Two
1458 Words
Emma:
If you’d told me yesterday that I’d spend Christmas Eve inside a fire station with a man who looked like he was carved out of stubbornness and tragedy—I would’ve laughed.
But here I was, dripping melted snow on the polished floor while Kaden Frost locked the door behind us.
The firehouse was warm, glowing with that lived-in amber light that made everything feel safe. Coffee lingered in the air, mixed with the faint scent of pine and smoke. A Christmas tree blinked in the corner—crooked, half-decorated, and charmingly tragic.
This was a place where people saved lives.
I felt small just standing in the doorway.
“Guest room’s this way,” Kaden said, brushing past me.
He didn’t touch me, but I felt the heat of him, the quiet gravity he carried. I followed him down a short hallway, my boots squeaking embarrassingly.
“I’m sorry for… ruining your night,” I said to his back.
“You didn’t ruin anything.”
He didn’t look at me when he said it.
He pushed open a door and flipped on a light.
The room was simple—white walls, bed, dresser, a tiny bathroom, a folded quilt. Cozy in a minimalist, masculine way.
“You can stay here tonight,” he said.
I stepped inside, clutching the blanket he’d given me in the truck. “Thank you.”
He nodded once, like he didn’t know what to do with gratitude.
Then I heard it.
Footsteps.
Tiny ones.
A moment later, a small girl with sleepy brown eyes peeked around Kaden’s leg. Hair tousled, holding a stuffed fox by the tail. She couldn’t have been more than five.
My heart squeezed.
“Daddy,” she whispered, rubbing her eyes, “I heard a door.”
Kaden crouched instantly, his entire face softening in a way I hadn’t seen before.
“I know, bug,” he murmured. “We had someone who needed help tonight.”
The little girl—Avery, I guessed—peeked at me with shy curiosity.
She looked like him. Dark hair. Wide eyes. Something quiet and thoughtful in the way she held herself.
My chest tightened in that strange way again.
“This is Emma,” Kaden said gently. “Her car broke down in the storm.”
Avery hugged her fox closer.
“Is she staying?”
“Just for tonight,” I said softly. “Your dad’s helping me.”
She nodded thoughtfully, then walked right up to me and placed her stuffed fox against my knee.
“You can borrow him,” she whispered. “He helps me sleep when I’m scared.”
My throat closed.
I blinked hard.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “I’ll take good care of him.”
Behind her, Kaden’s expression changed—something raw flickering through his eyes before he masked it again.
“Alright, bug,” he said, standing up. “Back to bed.”
Avery nodded and went back down the hall, glancing over her shoulder once like she wanted to make sure I was still there.
When she disappeared, silence settled between us.
“She’s sweet,” I said.
“She’s everything,” he replied quietly.
There was weight in those words.
A story.
A wound.
“Get some rest,” Kaden said, stepping back. “We’ll deal with your car in the morning.”
I nodded. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Emma.”
He turned to leave, but something made him pause in the doorway. He hesitated—just for a breath—before saying,
“You’re safe here.”
The words wrapped around me like the blanket in my hands.
Then he left, the door clicking softly behind him.
I sat on the edge of the bed, exhaling shakily.
Safe.
It had been a long time since anyone said that to me.
It's been longer since I believed it.
I lay down, Avery’s little fox tucked beside me. Outside the window, snow kept falling, painting the dark world white.
For the first time in months…
…I didn’t fall asleep afraid.
Kade:
I shut the door behind me and stood in the hallway longer than I should have.
Safe here.
I hadn’t meant to say it.
The words slipped out before I could filter them, before I could remember that offering comfort was risky—dangerous, even. It had a way of opening doors I’d spent years keeping locked.
I dragged a hand through my hair, exhaling hard.
Emma.
The name already felt too familiar in my mind.
Pretty girl. Big eyes. Brave voice hiding a tremor.
She looked like someone who had been trying to stay strong for too long.
And the way she’d thanked me—quiet, careful, as if she wasn’t used to being helped—it hit me in a place I didn’t like being hit.
I started down the corridor, trying to shake it off.
The storm rattled against the windows, wind howling like an old warning.
I should’ve left it at giving her a blanket and offering the guest room. That would’ve been the normal thing. The safe thing.
But the truth was simple:
There was no universe where I was leaving her out in that snow.
None.
A tiny sound made me stop outside Avery’s room. I pushed the door open gently.
She was sitting up in bed, knees tucked under her chin, eyes wide even in the dark.
“Daddy?” she whispered.
I sat beside her. “Couldn’t sleep?”
She shook her head, curls bouncing. “Is the snow lady okay?”
I frowned. “Snow lady?”
Her tiny shoulders lifted. “The girl who came in with you.”
I softened despite myself. “Her name is Emma.”
“Emma,” she repeated carefully, like she was trying it on. “She looked cold.”
“She was.”
Images flickered in my mind—Emma shivering, her lips pale, her clothes soaked from the storm.
Avery’s fingers found mine, small and trusting. “I like her.”
Something tightened in my chest. Avery didn’t like people easily. Not since…
Not since everything.
I kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of strawberry shampoo.
“Go to sleep, bug.”
“Will she be here in the morning?”
Her voice cracked a little, fragile in a way that always gutted me.
I didn’t want to promise anything I couldn’t control.
But I said, “Yeah. She’ll be here.”
And I hated how right it felt.
After settling Avery back down, I stepped into the hallway again. The station was quiet, lights low, the hum of the furnace the only sound.
I headed toward the kitchen, hoping coffee would dull the thoughts forming in my head—thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking about a stranger.
But I didn’t even make it two steps before I saw movement.
Emma.
She stood at the end of the hallway, wrapped in my gray station blanket, bare toes curled against the cold floor, hair loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were soft when they met mine—uncertain, hopeful, warm in a way I hadn’t seen in longer than I cared to admit.
She froze when she saw me, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to be there.
“Kaden?”
Her voice was small.
Too small.
The kind of small that made every protective instinct in me flare awake.
“You okay?” I asked.
She hesitated. “I… couldn’t sleep.”
I nodded slowly.
Of course she couldn’t. New place. Strange man. Bad storm. Fear clinging to her like the snow on her clothes.
“Come on,” I said, tilting my head toward the kitchen. “I’ll make you tea.”
Her eyes softened. “Tea sounds nice.”
As she came closer, the blanket slipping off her shoulder just enough for me to notice the faint bruise beneath—
Everything inside me went still.
Not anger.
Not shock.
Recognition.
And maybe the smallest, most dangerous whisper of something I hadn’t felt in a long, long time:
A pull.
Toward her.
Toward the truth she was trying to hide.
Toward the reason she’d ended up alone in a snowstorm.
“Emma,” I said gently, “who hurt you?”
She sucked in a breath, spine stiffening, hand flying up to cover the bruise.
But she didn’t lie.
And she didn’t look away.
Which told me everything.
My jaw locked.
Heat pulsed beneath my skin—not rage, but something deeper. Colder. Sharper.
Because no matter what she said next…
…I already knew:
I wasn’t letting her walk back into that storm alone.
Not tonight.
Not tomorrow.
Maybe not ever.
- Writer
