Lena laughed softly against him — a real laugh this time, the kind that cracked through the quiet and let the warmth spill out again. “Well, that’s good,” she murmured, eyes glinting as she leaned back just enough to look at him. “Because you were the first one I told. Figured I couldn’t say yes to anything ‘til I ran it by my resident rugged love interest.”

Her thumb brushed along the edge of his jaw, the gesture playful but threaded with something tender. “You know me — I might be the one leavin’ town, but I still like to pretend you’re the boss of me every now and then.”

The teasing made his mouth twitch, and the sight of it loosened something in her chest. God, he made everything feel easier just by standing there. The ache of what she’d be missing still lingered beneath the surface, but it didn’t feel so heavy with him holding her like that.

She smirked faintly, tilting her head. “But since you’re so supportive, I better warn you right now — this house better be in perfect shape when I get back. No slippin’ into ‘boy mode’ while I’m gone. If I come home to a sink full of dishes and mystery stains on my throw pillows, I’ll revoke your right to the good view.”

Her tone dropped slightly, a spark of mischief lighting her eyes as she tugged him closer by the collar. “And you know exactly which one I mean.”

She felt his chest shake with quiet laughter, and her smile softened into something more wistful. Her fingers stayed hooked in his shirt as she sighed, the playfulness thinning into something real again.

“Wish you could come with me,” she admitted, voice low. Then, unable to resist, she added with a grin, “You sure I can’t just sneak you into my carry-on? I’ll pack light — leave room next to the boots. TSA’ll never notice one lumberjack if I hide you under the flannel.”

He gave her that look — the half-arched brow, the quiet disbelief that always made her grin wider — and she laughed, shaking her head. “What? You really want me goin’ all that way alone? I might trip over some Florida palm tree and fall right into the arms of another rugged stranger. You remember how that went last time.”

Her eyes danced up to his, the teasing fading into something softer, steadier. “Don’t worry, though. That was a one-time thing,” she murmured, fingertips brushing against his chest in a slow, absent motion. “They broke the mold after you, Maren. I checked.”

For a moment, they just stood there — the glow of the tinsel tree reflecting in both their eyes, the warmth of the fire painting the edges of everything gold.

And as she leaned in again, resting her forehead against his, Lena realized she wasn’t dreading the leaving quite as much anymore. Because she knew, without needing him to say it, that home would still be here — steady and warm and waiting — when she found her way back.

Caleb grinned, that slow, easy kind of smile that came with a little shake of his head and a spark of amusement in his eyes. “Darlin’, you couldn’t fit me in a carry-on if you tried. I’m all elbows and attitude,” he said, voice low and drawling, roughened by laughter. He slid his hands down her sides until they rested at her hips, thumbs stroking lazy circles through the fabric of her shirt. “Besides, you’d miss me complainin’ about your radio stations and stealin’ your coffee in the mornin’. You’d get bored before you even hit the Georgia line.”

He bent a little, catching her gaze under the glow of the tinsel lights. “And don’t you worry about this house. It’ll be standin’ same as you left it. I’ll keep the firewood stacked, the dishes washed, and the mystery stains to a respectable minimum.” His grin crooked wider. “Can’t promise I won’t miss your bossin’, though. This place gets real quiet when it’s just me and the hum of the heater.”

The teasing softened into something gentler. “Truth is, I’d follow you anywhere if I thought I wouldn’t get in your way. But this—” he tipped his chin toward the window, toward the snow starting to drift again— “this is your season to chase a bit of sunshine. You go make somethin’ of it, Len. I’ll be right here, keepin’ the lights on.”

He brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek, his touch slow and warm. “And as for that other rugged stranger you’re talkin’ about…” He leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed her skin. “He can’t build a porch like mine. Can’t fix your greenhouse door in a snowstorm. Sure as hell don’t know how you take your coffee.”

Lena’s laugh came out soft against his throat, and he smiled into her hair. “So, no. You go ahead and let Florida have you for a spell. I’ll be here, countin’ down the days ‘til that old truck of yours comes rumblin’ back up the drive.”

He tilted her chin up with two fingers, the corners of his mouth curving in that quiet, confident way of his. “Just promise me one thing, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. “When that plane lands and you’re standin’ in all that sunshine, you’ll think about me freezin’ my tail off up here and at least send a picture. Give a man somethin’ to warm his hands on.”

Then he kissed her — slow and sure, like he was sealing every word between them — before pulling back just far enough to add, with a wink, “And don’t worry about the good view. I’ll keep it dusted off ‘til you’re home.”

Lena couldn’t help it — the laugh that escaped her was small, breathy, and entirely helpless. The kind that cracked through the last of her composure and left nothing but warmth behind.

“God, I love you,” she whispered before she could stop herself, the words slipping out quiet but certain, soft as snowfall. “You know that, right? I mean, really love you — the kind that makes me wanna shake my head at myself ‘cause I swore I’d never turn into one of those sappy women who can’t go ten minutes without sayin’ it.”

She rose onto her toes, her hands sliding up his chest until her palms rested just beneath his collar. Then she kissed him — once, twice, again — quick little presses that landed wherever she could reach: his cheek, his nose, the edge of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Each one punctuated by the faintest laugh between them.

He caught one on his chin when she misjudged the angle, and she laughed harder, half muffled against his skin. “See?” she murmured between kisses. “Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.”

When she finally pulled back, her forehead rested against his, and she breathed him in — woodsmoke, winter air, and home.

“I’ve spent my whole life tryin’ to be the one who doesn’t need anybody,” she said softly, eyes flicking up to his, “and then you had to go and ruin it by makin’ me feel safe enough not to hide behind all my bite.” Her lips curved into a small, shy smile that didn’t quite match her usual sass. “You’re a real menace, Maren.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The tinsel tree shimmered in the corner, the silver branches swaying faintly with the heater’s hum, and the snow outside deepened to quiet.

Then Lena exhaled and gave his shirt a playful tug, her tone lightening again. “Alright, Mr. Porch Builder, we’ve got two options before I go get sentimental again.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “We can order somethin’—I’m thinkin’ Thai, maybe pizza if you behave—or you can work your reheatin’ magic on whatever leftovers are still survivin’ in the fridge.”

She glanced back at the glowing tree, mischief curling back into her smile. “Either way, I’m not sittin’ still yet. These halls aren’t gonna deck themselves.”

With that, she gave him one last kiss — soft and lingering this time — before stepping away just far enough to grab another strand of garland, her laughter low and bright as the tinsel caught the firelight.

Caleb stood there for a moment after she said it — God, I love you — like the words had knocked the breath right out of him. Not because he hadn’t heard them before, but because every time she said them, it hit the same way: quiet, certain, bone-deep. The kind of thing that didn’t echo so much as settle.

He let out a low laugh, rough around the edges, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip when she pulled back. “Reckon I do know,” he murmured, a slow smile tugging at his mouth. “But it still sounds real good comin’ from you.”

When she kissed him again — all quick and scattershot and soft — he didn’t try to stop her. Hell, he couldn’t if he wanted to. He caught her laughter with his own, a deep rumble in his chest as he tipped his head slightly, meeting her halfway. “Hopeless, huh?” he said against her cheek. “If this is what hopeless looks like, I’ll take it any day.”

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. The look in her eyes — that mix of fire and something so tender it could undo a man — just about leveled him. “You call me a menace,” he said, voice quieter now, “but you’re the one out here knockin’ a man flat with a smile and a handful of tinsel.”

When she tugged at his shirt and started talking about dinner, he huffed a laugh through his nose, the kind that came from somewhere easy and content. “Well, I’d vote Thai,” he said, leaning back just enough to study her face. “But I got a feelin’ you’d never forgive yourself if those garlands went undecorated while you’ve got the energy to boss ‘em around.”

He took the strand from her hands before she could move, looping it loosely over his arm. “Tell you what,” he said, that familiar spark returning to his voice. “You keep orderin’ me around, and I’ll hang this wherever you point. I don’t mind playin’ assistant to the prettiest foreman in the Rockies.”

He bent down, brushed his lips against the crown of her head, and murmured, “But only if there’s pizza afterward. You know I’m a simple man with simple needs.”

When she shot him that sideways look — the one equal parts challenge and affection — he grinned wider. “Alright then,” he added, stepping back just enough to catch the shimmer of silver in her hair. “Let’s deck these halls, darlin’. Figure if you’re leavin’ soon, this house oughta shine bright enough for both of us.”

And as he reached up to hook the garland over the mantel, the firelight caught on the curve of his smile — that quiet, contented look of a man who knew exactly what he had, and exactly how lucky he was to come home to it.

Lena couldn’t even pretend to hide the smile tugging at her lips. It was one of those moments that didn’t need to be grand to feel perfect — just the two of them in the soft glow of the fire, silver garland draped between their hands like a shared secret.

“Fine,” she murmured, eyes bright as she handed it over to him. “You win this round, assistant.”

Her fingers brushed his when he took it — a small, unintentional spark that still sent warmth all the way through her. And then she just… watched. Watched as he stretched up, looping the garland over the mantel with that easy kind of competence that always made her chest ache a little. He didn’t fuss or measure or overthink. He just did — steady, certain, his shoulders moving beneath the worn flannel she loved best.

There was something about seeing him like that, surrounded by firelight and Christmas sparkle, that made her heart ache in the sweetest way. Maybe because he’d never been the kind of man who needed attention. He didn’t try to fill the silence; he made it feel safe.

Her smile deepened, eyes softening as she took in the picture he made — this quiet, beautiful contradiction of strength and tenderness, hanging tinsel like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She pulled her phone from her pocket, thumb hovering just long enough to glance back at him before tapping through the familiar pizza order — his favorite toppings without even having to think twice. Pepperoni, green peppers, and extra cheese. Always extra cheese.

When she set the phone down on the coffee table, she straightened and padded across the room to join him again. Her hand brushed along his back as she passed, fingers tracing the faint outline of muscle through soft flannel before she reached for another strand of garland.

“Looks good,” she murmured, her voice low and full, more for him than the room. “You make it look easy.”

He turned just slightly, and she caught the reflection of the tree lights dancing across his face — and something in her chest squeezed tight. God, she was smitten. Helplessly, hopelessly, happily so.

She handed him the next length of garland, standing close enough that their shoulders brushed as they worked. The house hummed around them — fire crackling, Bing Crosby crooning softly through the old radio, snow whispering against the windows — and for a moment, Lena forgot all about flights and deadlines and Florida sunshine.

All she knew was this: the warmth of his presence beside her, the golden light spilling across their hands, and the quiet joy of building a moment she already knew she’d miss.

Caleb looped the garland over the mantel one last time, stepping back just far enough to take it all in — the glow of the fire, the way the tinsel caught the light, and her reflection in the window, watching him like he was something worth looking at.

“Easy?” he echoed, that low, easy drawl curling around the word. “Nah. Just makes it look that way when you’re helpin’.” He turned his head slightly, catching her eye with a small grin that was more felt than seen. “You do realize this place looks like somethin’ out of one of those Hallmark movies you pretend not to like, right?”

Her elbow nudged him, light and warm, and he laughed under his breath — that quiet, rumbling sound that always came easier around her. “What? I’m just sayin’,” he went on. “You, me, the tinsel tree, Bing singin’ through the static… all we’re missin’ is a snowstorm to trap us in here for three days straight. Not that I’d mind.”

He leaned down a little as he spoke, his cheek brushing her temple, the words more a murmur than a statement. “You got a way of makin’ simple things feel like they matter more than they should, Lena. String lights, pizza, a handful of garland—somehow it all turns into somethin’ I don’t ever wanna rush through.”

He reached for the next strand she offered, fingers brushing hers again. That little spark — same as before, same as always — jumped between them, and he didn’t bother pretending not to notice this time. His hand lingered just long enough to mean something before he hooked the garland over the last nail and stepped back beside her.

“There,” he said quietly, tilting his head to take in the finished view. The firelight flickered across his face, warm and sure. “Reckon that’ll do. You’ve officially turned this cabin into a postcard.”

He looked at her then — really looked. The way the lights painted gold across her hair, the softness in her eyes that she tried to disguise behind all that sass. “And here I was thinkin’ nothin’ could outshine that tree,” he said, voice dropping low, steady. “Guess I was wrong.”

When she rolled her eyes, half-flustered, he smiled and reached down, curling an arm around her waist and pulling her close enough that the scent of cinnamon and pine pressed between them. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured against her hair. “Pizza’ll be here soon. Let’s sit a while before you find somethin’ else to decorate.”

He brushed a kiss against her temple, lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary before adding, softer still, “You don’t know it yet, but you already gave me my Christmas. Right here.”

And when she leaned into him, the two of them framed in the shimmer of the tinsel tree and the hush of falling snow, Caleb thought — not for the first time — that if every winter looked like this, he’d never need another reason to stay.

Lena let herself melt against him for a moment, just long enough to soak in the warmth and the quiet rhythm of his breath against her hair. Then, with a grin that curved slow and sly, she tilted her head back to look at him.

“Oh, honey,” she said, her voice a low purr of amusement, “if you think I’m done, you clearly don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

He raised a brow, and she laughed — that bright, conspiratorial sound that always made the corners of his mouth twitch. “The living room might be done,” she said, gesturing around at their tinsel masterpiece, “but the rest of this place? Fair game. I’m talkin’ garland in the hallway, wreaths in the kitchen, maybe even a mistletoe ambush or two. You’re not gettin’ rid of me that easy, Maren. By the time I leave for Florida, you’ll have Christmas hangin’ from the rafters.”

He just shook his head, that small, fond grin tugging at his mouth again, and Lena swatted lightly at his chest before turning toward the couch. “Don’t look so worried,” she teased over her shoulder. “You’ll thank me when you realize you can’t move an inch without a reminder of me starin’ you down from a glittery ornament.”

She dropped onto the couch with a soft sigh, the fire casting amber shadows across her legs as she stretched out, draping them casually across his lap when he joined her. “Mmm. That’s better,” she murmured, reaching for the remote. With a flick, Bing Crosby faded into silence, replaced by the opening credits of White Christmas. “There. Now it’s officially festive.”

Caleb’s hand came to rest on her knee, easy and familiar, his thumb tracing a slow line through the fabric of her leggings. Lena felt the warmth of it spread through her like a quiet hum.

She reached for her phone on the coffee table, checked the screen, and smirked. “Pizza’s about fifteen minutes out,” she announced, half to him, half to herself. “Perfect amount of time for you to pretend you’re watchin’ the movie when I know you’re really just waitin’ for the food.”

When he gave her a look — one of those half-challenging, half-indulgent ones that always made her grin — she rolled her eyes dramatically and settled deeper against him. “What? Don’t act like I don’t know you, Caleb Maren. Man can build a porch with his bare hands but can’t resist a pizza box. It’s part of your charm.”

Her voice softened as she leaned her head against his shoulder, her smile lingering even as her eyes drifted toward the flicker of the fire. “Still,” she murmured, quieter now, “you make sittin’ still feel kinda nice.”

And there they stayed — her legs warm across his lap, his arm draped over her shoulders, the fire crackling softly as snow fell outside — the living room shimmering around them in silver and gold, every bit of it proof of just how much she loved him and how hard she’d worked to leave pieces of herself behind.

Because if she had to go chase sunshine, she was damn well going to make sure he had enough Christmas — enough her — to last him ‘til she came home.

Caleb looked down at her, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as her legs settled across his lap. “Mistletoe ambushes, huh?” he drawled, voice low and warm. “You sure you’re doin’ all this for Christmas and not just to keep me on my toes?”

He gave her knee a light squeeze, his thumb still tracing idle circles through the soft fabric. “You forget, sweetheart,” he added, a teasing glint in his eyes, “I’ve survived one of your spring-cleaning crusades and a full kitchen remodel. Little tinsel ain’t gonna scare me.”

When she leaned her head against his shoulder, he tilted slightly toward her without thinkin’, his nose brushing a stray strand of her hair that smelled faintly like cedar and the shampoo she always claimed was “just cheap stuff from town.” He didn’t care. It smelled like her, and that was enough.

The soft glow from the fire painted her skin in flickering gold, and for a while, he didn’t say anything. He just watched the movie start to play across the screen — white snow, red dresses, a burst of old Hollywood color — and listened to the tiny sounds that only existed between them: her slow breathing, the shift of her legs against his jeans, the quiet pop of the logs in the fireplace.

When she made the crack about the pizza, he let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “You got me pegged,” he admitted. “Man’s gotta have priorities. But for the record—” he leaned down just enough that his breath stirred the hair near her ear, “—you’re sittin’ higher on the list than any pizza I’ve ever met.”

Her answering hum was soft, half amusement, half something else, and he smiled at the sound. His hand slid from her knee to her thigh, resting there in a way that wasn’t possessive so much as grounding, his thumb drawing lazy patterns while he watched the firelight dance in the glass ornaments on the tree.

After a while, he said quietly, “You know, this right here’s my kinda holiday. You, me, a good fire, snow outside, and a pizza on the way. Don’t need a thing more.” He paused, his tone softening. “Well, maybe one thing. You stayin’ right there long as you can.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, lingering there as the movie played on. “And when you head south,” he murmured, “don’t you worry about me. I’ll keep the lights on, tree standin’, and your garland exactly where you left it. That way, when you come back, it’ll still feel like you never left.”

The doorbell rang then — the telltale sign of dinner’s arrival — but neither of them moved right away. Caleb just chuckled, a quiet rumble against her temple. “Guess that’s my cue,” he said finally, brushing a hand down her leg before standing. “Don’t move, trouble. I’ll bring the box to you.”

And as he walked toward the door, boots thudding soft against the floorboards, Lena’s laughter followed him — light and content, tangled up in the scent of pine and cinnamon and everything that made the place feel like home.

Lena’s smile lingered long after he stood, that low, rumbling laugh of his still buzzing in her chest like a secret only she got to keep. She watched him cross the room — broad shoulders, easy stride, that quiet confidence that never had to try — and thought, not for the first time, how the hell did I get this lucky?

When the door clicked shut behind him, she exhaled softly, the corners of her mouth curving into a grin that was all trouble and tenderness. “Stayin’ right here long as I can,” she murmured under her breath. “You bet your sweet ass I am.”

Her eyes flicked toward the fire for a second, the reflection of the flames dancing in the glass ornaments she’d hung just right. She wasn’t going anywhere yet — not tonight, not tomorrow. And if she had anything to say about it, Caleb Maren wasn’t getting much peace and quiet at all before she left.

He’d just have to get used to her popping up at work — hands in his back pockets, lipstick on his coffee cup, and homemade lunches disguised as “I was in the neighborhood.”

By the time the door swung open again, Lena had her smirk fully back in place. “You know,” she called out, shifting on the couch so she could face him as he came in with the pizza box, “you talk a big game about survivin’ while I’m gone, but I should probably warn you — I plan on makin’ that damn near impossible.”

He raised a brow, setting the box down on the coffee table, but she only grinned wider. “Don’t look at me like that,” she teased, eyes sparkling as she leaned back into the couch cushions. “I’m just sayin’, you might see a whole lot more of me at that shop of yours before I go. I’ve got to stockpile enough time with you to last through a Florida heatwave. Maybe help you ‘organize’ your workbench again. You know — real invasive girlfriend stuff.”

Her tone was playful, but her eyes betrayed her — soft and shining beneath the mischief, love sitting there plain as day.

Caleb started to open the pizza box, and Lena leaned forward, snagging a slice before he could even offer it. “Don’t give me that look,” she said around a bite, her grin crooked and smug. “You’re lucky I love you enough to share this couch. Otherwise, I’d be eatin’ your half, too.”

He laughed, shaking his head as he sat down beside her, and she shifted easily, curling back into his side like it was where she was built to fit. Her legs slid across his lap again, warm and comfortable, and she flicked the TV volume down a little, just enough that the movie’s hum filled the silence.

She chewed thoughtfully, then tilted her head toward him, her voice softer but no less certain. “I mean it, Caleb,” she said. “I’m not goin’ anywhere just yet. You’re stuck with me a while longer.”

She smiled as she said it — wide and unguarded, eyes glinting in the glow of the firelight.

“Hope you’re ready, ‘cause I plan on makin’ you real sick of me before I head south.”

Then she lifted her slice like a toast, smirk curving again. “To more garland, more pizza, and more visits where you’re tryin’ to work but end up distracted by me anyway.”

Her laughter bubbled up soft and bright when he chuckled beside her, and she leaned back against him, the warmth of his arm finding its familiar place around her shoulders.

If this was what it meant to stay — if this was what she’d be coming back to — she figured Florida didn’t stand a damn chance.

Caleb let the door fall shut behind him with his boot, the cold trailing off his jacket as he carried the box inside. The smell hit first — baked crust, pepperoni, that layer of melted cheese he swore she ordered extra just to test his willpower.

He caught her smirk before he even made it to the couch, that spark in her eyes already saying I win. It got him every time.

“Real invasive girlfriend stuff, huh?” he said, voice warm and low as he set the pizza down. “You mean the kind where I’m just tryna plane down a board and you sneak up behind me, stealin’ my tape measure ‘cause you think it’s funny?” He glanced over his shoulder as he straightened, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, sweetheart. Pretty sure OSHA’s got rules about distractions like you.”

When she stole the first slice, he just shook his head, amused. “Can’t even let a man sit down before the ambush,” he murmured, sliding beside her. “You’re lucky I like a woman with initiative.”

Her legs found their way across his lap again, and he didn’t bother to fight it — just rested one hand over her shin, thumb brushing lazy lines through the fabric of her leggings. “You sayin’ I’m stuck with you a while longer?” he asked, leaning back against the couch, that familiar quiet smile tugging at his mouth. “Darlin’, I’ve been stuck since the day you barged into my life with that city sass and told me my front porch was ‘structurally tragic.’”

She laughed, soft and full, and he gave her knee a gentle squeeze. “I’m not complainin’,” he added. “Hell, I’ll take all the time you’ll give me. If you wanna haunt my shop before you go, you go right ahead. I’ll even clear a corner of the workbench for your coffee cup.”

He reached for his own slice then, the steam curling between them, and lifted it slightly in return to her toast. “To garland, pizza, and you makin’ it impossible for me to get any work done,” he said with a grin. “Fair warning, though — when you come back from Florida, I’m returnin’ the favor. You’re gonna find me in your kitchen, stealin’ your tea and rearrangin’ your spice rack just to watch you lose it.”

When she laughed again, that sound he’d chase through a thousand winters, Caleb leaned over and brushed a kiss to her temple, letting it linger there a second. “Sick of you?” he murmured, quiet enough that only the fire could overhear. “Not a chance, Lena Hartley. I’ll take every version of you this house can hold.”

And as she curled back against him, the fire snapping in the hearth and the silver lights winking across the walls, Caleb thought that if she really meant to leave pieces of herself behind — well, she already had. Every corner of that house had her name on it, right down to the tinsel glinting in his reflection.