8. Alex

8

ALEX

T he first thing Alex noticed was the warmth. It radiated through the heavy quilt, seeped into her limbs, and pooled in her chest. For a moment, she didn’t move, caught in the hazy pull of dawn where sleep and wakefulness blended into one. The pale light filtering through the windows cast a golden glow over the cabin, softening the edges of their rough surroundings.

Then she realized the warmth had a shape. Her arm rested over Vivienne’s waist, the curve of her body tucked neatly against Alex’s own. A strand of long brown hair tickled her nose .

Alex stiffened. Her first instinct was to retreat, but the press of Vivienne’s back against her chest rooted her in place. It wasn’t just the fear of waking her. It was the unexpected comfort of the moment—a feeling so foreign she didn’t know how to dismantle it.

Her gaze flicked to the hearth. The fire had burned low, embers glowing faintly beneath a layer of ash. The scent of pine and smoke mingled with Vivienne’s natural scent, a strange but not unwelcome blend of wild and refined. She let out a slow breath, watching it fog in the cold air above the quilt.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The thought echoed in her mind, heavy and insistent. Alex had promised herself to keep her distance, to treat Vivienne as nothing more than a temporary presence—a charge to protect until the storm passed. But here she was, wrapped around her like an anchor, her body betraying a closeness she’d sworn to avoid.

Her hand twitched, and she carefully, carefully shifted her arm. Vivienne stirred slightly, her breathing hitching before settling back into a steady rhythm. Alex froze again, her heart thudding against her ribs.

What are you doing?

Her jaw clenched as she fought to rationalize the situation. It was the cold, she told herself. Sharing body heat was survival, not intimacy. It didn’t mean anything. But the excuse rang hollow in her mind, unable to stand against the quiet pull of her growing attachment.

Her gaze drifted to Vivienne’s face. In sleep, her features were softer, stripped of the sharp angles and guarded expressions that usually defined her. Her lashes rested against her cheeks, a faint crease marking the corner of her mouth as if caught mid-thought, even now.

Alex frowned. There was something unsettling about seeing Vivienne like this—unguarded and vulnerable. It blurred the lines Alex had drawn between them, made her wonder how much of the glamor was armor rather than artifice.

Her chest tightened, the dissonance between what she thought she knew about Vivienne and the woman lying in her arms growing louder. How much of this was real? How much of it was her own loneliness, twisting circumstance into something more?

She rolled onto her back, creating a few inches of space between them. The cool air rushed in where Vivienne’s warmth had been, but Alex ignored the shiver it sent through her. Distance was safer.

Safer for who?

The question hung unanswered in her mind, sharp and unrelenting. Alex closed her eyes, willing it away, but the memories came anyway—past relationships fractured by her inability to let anyone in. It was easier to push people away than to let them see the raw parts of her life.

But Vivienne was different. She had stumbled into Alex’s world, uninvited and unprepared, and somehow managed to hold her ground. That should have annoyed her. Instead, it unnerved her in a way that felt too much like admiration.

The quilt shifted beside her, pulling her back to the present. She opened her eyes to find Vivienne stirring, her movements sluggish and half-aware.

“Mmm,” Vivienne murmured, her voice thick with sleep. She turned toward Alex, blinking slowly as her gaze focused. “Morning.”

Alex quickly averted her eyes, hoping the faint blush creeping up her neck wasn’t visible in the dim light. “Morning.”

Vivienne stretched beneath the covers, her lips curving into a small, sleepy smile. “Do you always look this grumpy when you wake up?”

Alex scoffed, trying to conceal a small smile. “Only when someone hogs the blanket.”

“Me? Hog the blanket?” Vivienne arched a brow, the teasing lilt in her voice cutting through the quiet. “Pretty sure you were the one clinging to me.”

Alex’s ears burned, and she swung her legs over the side of the bed, planting her feet on the cold floor. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Vivienne chuckled, the sound warm and soft, settling between them like a truce.

For a moment, Alex hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder. Vivienne’s gaze met hers, something unspoken passing between them. It wasn’t tension exactly—more like a fragile understanding, teetering on the edge of something they both recognized but which neither of them dared to say aloud.

“I’ll get the fire going again,” Alex said finally, her voice low.

Vivienne nodded, her smile fading. “Okay.”

As Alex knelt by the hearth, coaxing the embers back to life, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the atmosphere in the room had shifted. It wasn’t just the warmth returning to the cabin. It was something deeper, more intimate—something she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

The storm outside had quieted, its ferocity reduced to a faint whisper against the cabin walls. Inside, the space felt warmer, not just from the fire crackling in the hearth but from the shared purpose in the tiny kitchen.

Alex stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, hands buried in dough as she kneaded with practiced ease. The weathered apron tied around her waist was streaked with flour, a testament to years of use. Across from her, Vivienne clutched a knife, poised over a cutting board with a mix of determination and trepidation.

"You're holding it wrong," Alex said without looking up.

Vivienne glanced up, her brows knitting. "I’m holding it exactly how you showed me."

Alex wiped her hands on the apron and walked around the counter. Standing behind Vivienne, she reached around to adjust her grip on the knife. The proximity was unavoidable, and Alex felt a flicker of warmth that had nothing to do with the stove.

"Like this," she murmured, guiding Vivienne’s hand into position.

Vivienne stilled, her breath catching for the briefest moment. Then she nodded, her voice soft. "Got it."

Satisfied, Alex stepped back, reclaiming her place by the dough. She began to knead again, stealing occasional glances as Vivienne awkwardly sliced a carrot. The cuts were uneven, but there was a quiet determination in the way she worked, her jaw set with concentration.

“You’re doing fine,” Alex offered, surprising even herself with the gentle encouragement.

Vivienne’s lips quirked in a small, appreciative smile. “High praise coming from you.”

Alex snorted. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

The banter felt easy, almost natural, as they settled into a rhythm. Vivienne continued her slow progress with the vegetables, while Alex worked the dough until it was smooth and pliable. She set it aside to rise, dusting her hands clean as she leaned against the counter to watch Vivienne’s progress.

Alex chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re trying. That counts for something.”

Vivienne set the knife down and turned to face Alex, leaning against the counter. “We didn’t exactly do a lot of cooking in my family. Everything was catered, including on Christmas. Perfectly plated, perfectly timed—no mess, no effort.”

“That doesn’t sound very festive.”

Vivienne shrugged, a shadow crossing her features. “It wasn’t. Not really. Christmas was more of a performance than a celebration. My mother would plan every detail months in advance. Every table setting, every course, every ornament.” She paused, her gaze distant. “It looked like something out of a magazine. It was beautiful, decadent, but it always felt hollow.”

Alex studied her, noting the tightness in Vivienne’s posture, the way her fingers gripped the edge of the counter. It was the first time Vivienne had shared something so personal, and Alex felt an unexpected ache in her chest.

“That sounds exhausting, living up to those expectations,” Alex said quietly.

Vivienne nodded, her smile faint and wistful. “It was. I used to wish we could just have one messy, chaotic Christmas, you know? Something real.”

Alex hesitated before replying, the vulnerability in Vivienne’s words tugging at something deep inside her. “My parents were teachers, so my older brother and I didn’t have much when we were growing up,” she began, her voice steady but low. “Christmas was…simple. Homemade decorations, handmade gifts, whatever food we could scrape together, and the same battered string of lights my parents had since before I was born. But it felt like Christmas, you kn ow? Cozy. Warm.”

Vivienne’s gaze softened, her head tilting slightly as she listened. “That sounds wonderful.”

Alex shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. “It was enough. They made it enough.”

They fell into a brief silence, the only sounds the crackle of the fire and the quiet scrape of Vivienne’s knife against the cutting board. Alex turned back to her work, shaping the dough into rolls with methodical precision.

“Do you still do any of those things?” Vivienne asked after a while.

Alex paused, her hands stilling. “Not really. My mom passed away from breast cancer, and after that, I didn’t see much point. Christmas just became another day for us.”

“I’m so sorry,” Vivienne said, looking up at Alex.

Alex shifted, feeling the heat of Vivienne’s eyes, and stared at the dough to avoid eye contact. “It was a long time ago.”

Silence hung in the air, then Vivienne spoke. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be. Just another day, I mean.”

The words hung between them, unspoken possibilities blooming in the quiet. Alex didn’t respond, unsure how to process the strange mixture of hope and hesitation that Vivienne’s suggestion stirred in her.

Instead, she reached for the pan and began placing the rolls onto it in neat rows. Vivienne set the knife down, wiping her hands on a towel before stepping closer.

“Need help?” she asked.

Alex raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “You sure you want to risk it? Dough isn’t as forgiving as carrots.”

Vivienne rolled her eyes, but her smile was warm. “You might be surprised what I can handle.”

Their fingers brushed as Vivienne reached for a piece of dough, and Alex felt her breath catch in her throat. She busied herself with the rolls, trying to ignore the way her pulse quickened at the brief contact.

As they worked together, the cabin filled with the scent of rising dough and freshly chopped herbs. The storm outside was a distant memory, its fury replaced by the quiet rhythm of their shared tasks.

Vivienne’s laugh broke the silence, soft and genuine. Alex glanced at her, catching the way her eyes lit up as she struggled to shape the dough into something resembling a roll. It was lopsided and uneven, but the pride on Vivienne’s face was infectious.

Alex found herself laughing, too, the sound surprising in its ease.

“You’re terrible at this,” she teased.

Vivienne grinned, holding up her misshapen creation. “Maybe. But I’m getting better.”

Alex shook her head, the warmth in her chest spreading. For the first time in years, Christmas didn’t feel like just another day.

Outside, snowflakes drifted lazily. Inside, the cabin was aglow with candlelight, the modest meal spread across the small table giving the space a sense of quiet celebration. The fire crackled in the hearth, its warm glow mingling with the golden flicker of the candles, casting soft shadows on the walls.

Alex sat back in her chair, her fingers wrapped around a mug of tea that had long since cooled. Across from her, Vivienne sipped from her own cup, her cheeks flushed— not from the fire’s heat, Alex suspected, but from the wine they’d shared earlier while waiting for the rolls to bake.

The table was a testament to their efforts, scattered with the fruits of their collaboration: misshapen rolls, roasted vegetables, and a small dish of hastily improvised gravy. It wasn’t much, but it felt enough, and for the first time in years, Alex felt the faintest glimmer of holiday peace.

“You really were terrible at chopping those carrots,” Alex playfully teased, breaking the silence.

Vivienne laughed, a soft, musical sound that Alex noticed started to feel like it belonged. “I think you mean artistic. Imperfection is very in right now.”

Alex smirked, setting her mug down. “If that’s what you’re telling yourself.”

Vivienne leaned her elbow on the table, resting her chin on her hand as she studied Alex. “You know, you’re not as intimidating as you pretend to be.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. “Oh? And what makes you think I’m pretending?”

Vivienne’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Well, for one, you’ve spent the entire evening letting me ramble on about my miserable childhood Christmases while you patiently refilled my wine glass. That’s not exactly the behavior of a hardened misanthrope.”

Alex felt her face warm under Vivienne’s gaze and shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not a misanthrope. I just don’t have much patience for—” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Let’s just say I’m not usually one for company.”

Vivienne tilted her head, her smile softening. “And yet, here we are.”

Alex met her eyes and found herself holding Vivienne’s gaze longer than she intended. There was something disarming in the way Vivienne looked at her, as if she could see past every carefully constructed wall Alex had built.

Clearing her throat, Alex reached for her mug again. “What about before the storm?” she asked, her voice low. “What were you really doing out here?”

Vivienne looked down at her hands, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. She didn’t say anything for a few minutes, and Alex gave her time to process her thoughts.

Finally, she said, “Trying to figure out who I am, I suppose.”

Alex frowned. “You don’t know?”

Vivienne’s laugh was short and self-deprecating. “You’d think I would by now. But it’s hard to see yourself clearly when you’ve spent your whole life being told who you’re supposed to be.”

Alex leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “Who’s been telling you?”

Vivienne shrugged, her movements small and tense. “My mother. My colleagues. The whole damn world, it feels like.” She glanced up, meeting Alex’s gaze. “You’re lucky, you know? You don’t care what anyone thinks of you.”

Alex’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “That’s not luck. That’s exhaustion.”

Vivienne blinked, her head cocked to the side in question. “What do you mean?”

Alex hesitated, then sighed. “When you’ve spent enough time being told you’re not enough—by people, by life—it just…wears you down. After a while, you stop trying to prove th em wrong.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than Alex intended. Vivienne’s expression shifted, the teasing glimmer in her eyes replaced by something softer, more understanding.

“That must have been lonely,” Vivienne said quietly.

Alex shrugged. “Sometimes. But I got used to it.”

Vivienne reached across the table, her fingers brushing Alex’s wrist. The touch was light, tentative, but it sent a warmth through Alex that soothed her.

“You shouldn’t have had to,” Vivienne said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Alex looked down at Vivienne’s hand, at the way her fingers rested so delicately against her skin. It would have been so easy to pull away, to retreat behind the safety of her walls. But she didn’t.

Instead, she surprised herself by speaking. “My mom used to say that Christmas was a time for making peace—with others, with yourself. I haven’t done much of that in a long time.”

Vivienne’s smile was faint but genuine. “Maybe you’ve started tonight.”

Alex glanced up, meeting Vivienne’s eyes again. The flickering light made them shimmer, their usual sharpness softened into something that looked almost like genuine care.

The silence stretched between them, not awkward but weighted with unspoken affection. Alex could feel the shift, the moment tipping into something deeper, something she wasn’t sure she was ready for but didn’t want to stop.

“Thank you,” Vivienne said suddenly, her voice breaking the quiet.

Alex frowned, her brow furrowing. “For what?”

“For letting me be here. For…this,” Vivienne said, gesturing vaguely at the table, the fire, the closeness between them.

Alex shook her head. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“Yes, I do,” Vivienne insisted, her voice firm but kind. “You’ve given me something I didn’t even realize I needed.”

Alex didn’t know how to respond, so she didn’t. Instead, she stood and began gathering the plates, using the excuse of tidying to process the knot of emotions Vivienne’s words had stirred.

When she turned back, Vivienne was still watching her, her expression unreadable. Alex felt her chest tighten, the weight of the moment pressing against her ribs.

For tonight, at least, she decided to let it in.