10. Sawyer

SAWYER

I watch her sleep in the pale light of dawn, memorizing every detail. The way her dark hair spills across my pillow like spilled ink, the slight part of her lips as they curve into a soft smile even in sleep, the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each breath. The arch of her shoulder where it peeks above my sheets looks like it was created for my hands to glide over, and the memory of how her skin felt under my touch last night makes my fingers itch to reach for her again.

Late-morning light filters in through the frost-covered windows. The storm has finally passed, leaving behind a pristine blanket of white outside that makes the world feel clean and new. Quiet. Inside, the air feels alive somehow, thick with something that feels dangerously like hope.

Mine.

The possessive thought hits hard and fast, accompanied by an ache in my chest I thought I'd buried years ago. I want to wake her up and take her again, claim her the way I did several times in the night. Show her with my body what I can't seem to say with words—that she's changed everything just by existing in my space. That the careful walls I'd built around my life have crumbled under the weight of her smile. That for the first time in years, my cabin feels less like a fortress and more like a home.

But she needs rest. And more importantly, I need to get my head on straight before I do something stupid like beg her to stay.

The Christmas lights she strung in the living area still twinkle softly through my open bedroom door. Even in sleep, she radiates warmth and joy, like she's somehow captured sunshine and hold it within herself. My bed has never looked more inviting, more right, than it does with her in it.

And that terrifies me.

With careful movements, I slip from the bed, though every instinct screams at me to stay, to wrap myself around her and never let go. She makes a small sound of protest that nearly breaks my resolve, reaching for where I'd been lying, and I have to force myself to step away before I give in to the urge to climb back in beside her. But I make it to the bathroom, closing the door softly behind me.

The man in the mirror looks different somehow. Less haunted. The hard lines around my mouth have softened, and there's a warmth in my eyes I haven't seen in years. It's ironic, given that I'm more haunted than ever—by the taste of her, the sound of her pleasure, the way she touched me like I was worth touching. Like I deserved the joy she so freely offers.

Steam fills the room as I turn on the shower, but I can't stop staring at my reflection. At the marks she left on my chest, physical proof that last night wasn't just another lonely dream. Her scent still clings to my skin, vanilla and cinnamon mixing with the earthy smell that follows me from the greenhouse.

I'm not giving up on you...

Her words echo in my head as I step under the hot spray, trying to wash away the wanting. It doesn't work. If anything, the heat just reminds me of her warmth, of how perfectly she fits against me, of the soft sounds she makes when I touched her. The water drums against my shoulders as I press my forehead to the cool tile, fighting the urge to go back to her, to wake her with kisses and claim her again.

This has to stop.

I can't keep her. Can't taint her brightness with my darkness. Can't risk letting her in, only to lose her too. Hell, she literally crashed into my life in a flurry of bright lights and chaotic color. Like a beautiful butterfly bursting free from its chrysalis, she flitted through my world and made me long for everything that she is. Want to keep her like her energy could somehow heal me. But butterflies don't belong in the cold. They thrive in the sun, where their beauty can be cherished.

But even as I try to convince myself to let her go, my body remembers how it feels to hold her. How right it feels to have her in my space, filling the empty corners with her laughter and light.

She’s mine.

By the time I finish my shower, my resolve is as shaky as my hands. I wrap a towel around my waist, taking one last steadying breath before opening the door.

She's awake and wearing my shirt, perched on the edge of my bed like she belongs there. And god help me, but she does. She belongs here, with her Christmas lights and her endless chatter and her way of making everything brighter just by existing. Fuck. How do I let go of this?

“Morning,” she whispers, and my heart threatens to burst from my chest.

“Morning.” My throat tightens.

“The storm's stopped.”

“Yeah.” I focus on drying my hair, avoiding her eyes. “Roads should be clear soon.”

“Sawyer...”

“You should probably start getting ready. Your family will be waiting to spend whatever’s left of Christmas with you.” There. I said it.

She's quiet for a long moment. “Is that what you want?”

No. I want you to stay. I want to wake up to you every morning. I want...

“It's what needs to happen.”

“Why?”

“Because this isn't real.” The words taste like ash in my mouth. “This was one night. A Christmas miracle, if you believe in that sort of thing. But it can't last. The storm is gone and now it needs to be over.”

“It doesn't have to be over.” She shifts a little closer, and I force myself not to retreat.

“You live in the city,” I say, gripping the towel tighter. “Your whole life is there. Your family, your job?—”

“So? I can work remotely. I can commute. I could even manage an account to grow your plant?—”

“Stop.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Just stop.”

“Why? Because I'm making too much sense?” Her chin lifts in that stubborn way I'm already too fond of. “Because I'm offering solutions instead of letting you push me away?”

“Because you don't know what you're asking for!”

“Then tell me!” She stands, my shirt sliding up her thighs, and something inside me aches at how right she looks in my clothes, in my space. “Tell me why you're so determined to be alone. Tell me what happened to make you hate Christmas so much. Tell me why you promised me everything, and now you’re trying to tell me to go. Tell me why you won't let yourself be happy!”

The fear and frustration in her voice cuts through my defenses. She's not backing down, not letting me retreat into my solitude. And maybe that's what finally breaks me.

“Fine.” Something snaps and years of carefully contained grief come spilling out. “My parents died on Christmas Eve, Noelle. Car accident. Black ice, just like you hit. Except they didn't get lucky enough to crash into someone's fence. They went off the mountain instead.”

She pales, hand flying to her mouth. “Sawyer...”

“I was supposed to be with them.” The words pour out now, unstoppable. “But I was too busy with my research, tracking down rare specimens. Too busy to come home for Christmas, or at least to stop for five minutes and remind Dad to put the chains on his tires, because he always forgot. Too focused on my work to spare even one day for family. One day to come back here and show them I cared.” I laugh, the sound bitter and raw. “So now I stay on this mountain every day. And I grow my plants and try not to think about how the last thing I said to them was that I had more important things to do than celebrate some commercial holiday.”

The silence that follows feels heavy enough to crush us both. Outside, the morning sun gleams off the fresh snow, creating a world that looks pure and untouched. But in here, the air is thick with pain and regret and things left unsaid for too long.

“Oh, love...” She reaches for me, but I step back, the endearment hitting me like a physical blow. My skin feels too tight, too raw, like I've been stripped bare.

“Don't.” My voice breaks on the word, and I hate how vulnerable I sound. “Don't look at me like that. Like you can fix this. Like love and Christmas magic can somehow make up for ten years of guilt. You can't bring them back. You can't make it right.”

“I'm not trying to fix anything.” She steps closer, undaunted by my retreat. “I'm trying to love you. All of you—including the parts that have broken.”

Her words keep coming, hit after hit, and I have to shake my head to stop them from rocking me off balance. “You can't love me. You don't even know me. You don't know how many Christmas dinners I missed because I was 'too busy.' How many calls I ignored because my research was 'more important.' You don't know what it's like to live knowing that if I'd just gone home that one time...” My voice cracks. “If I'd just put family first for once...”

“I know enough.” Another step closer, and I have to root myself to the floor to stop myself from running out of the room to retreat. “I know you're kind, even when you pretend not to be. I know you're passionate about your plants because they're your way of making the world better. And I know you care about your family because you’re still here. I know you're hurting, but you're also healing.” Her hands come up to frame my face, thumbs brushing away tears I hadn't realized were falling. “And I know that I've never felt this way about anyone before.”

“Noelle...”

“I love you, Sawyer Hawkins. Grumpy mountain man, rare plant cultivator, Christmas Grinch and all. And I'm not going anywhere, no matter how hard you try to push me away.”

I close my eyes, overwhelmed by the emotion threatening to choke me. “You'll leave. You’ll realize I’m no good for you, and you’ll go. Everyone does.”

“No.” She kisses me softly, just a brush of lips. “I won't. Your pain doesn't scare me. Your past doesn't change how I feel. And your future? I want to be part of it, if you'll let me.”

“You have a life in the city.”

“I have a job in the city. My life?” She kisses me again. “My life is wherever I choose to make it. And I choose here. With you. In this cabin with your precious orchids and my Christmas lights. In this place where we found each other.”

“You can't just?—”

“Watch me.” Her eyes blaze. “Watch me love you until you believe you deserve it. Watch me show up every day until you trust that I'm not leaving. Watch me help you build new Christmas memories that don't hurt quite so much.”

And then she's up on the tips of her toes, kissing me properly, and I'm lost. My towel hits the floor as I pull her against me, groaning when I realize she's naked under my shirt. Every brush of her skin against mine feels like forgiveness, like hope, like a future I never thought I'd have.

“Stay,” I breathe against her mouth, finally letting myself want it. Want her. Want everything she's offering. “Stay with me.”

She smiles, and it's like watching the sun rise. “Was that so hard?”

“Impossible woman.”

“ Your impossible woman.”

“Mine,” I murmur against her lips, the word feeling right for the first time in forever. “My impossible, Christmas-loving, fence-destroying woman.”

She laughs softly, fingers tracing patterns on my chest. “And my grumpy, plant-obsessed, secretly tender-hearted mountain man.”

I lift her into my arms, carrying her back to the bed, laying her down and covering her body with mine. She parts her legs, welcoming me into the cradle of her hips as I settle between her thighs. The shirt has ridden up, exposing the soft skin of her belly, and I can't resist pressing kisses there, reveling in her gasp as my beard tickles her sensitive flesh.

“Sawyer...” She threads her fingers through my hair, tugging gently until I look up at her. Her brown eyes are warm and bright, filled with so much affection it steals my breath. “Make love to me.”

I groan, surging up to capture her mouth in a long, deep kiss. She moans against me, wrapping her legs around my hips to pull me closer. I can feel the heat of her, and it makes me wild. I need to be inside her, need to lose myself in her warmth and light and the unwavering love shining from her eyes.

“I don't deserve you,” I murmur against her lips, even as my hips press forward, seeking her softness.

“You do,” she insists, arching up to meet me. “You deserve love, Sawyer. You deserve happiness. Let me give that to you.”

Her words undo me completely. With a reverent whisper of her name, I push inside her welcoming heat, groaning at the exquisite feel of her body accepting mine. Noelle cries out, fingernails digging into my shoulders as I fill her completely, our bodies joining as one. I still for a moment, overwhelmed by the intensity of being so intimately connected with her, not just physically but emotionally. She surrounds me, warm and tight and perfect, her eyes locked on mine as she cradles me between her thighs.

“I love you,” she whispers, the words wrapping around my heart and squeezing. “I love you so much.”

“Noelle...” Her name is a prayer on my lips as I start to move, long deep strokes that make her gasp and clutch me tighter. “My Noelle.”

We find a rhythm together, push and pull, give and take. Each thrust is an affirmation, a promise. I pour every ounce of feeling into the way I move within her, over her, showing her with my body what I still struggle to express in words.

Noelle meets me stroke for stroke, her hips rising to take me deeper. Soft moans spill from her lips, interspersed with breathless declarations of love that make my soul sing. I've never felt so connected to another person, so completely consumed by the need to cherish and protect. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered endearment feels like a sacred vow. Like we're forging something unbreakable in the heat of our passion.

Noelle's body tenses beneath me, her inner muscles fluttering around my length as she nears her peak. My own release builds, but I fight it back, determined to watch her fall apart first. Sliding a hand between our sweat-slicked bodies, I find the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs and press down.

“Sawyer!” She throws her head back with a keening cry, fingernails scoring my back as her climax crashes over her. The sight of her lost in ecstasy sends me hurtling over the edge with her.

“Noelle,” I groan, burying my face in her neck as I spill myself deep inside her perfect cunt. “My Noelle...”

Wave after wave of bliss rolls through me, my release seeming to go on forever. Noelle clings to me, gasping and shuddering through her own prolonged climax. I've experienced nothing so profound, so consuming. In this moment, I realize I will never, ever let this woman go. She’s my lifeline. My heart.

Carefully, I roll us to our sides, keeping Noelle wrapped tightly in my arms. She sighs contentedly, nuzzling into the crook of my neck as our racing hearts gradually slow. I run soothing hands up and down her back, savoring the feel of her soft curves molded against my harder planes.

“You know this won't be easy,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I'm still learning how to let people in. How to celebrate instead of just survive.”

She props herself up, those warm eyes full of understanding. “Good thing I'm a patient person. And I have years of Christmas traditions to share.”

“About that...” I hesitate, then push through. “Maybe we could start small. Build our own traditions. Together.”

Her whole face lights up. “Really?”

“Really.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “But no musical sweaters.”

“We'll negotiate on the sweaters.” She traces my jaw with gentle fingers. “What made you change your mind?”

I catch her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. “You did. You showed me that sometimes the best gifts are the ones we don't expect. That maybe some crashes alter your life in a good way.”

“Even if they destroy your fence?”

“Especially then.” I pull her closer, breathing in her warmth. “Stay for New Year's?”

“And Valentine's Day?” she asks hopefully.

“And every day in between.”

Her answering smile is brighter than any Christmas light she could string up. And as I hold her close, I realize that maybe this is what healing feels like. Not forgetting the past, but finding the courage to build a future.

A future with her.