The Christmas Arrangement

Thirteen

Emma

Sunlight filtered through the cabin window, soft and lazy, brushing across my face and warming the curve of my cheek. I blinked slowly, disoriented, the weight of last night still clinging to me like a second skin.

Avery stirred beside me, stretching and yawning, hair falling in messy little waves across her forehead. I smiled softly, brushing a stray lock from her face.

The cabin was quiet. Not empty quiet — not cold — but lived-in, warm, peaceful.

Then I smelled it.

Eggs. Bacon. Toast. Coffee.

My eyes snapped open.

Kaden.

He was at the small stove, shirt sleeves rolled up, moving with the effortless ease of someone who had done this a thousand times. The aroma made my stomach twist, a mix of gratitude and something far more dangerous — desire to lean over and watch him closer, study the way he moved in that light.

He glanced over his shoulder, catching me watching. Just a flicker of a smile. No words. No announcement. Just that quiet, teasing acknowledgment that made my chest tighten.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, Avery still half-asleep, murmuring softly beside me.

“Morning,” I said, voice hoarse.

“Morning,” Kaden replied, flipping an egg. His back to me, but I could see the tense, steady line of his shoulders. Protective. Calm. Solid.

I padded into the small kitchen area, careful not to wake Avery completely, who was now cuddled into the blankets, soft and warm.

“You didn’t have to—” I began, voice barely above a whisper.

He cut me off with a glance over his shoulder, calm, certain.

“I wanted to,” he said simply. “You two needed a proper breakfast. Not just… cereal or whatever you could scrounge.”

I felt my throat tighten. There was no showiness here. No performance. Just care. Deep, steady, unfussy care.

I leaned against the counter, watching him work. His hands were precise, controlled, but never harsh. Every movement was deliberate. Protective. Considerate.

“You’re too quiet,” I murmured, forcing a small smile.

“I’m making breakfast,” he said, flipping the toast, eyes narrowing slightly in mock offense. “Silence helps with concentration.”

I laughed softly, feeling some of the tension from last night ease, replaced by the slow warmth that always seemed to follow him.

Minutes later, he set plates on the tiny table — two plates, two cups of coffee, and a small bowl of fruit. Avery was stirring now, blinking at the smells with wide, sleepy eyes.

“Breakfast,” he said gently, lifting her from the bed and placing her in the chair with a little seat cushion so she could reach.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my chest tight with the quiet domesticity of it.

He didn’t answer. Just watched her for a moment, making sure she was settled, before turning back to me. The simple, soft gaze said everything I couldn’t find words for: I see you. I care. I’ll handle this.

We ate in near silence, the only sounds Avery’s tiny chewing and the occasional clink of a fork on a plate.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I realized: maybe being here, with him caring for us, didn’t have to feel terrifying. Maybe it could feel like home.

Even if only for now.

Kaden:

The plates were cleared, the last sips of coffee gone, and Avery had wandered off to play with a little stuffed fox she’d found in the cabin. The morning light spilled through the windows, soft and golden, warming the small, quiet room.

I watched Emma sit on the edge of the bed, her hair messy from sleep and her posture still slightly hunched from the bruises along her ribs. She was quiet, letting the peace of the cabin settle around her. Calm. Vulnerable. Perfectly human.

And damn it. I noticed.

The curve of her hips beneath the shirt she’d slept in. The soft line of her waist. The subtle swell of her chest. I scolded myself immediately. Kaden. Focus. She’s hurt. She’s not… Not this.

I rose from the table and moved toward her, carefully, deliberately. “Come here,” I murmured, kneeling beside the bed.

She glanced up at me, curious, and I crouched lower. “Let me rewrap your ribs,” I said softly. “Breakfast is over, but I want to make sure you’re really supported before you move too much.”

Her eyes softened, and she nodded without protest. “Thanks,” she whispered.

I worked carefully, undoing the loosened band from overnight, then repositioning it snugly against her sides. My hands lingered longer than they strictly needed to, adjusting for comfort, stabilizing bruised ribs, smoothing the fabric over tender skin.

And again, my pulse betrayed me. I saw her curves as my hands moved, the gentle swell of her hips, the subtle slope of her waist beneath the thin fabric. I jerked my gaze back up, mentally scolding myself. Kaden. She’s hurt. Focus. Protect. Nothing else.

She let out a small sigh as I finished, the movement soft and trusting. “Better?” I asked.

“Yes,” she murmured. Relief in her voice. Calm. Vulnerable. And it made my chest tighten.

I straightened, stepping back, brushing my hands lightly over my pants. Focus, Kaden. Done. Move on.

But the glance I gave her as I moved to the counter betrayed me anyway. I couldn’t stop myself. Not when she looked so… unguarded. So soft. So real.

Avery’s laughter drifted from the other room, a tiny sound that pulled me back, grounding me in the moment. Emma’s eyes followed me, curious and warm. Protective instincts flared anew.

I leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely, jaw tight. “Do you need anything else? Water? More blankets? Tylenol again?”

She shook her head. “No… I’m good.”

I nodded, satisfied. And yet, as I straightened and moved toward the couch, I stole one last glance at her, silently promising myself I’d protect her. And maybe… keep admiring just a little in private.