able to use their connection with water to stop the fire before it destroyed the whole forest. Thank the Mother Below."

"And they didn't report you?"

He shakes his head. "I paid them off."

I nestle deeper into his chest, feeling the erratic beat of his heart through his chest. "Thank you for telling me, Az," I say.

He smooths his hand down my back, and though I can't be sure, his body language seems lighter. I don't ask what personal "ghost" triggered him, maybe he'll tell me later, and maybe he won't. He doesn't ask about the memory that I was wallowing in earlier, and I'm thankful. I don't want to talk about it tonight. It's painful to even think about.

I enjoy the safe, comfortable silence that passes between us. This cabin feels like a harbor where nothing can touch us, and I never want to leave. Az has made no mention if he wants to stay in contact or not. Even if he only wanted to be pen pals, I would jump at the offer.

As I sit with him, enveloped by his warmth, I can't help but hear the slow tick-tick of my impending check-out date.