27. Avery

CHAPTER 27

AVERY

Creed stirred beside me, his hair a mess, his breaths slow and even. I watched him for a moment longer than I probably should have, memorizing the way his face looked in the early light, peaceful and at ease. Warmth bloomed in my chest, and I felt like I was holding something rare and fragile, afraid to let it go.

One more day, I reminded myself. One more day here in this quiet bubble before we had to head back to Chicago, before reality came crashing back in. But the thought of leaving like this, without knowing what came next, twisted something inside me. I couldn't imagine not having Creed with me. Not after everything we'd shared, everything we'd found together. Despite our differences, I was sure we could make it work. I had to find the words to tell him that tonight, after dinner.

Creed's eyes fluttered open, and he gave me a sleepy smile that made something warm unfurl in my chest. "Morning," he mumbled, voice rough with sleep, and I couldn't help but grin back at him.

"Morning, sleepyhead." I nudged him with my shoulder, enjoying the way he squirmed under the blankets, trying to hold onto those last few moments of warmth. But soon enough, we were up, showering then pulling on sweaters and jeans and heading downstairs.

The snow outside was untouched, a blanket of white stretching out beneath the winter sun, and we didn't waste any time sinking our boots into it, leaving tracks behind us as we walked the grounds. The air was crisp, biting against my skin, but with Creed's hand in mine, it didn't feel so bad. We talked about nothing in particular—places he wanted to visit, the best coffee shops in Chicago, even the way the snow crunched under our feet. It felt easy, natural, like we'd known each other for much longer than a few weeks.

We wandered deeper into the estate, away from the house and the people in it, until we came to a patch of untouched snow that stretched out beneath a line of bare trees. Creed gave me a sidelong glance, a mischievous glint in his eye, and before I could react, he flopped backward into the snow, spreading his arms and legs wide.

"Snow angels?" I arched an eyebrow at him, trying to hide my smile, but I couldn't resist the way his laughter echoed through the stillness. I joined him, falling back beside him with a soft thud, the cold seeping through my coat as I moved my arms through the snow. It was silly, childish, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd let myself do something like this. But with Creed beside me, laughing like a kid, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

When we finally sat up, our breath came out in white puffs, and I looked down at the two snow angels we'd left behind, their arms almost touching. Creed leaned closer, nudging me with his shoulder, his cheeks flushed from the cold and the laughter.

"Not bad, huh?" He tilted his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Not bad at all," I agreed, brushing a bit of snow from his hair. His smile softened, and for a moment, the world around us seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of us in this quiet, snow-covered space.

We made our way back to the house after that, slipping into the warmth of the kitchen. I set a pot of milk on the stove while Creed dug out a couple of mugs, and we worked side by side, our shoulders brushing as we stirred cocoa powder and sugar into the pot. The rich, sweet scent filled the air. It was domestic, simple, the kind of moment I'd never thought I'd have.

When the hot cocoa was done, Creed leaned against the counter, cradling his mug between his hands, steam curling up into his face. He took a sip, closing his eyes like he was savoring every drop, and I couldn't help but reach out, brushing a thumb over his cheek.

"Hey, you got a little…" I trailed off, wiping away a bit of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth. He caught my wrist before I could pull back, holding it there for a second longer, his fingers warm against my skin.

"Thanks." His voice was softer now, the playfulness from earlier replaced with something quieter, more intimate. He released my wrist, and we stood there for a moment, letting the silence settle around us like a blanket.

Eventually, we migrated to the living room, where the fireplace crackled, filling the room with a warm orange glow. Creed curled up on the couch beside me, pulling a blanket over both our laps. I reached for the remote, flipping through channels until we landed on an old favorite— Home Alone . Creed let out a laugh when he saw the title, giving me a look that said he couldn't believe I'd picked such a cheesy classic.

"Really? This is your go-to Christmas movie?"

I shrugged, settling back against the cushions, a grin tugging at my lips. "Hey, you can't go wrong with a classic."

He rolled his eyes, but the way he nestled closer, resting his head against my shoulder, told me he didn't mind so much. We watched in comfortable silence, our hands occasionally brushing under the blanket, the heat of the fire mingling with the warmth that settled between us. I caught myself stealing glances at him more than once, memorizing the way the firelight played across his features, the way his eyes softened during the quieter scenes. He caught me once, his lips twitching into a smile as he nudged me with his elbow.

"Eyes on the screen, Avery."

"Can't help it," I murmured back, letting my thumb brush over his knuckles. "You're more interesting than Macaulay Culkin."

He chuckled, but the sound was warm, pleased. It was a small thing, a simple, quiet moment, but it felt like everything I'd been searching for without even knowing it. And when the credits finally rolled, I realized I wasn't ready to let it go—not yet, not ever.

I turned to him, catching the way his eyes lingered on me, the firelight reflected in his gaze. There was a question there, one I didn't know how to ask yet, but tonight—tonight, I'd try. I'd find the words to tell him that this, whatever it was, felt like it could be more. Like it is something real.

"Creed," I began, my voice low, and his head lifted, a soft smile already forming on his lips as he waited for whatever I had to say.

Suddenly, the front door swung open with a rush of cold air, followed by the high-pitched shrieks of my nieces as they barreled into the living room. Their tiny boots left a trail of melting snow on the rug. The words I'd been trying to find just moments ago hung in the air between us.

But then there was a tug on my sweater, small fingers grasping for attention, and I turned to see Jenna, her cheeks flushed from the cold, grinning up at me. "Uncle Avery, come play with us!" she demanded, her voice as bright as her red coat.

Beside her, Emily was already grabbing for Creed's hand, pulling him toward the space between the couches where their pile of toys was scattered. For a second, Creed's gaze flicked toward mine, but then he let out a low chuckle, surrendering to the inevitable. He squeezed my knee as he rose, his smile making something twist low in my gut.

"We can't say no to that, can we?" he murmured, leaning in close enough that I felt the warmth of his breath against my cheek, then he let himself be dragged away by Emily's insistent tugs.

I got to my feet, following them to the floor, where the girls had already started laying out some game involving plastic horses and building blocks. I couldn't help but watch Creed as he settled in among the chaos, letting Emily shove a tiara onto his head. He caught my eye and grinned, and it was the kind of expression that made my heart stumble in my chest.

We spent the next half-hour in that messy, joyful chaos, building castles out of blocks, laughing until our sides hurt as we pretended to be knights defending the living room from a dragon made of pillows. Creed's laugh—God, it was infectious, rich and warm, the kind that filled a room and made it impossible to be anywhere else but here, right now.

But soon enough, the girls started complaining about their empty stomachs, and we herded them into the kitchen to get some snacks before dinner. I caught Creed's hand as we moved, giving it a quick squeeze. He looked back at me, his smile softening, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—curiosity, maybe. He could tell I'd been about to say something earlier. I just hoped I could find the right time to say it before we headed back to Chicago.