My Wish For Christmas

CHAPTER 5

“Come on, my cabin’s not far from here.”

The man’s voice was firm, deep, and left no room for argument. I blinked up at him, the words barely registering through the haze of cold that seemed to have settled into my bones. A cabin? Who lived out here, in the middle of nowhere, during a storm like this?

Still, I didn’t have much choice. If I stayed in my car, I would freeze to death. And while the idea of following a stranger into the woods screamed bad idea, my options were nonexistent.

“Okay,” I said, my voice shaky. My teeth were chattering so hard it was a miracle he understood me.

He didn’t wait for me to process further. Turning, he trudged ahead, his heavy boots crunching against the snow. I stumbled after him, hugging myself against the icy wind that cut through every layer of clothing I had.

The woods were eerily silent except for the sound of the blizzard, the snow falling so thickly that it felt like we were the only two people left in the world. My breath fogged in front of me as I pushed forward, my feet slipping on the icy ground.

“How far is it?” I called out, my voice barely audible over the storm.

“Not far,” he replied without looking back. His tone was gruff, like he wasn’t thrilled about the situation either.

I bit back a sarcastic retort—something about how people always said “not far” when it was definitely far—and focused on keeping up.

After what felt like an eternity, a shape emerged through the snow. A cabin, nestled between the trees like something out of a survivalist’s dream. Smoke curled up from the chimney, the faint glow of light visible through frosted windows.

The man didn’t pause as he reached the porch, stomping the snow off his boots before unlocking the door. He pushed it open, stepping inside without so much as a glance back at me.

I hesitated for a moment, my instincts battling it out. This is crazy. You don’t know him. What if he’s a serial killer? But the cold gnawing at my fingers and toes reminded me that freezing to death wasn’t exactly a better alternative.

With a deep breath, I stepped inside.

The warmth hit me like a physical force, and I almost sank to my knees in relief. The cabin was cozy but rugged, clearly built for function rather than style. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace, casting flickering light across the room. The furniture was simple—wooden chairs, a small couch, a coffee table cluttered with what looked like tools and scraps of paper.

“Close the door,” he grunted, pulling off his gloves and tossing them onto a chair.

I quickly obeyed, shutting out the storm and leaning against the door for a moment. My fingers were so numb I wasn’t sure I would ever feel them again.

“Take off your boots,” he said, his back to me as he unwrapped the scarf from around his face.

I glanced down at my soaked, frozen boots and nodded, even though he wasn’t looking. My fingers fumbled with the laces, and I nearly toppled over as I yanked them off, leaving them by the door.

“Thanks for—” I started, but the words died in my throat as he turned around.

I had expected someone rough, weathered, maybe with a permanent scowl etched into his face. And sure, the scowl was there, but the face? It was the kind of face you would expect to see on the cover of a magazine, not hidden under layers of winter gear. His sharp jawline, strong cheekbones, and piercing eyes were the kind of features that made people stop and stare.

Of course, the grumpy set of his mouth ruined the effect.

“You’re staring,” he said flatly.

“I’m not,” I lied, quickly looking away.

He snorted, clearly not buying it, and walked over to the fireplace. “Sit down before you fall down,” he said, gesturing toward the couch.

I shuffled over, my legs trembling, and sank onto the worn cushions. They weren’t exactly plush, but compared to the freezing car, they felt like heaven.

“Why do you live out here?” I asked, watching as he tossed a log onto the fire.

“Because I can,” he replied shortly, not bothering to elaborate.

I frowned but didn’t push. His mood seemed about as friendly as the storm outside, and I wasn’t in the mood to pick a fight.

“You’re lucky I saw you,” he added after a moment, his tone gruff.

“Trust me, I know,” I said, hugging myself. My fingers were still freezing, and I rubbed them together, trying to coax some warmth back into them.

He glanced at me, his brows furrowing. “You’re still cold.”

“No kidding,” I muttered under my breath.

Apparently, he heard me because he grabbed a blanket from a nearby chair and tossed it at me. “Here.”

“Thanks,” I said, wrapping it around myself. The heavy wool was scratchy but warm, and I practically melted into it.

He sat down in one of the wooden chairs, leaning back and watching me with an unreadable expression.

“What’s your name?” I asked, trying to fill the awkward silence.

“Jason,” he said after a pause.

“Jason,” I repeated. “Well, thanks for saving me. I’m—”

“Don’t care,” he interrupted, cutting me off.

I blinked at him, caught off guard by the bluntness. “Excuse me?”

“You’re here for the night, not forever,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Your name doesn’t matter.”

The nerve of this guy! My initial gratitude was quickly replaced by irritation. “Wow,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “And here I thought I was supposed to thank you for your hospitality.”

“You already did,” he replied, completely unfazed.

I glared at him, but he just leaned back in his chair, looking annoyingly smug.

It was going to be a very long night.