Chapter 323
Chapter 7
Christmas Eve arrived with a quiet kind of melancholy.
Andrea woke up to the familiar weight pressing down on her body–her wollen fert throbbing, her back aching, her entire being exhausted in a way that sleep never seemed to fix. She had hoped it would pass, that the could puth through like the always did, but a single call to the doctor had thattered that illusion.
“You need to stop moving around entirely, Andrea, he had said in no entertain terms. “Bnd rest. No exceptiona
And just like that, her already small world became even smallet.
She sat propped up against a mountain of pillows, staring at the ceiling, feeling, unterly helpless she had never been the type to sit still, and now she had no choice but to do just that. The thought made her restless, frustrated, lonely.
But then, a distraction.
The sound of running water stopped, followed by the creak of the bathroom door opening. And Andres–bored, miserable, and with nothing else to do- turned her head.
Asher stepped out, steam curling around his bare skin, beads of water rolling down his arms and chest. And for the first time, she really looked at him.
He wasn’t the ghost of a man she had found months ago, barely more than skin and bones. His muscles, once sunken and frail, were filling out. His cheeks,
which had been hollow, now held a hint of fullness. The sharp edges of starvation had softened, slowly molding him back into whoever he had once been.
It should have been good news.
So why did it feel like a loss?
Andrea swallowed the tightness in her throat, looking away quickly, forcing herself to focus on something–anything–else. But the realization had already
taken root, and it was impossible to ignore.
She was getting attached.
And that was dangerous.
How could she not, though?
They shared this tiny house, this tiny life. Mornings blurred into evenings with him beside her, cooking meals, sweeping the floors, making tea. He teased het with horrible dad jokes that made her groan but still managed to pull a reluctant smile from her lips. He played Chinese checkers with her every night, always winning, though he sometimes let her think she had a chance.
She was used to his presence now–the sound of him moving in the kitchen, the weight of him sitting across from her, the way he looked at her like she was more than just a struggling, abandoned woman in the countryside.
She was used to him taking care of her.
And that was the problem.
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Chapter 323
Because in just a few months, Andrea had already lost so much. She had faced rejection, pain, humiliation. She had been left behind, forced to carry the weight of single motherhood alone.
She couldn’t afford to lose anything else.
And if she let herself get too attached–if she let herself believe for even a second that this man, this stranger with no past, could be something permanent -then she was setting herself up for nothing but heartbreak.
And she could not survive another heartbreak.
So, Andrea pressed her lips together, forcing down whatever it was she felt creeping up inside her chest. She turned away, gripping the edge of her blanket, as if that alone could anchor her.
How could she not get attached when he did things like this?
This–meaning a warm bucket of water, infused with salts, set right at the edge of her bed for her swollen feet.
Andrea stared at it, then at him, hesitating. She had complained about the pain, sure, but she hadn’t expected him to actually do something about it.
‘I asked the doctor,” Asher said as if reading her thoughts. “He said it would help.”
There was no expectation in his voice, no insistence–just quiet reassurance.
So, she let herself accept it.
d
He sat beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers as her legs dangled off the bed, feet sinking into the soothing warmth. Neither of them spoke for a
while. Instead, they watched the world outside the window.
Three children played in the yard across the street, their laughter ringing through the crisp winter air. Mr. Dylan’s grandchildren. They must have come to
visit for Christmas.
Andrea wasn’t sure how long they sat like that–silent, close, comfortable–before Asher finally spoke.
‘Have all your Christmas Eves been like this? In Montera Springs?”
The question caught her off guard.
“This is my first Christmas in Montera Springs,” she admitted.
Asher’s gaze didn’t leave the window. “You didn’t want to visit family? Or invite them here?”
Andrea studied him, wondering if he even realized what he was really asking. Was he just making conversation, or was there something deeper in the way he watched those kids play, a shadow of longing in his expression?
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
