CHAPTER THREE: coffees and confessions
723 Words
Rose barely slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw snow. Heard that knock. Felt the warmth of arms that weren’t the ones she had been longing for.
Morning light filtered softly through the cottage curtains. The storm had settled into a quieter snowfall, gentle and steady.
Her first thought was embarrassment.
Her second was him.
She groaned softly and buried her face in the pillow.
What possessed you to hug a stranger and call him by another man’s name?
The memory made her stomach twist.
After dressing quickly, she wrapped his coat tighter around herself and stepped outside. The snow had risen overnight, blanketing the ground in thick white silence.
The path to the lodge was cleared, he must have done that.
Inside the lodge, warmth greeted her again. Chloe was nowhere in sight.
Instead the inn owner stood behind the small counter pouring coffee into two mugs.
Without looking up, he said, “You take cream. No sugar.”
Rose stopped mid-step.
“How do you know that?”
He finally looked at her, one brow lifting slightly. “You made a face at the sugar jar last night.”
She blinked. “I did not.”
“You did.”.
“I don’t make faces.”
He handed her the mug. “You absolutely do.”
And there it was.
The smallest c***k in her guarded expression.
A smile.
It surprised both of them.
He leaned back against the counter, studying her, not intensely, not uncomfortably. Just… observing.
“You okay?” he asked gently.
Rose looked down at her coffee. Steam curled upward between them.
“I’m sorry about last night,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have...”
“You don’t owe me an apology.”
She looked up.
His expression was calm. Steady.
“Grief doesn’t ask permission before it shows up,” he continued. “It just… does.”
“You speak like you know,” she said softly.
A flicker passed through his eyes. Not pain exactly. But memory.
“I do.”
He didn’t elaborate, she didn't ask further. Instead, he tilted his head slightly. “For someone who ‘doesn’t sing anymore,’ you seemed pretty convincing last night.”
Her fingers tightened around the mug.
“I didn’t know you were listening.”
“I wasn’t trying to,” he said. “But you don’t ignore music like that.”
Her pulse quickened, not from fear this time but from something warmer.
“I used to sing professionally,” she admitted. The words felt strange on her tongue. Like they belonged to someone else.
“Before.”
“And now?”he asked.
“Now I don’t.”
He nodded thoughtfully, then took a sip of his coffee
“That seems inefficient.”
She stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“If you’re good at something,” he said calmly, “quitting because it hurts feels… inefficient.”
A small laugh escaped her.
“You’re very blunt.”
“I prefer ‘economical with emotional drama.’”
That earned him a proper smile.
And for a moment, neither of them looked away.
He pushed off the counter. “Town square’s hosting a small Christmas market this afternoon. If the roads stay blocked, that’s about as adventurous as this place gets.”
“I told you, I don’t do Christmas.”
“Good,” he replied smoothly. “Then you won’t have expectations.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Is that your way of inviting me?”
“It’s my way of preventing you from staring at that piano all day.”
Her breath caught.
He noticed everything.
Before she could respond, Chloe appeared from the hallway, dramatically stretching. “Well, well. Look at you two bonding over caffeine.”
Rose flushed immediately.
He didn’t.
“Your friend makes faces at sugar jars,” he said calmly.
Chloe gasped. “She does!”
Rose groaned. “Traitor.”
They laughed.
And in that laughter, something softened fully, as Chloe launched into complaints about sleeping on a lodge couch, Rose glanced back at him.
He was already looking at her in curious and interesting ways
Like he was trying to understand the spaces she kept hidden.
And for the first time in five years, Eose didn’t feel like hiding anymore.
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