Page 51 of Christmas Coffee

Nova

Celyn seems lost in thought and I can’t blame him. Although he hasn’t told me exactly what he loses if the Hottie Hut doesn’t meet its goal, I suspect it’s more than a car. Celyn isn’t materialistic. The car and clothes suggest he’s well off and takes pride in the things he owns, but the stakes feel higher than just material things. I don’t know, I can’t put my finger on it but I feel it looming, circling my head in an ominous way.

The compulsion to Google him is becoming unbearable. Maybe I’m a fool because I won’t, maybe I deserve whatever’s coming. It can’t be worse than being reduced to nothing and living in my car. Tonight is going to suck. If I spend some of my savings, I can get a motel room for a few hours, but it’ll eat up nearly half of my savings. Rooms aren’t cheap, well, not cheap enough for me. If it were summer, this wouldn’t be a problem. I honestly have no idea what to do. The blankets won’t be enough, and if I get too cold and iced into my car—I don’t even want to think about it.

A nor’easter is coming. Imagine a hurricane, but bigger. It sits and circles over a huge chunk of the map for days, dumping snow, sleet, and ice. When it clears, New York will look pristine, shrouded in a frozen silence and sparkling snow.

There was a nor’easter when Tinselly and I were young. School was cancelled and when it finally stopped snowing, we grabbed our sleds and waded through knee-deep snow to the hill by the highway. I laughed so much that day even though my cheeks were nipped by cold and I was frozen through and through by the time we headed home. I had a roof over my head during that storm and I wasn’t alone. The power went out for a little bit, but we had a fireplace and Mom was happy to light it.

This time won’t be like that. This time, I’ll be alone. Maybe if I keep the engine running all night, I’ll be okay. It’s cheaper to buy a tank of gas than a motel room. It’s just that leaving the car running is a dead giveaway that I’m inside. People don’t look twice at an empty parked car, but one that’s rumbling and spurting white smoke out the tailpipe is another story.

Silence stretches between us, each of us lost in our own thoughts. When nearly an hour has passed and we still haven’t seen a soul, Celyn grabs his coat and turns toward me. “I need to head over and take care of the return and refund. I’ll bring us back some breakfast.” His lips part, like he’s going to say more, but the words don’t come. Celyn’s beautiful face pinches and his gaze drops to the floor. He looks up at me from under dark lashes and forces a smile, suppressing whatever confession he was going to make. “Bacon and eggs on a roll?”

I nod. “Sounds good. Thank you.”

“All right,” he nods, “I’ll see you in a little bit. Oh, and if Quin comes by, tell him I’ll be right back.”

“Quin’s coming today?”

Celyn slips his jacket on one arm at a time and then fastens the buttons down the front and flips up his collar to protect his neck from the bitter wind. If the perfect man walked off the pages of GQ, Celyn would one-up him. It’s something about that shade of gray and his sapphire eyes.

“Yes, he is,” Celyn confesses. “I told him I had news. I thought we’d have to pack up today, but thanks to you—” he inhales deeply, looks up, and holds my gaze so softly that it’s difficult to keep my distance. “Thanks to you, I don’t have to just yet.”

Nervous energy flitters through my stomach when our soft stares linger after the words have stopped. I don’t want him to go, not yet. I feel my mouth move, freeing the words that I wasn’t going to say, “Thanks to you, I don’t have to…” I realize what I’m going to say and my voice drifts off. I laugh tightly and tuck a strand of loose hair under my furry hat. “Thanks to you, I’m getting breakfast.”

I turn away because I want to break the sparking current pulling me toward him. It’s a million times worse at unpredictable intervals, and this is one of those moments where I’ll do something dumb.

I can’t tell him how I feel. I shouldn’t.

Celyn steps toward me so that we’re inches apart. He pushes on the back of my shoulder with a finger, making me laugh. The slight pressure shoots tingles up my arm and I turn to disconnect the touch. I’m caught in the middle and I know it. When he brushes against me, I could fly—every worry within burns to ash—and I’m light. I’m free. It’s strange and completely terrifying. I’ve never known anyone that described anything like this. Not Gran, Mom, or Tinselly. It’s all-consuming and threatens to devour me, so I repress the thoughts and steel my emotions. I can’t let him touch me or I’ll cave. But as I chase away the scattered remnants of thought, Celyn’s finger is under my chin, tipping my face up until our gazes meet. His eyes are the blue of the sea on a winter’s night, deep and unending.

Dark lashes lower against his smooth skin and he hesitates for a moment. When his lips part, he says, “You can tell me anything, Nova. I won’t judge you. I swear it.” The way he says it, the smooth sincerity of his voice nearly undoes me. I try to step away and hit my back against the counter, but it’s enough that Celyn’s hand drops from my skin. The connection between us lessens but he’s still so close that I can’t think. I pin my arms to my sides for fear of throwing them around his neck and crying into his chest.

I nod once, softly, and find my eyes willing to look anywhere but at him. My voice is small because half of me is refusing to say it, but the words tumble out before I can stop myself. “The same goes for you, Celyn. You know that, right?”

I lift my face and our gazes lock. The pit of my stomach goes into a free-fall and for once, I’m not afraid. I let the sensation flood me. His intense cobalt stare swallows me whole. There’s so much intensity buried within this man, and it makes me wonder why he hides it, what could make him retreat so fully into himself that he’d temper his passion and put forth this anemic variation of himself? But then, I know the answer. It’s the same thing I do—the reason why I never let anyone get too close, the reason why I stayed with Ben too long—distance is a defense mechanism. It’s a way to hide from the world and protect your heart.

Someone hurt Celyn badly. There’s a gaping hole in him. I can see it because the same thing is wrong with me. I try to fill it with work, but it won’t fill. It’s never full. I’m never sated, never content with life. It always feels like I’m two breaths away from drowning—except when Celyn is near. I hate it and I love it. I want to be my own woman, but is it so bad if he makes me stronger? Is that wrong?

My gaze has been learning the lines of his face, slowly tracing the planes of his cheek, mapping every freckle and mark all the way down to the bow of his pink mouth. I’m focused on his lips, the fullness of them, and lost in the remembrance of a kiss that shouldn’t have happened. My heart is pounding and a warm flush covers me, head to toe. When I lift my hands to place them on his chest over his coat, Celyn tenses. The spell shatters into a thousand tiny splinters. Rejection isn’t something that has to be spoken.

Celyn turns abruptly and doesn’t look at me. It feels like a slap. I know it wasn’t, but that doesn’t change the harshness of it. He’s at the door with the empty carafe under his arm, reaching for the knob when he looks my way. “I know. Thanks, Nova. You’re a good friend.”

The door shuts as my heart slams into my boots and fractures. Friends.

He said we’re friends.

Nothing more.