But then there’s the reminder that he’s Christian’s son. He’ll never choose me over his kid. I’m not naive enough to believe that, and I wouldn’t want him to either, but god, the way he makes me feel… it’s consuming me.
They say when something only intensifies with time, it’s the universe telling you to follow your heart, and right now, my heart is leading me straight to him.
My bags are still by the kitchen door where I left them yesterday, before everything went to hell. Before Travis showed his true colors, and before Christian looked at me like he wanted to tear the world apart to keep me safe.
That look is branded into me now.
I can’t walk away from here tonight without doing something for that cowboy—not after everything he’s done for me.
That’s why, first thing this morning, I went hunting for Preston. I found him in the barn, tending to the horses, and before I could even get the whole plan out of my mouth, he was already nodding and eager to help. But the second his gaze landed on my face, his playful demeanor vanished. He saw the mark—the one I’d tried desperately to hide with three layers of concealer and failed miserably at—and his whole body went rigid. Without a word, he closed the space between us, wrapping one strong arm around my shoulder, and then, with a voice that was deadly calm, he muttered, “Whoever did this to you, I’ll tear his goddamn balls off.”
But he already knew who did it without me saying a word.
Neither of us said anything else about it because Preston trusts Christian. He knows the kind of man he is and that he’ll take care of his business. And deep down, I know it too.
We snuck the fir inside while Christian was out in the fields chopping down trees for the families. Today was so busy he didn’t have a moment to spare—not for me, not for anything except the demands ofkeeping this place running, and Lord help me, I couldn’t stop watching him work. Even from a distance, he was magnetic.
The way his muscles flexed with each swing of the axe made it look like he was built to ruin women the way he splits wood. Sweat rolled down his neck, soaking through the fabric of his shirt until it clung to his back like a second skin despite the December chill. It was straight-up smut—the kind of thing you read with your thighs clenched, then circle back to later with the lights off and your hand buried between your legs.
I had never wanted to be an axe so damn bad in my life. Not until I stood there, blatantly staring—a full-grown woman shamelessly ogling a cowboy, mouth practically watering, like a thirsty heroine in a five-star, absolutely depraved filth-fest.
That axe was living my best life, cradled in those large hands, and I wasn’t even ashamed of my jealousy.
I know Christian said he doesn’t do Christmas decorations, but after everything he’s done for me—the way he’s protected me, sheltered me, and treated me like I matter—I needed to leave something behind. Something that says I was here, that I saw him, and that he’s worth celebrating.
Savannah had been more than happy to play accomplice, bringing over twinkle lights from her coffee van, her big blue eyes bright with mischief, like she hadn’t done something this exciting in years.
When she caught sight of the mark on my face, she didn’t ask questions. She just reached for me, wrapping her hands around mine and holding on tight, grounding me in a way only someone who truly gets it can.
Preston contributed a dusty box of forgotten decorations from the farm’s storage, acting all casual about it but grinning like a kid the entire time. I arranged everything just so, setting the tree beside Christian’s favorite armchair, right by the window where he surveys his kingdom and can see it while watching over everything else he loves.
Now I’ve been standing at that window for what feels like forever, my packed bags still sitting by the door. But I need to see his face when he sees this. I need one last memory to take with me before I walk away.
The sky has deepened into that rich winter purple when I finally spot him. His silhouette cuts through the fading light like something wild and untamed—worn jeans, work boots, a flannel under that heavy coat, and that damn cowboy hat that does things to my insides. I swallow hard, turn from the window, and position myself by the tree. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s rattling my ribs as I clench my sweater in my fists, trying to look casual, like I didn’t just spend hours touching every branch, hanging every ornament, and pouring every bit of myself into creating Christmas magic for a man I have no business wanting this badly.
“Piper?” His voice rolls through the house, followed by the heavy tread of his boots.
“In here.”
He rounds the corner, and my breath catches when his gaze lands on the tree. For a split second, panic flares in my chest—maybe I overstepped—but then his fingers graze along the stubble on his jaw, and his lips pull into the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.
“So this is why I haven’t seen you today, huh?”
“I had to do it. I couldn’t leave knowing you didn’t at least have a tree. It didn’t feel right.”
“You know, I think it’s taken seeing one in here to realize that you’re probably right.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah, Piper. I like it.” He takes a small step forward, and I tilt my chin up, meeting his eyes.They’re deep brown with hints of caramel at the edges, warming to liquid gold where the tree lights hit them. It makes him look almost softer.Almost.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I push the words past the tightness in my throat, forcing my body to move before I do something stupid. I step past him, reaching for my coat, when his hand catches my wrist.
“Stay.” He’s looking at the tree, chin tucked down, hat tipped forward like he’s trying to hide whatever’s written across his face. “Please stay.”
Finally, his gaze drops to where his thumb is pressed against my wrist, the rough pad brushing against my pulse.