Holly Jolly Hero by Harper Pugh & Heather C. Myers

Author:Harper Pugh & Heather C. Myers [Pugh, Harper & Myers, Heather C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Christian

For once in a long time, I didn't have a nightmare. Instead, I dreamt of Claire, her big green eyes looking up at me with that curious mix of kindness—the genuine kind, not the fake kindness most people employed—and determination. Her lips brushed against my cheek, soft and fleeting, leaving a trail of warmth.

I woke up feeling… content. The sensation was unfamiliar, like finding a forgotten photograph in an old book. A slow warmth spread through me, thawing the ever-present chill I'd grown accustomed to.

The morning light filtered through the worn curtains of the small room I'd rented. I lay there for a moment, savoring the lingering remnants of the dream. Her face was still vivid in my mind, her smile genuine and disarming.

Rising from the bed, I stretched, feeling the tension in my muscles ease slightly.

Downstairs, I could hear the faint sounds of life stirring. The scent of fresh coffee wafted up from the kitchen, mingling with the crisp winter air seeping through the window cracks.

I pushed myself out of bed, the dream still clinging to my mind like a stubborn fog. The room was small but functional, the kind of place where you could vanish if you wanted to. I dropped to the floor and started my routine—push-ups, sit-ups, planks—each movement methodical and deliberate. The familiar burn in my muscles was comforting, a reminder of discipline and control.

Afterward, I stood and stretched, rolling my shoulders to release the last bits of tension. A quick glance at the clock told me it was time to shower. I stepped into the small bathroom and turned on the water. The pipes groaned in protest before finally spitting out a stream that was lukewarm at best.

As I stood under the water, I let it wash away the sweat and lingering remnants of sleep. My thoughts drifted back to her. It was unnerving how quickly she'd managed to break through my defenses, even if just for a moment.

Shaking off the thoughts, I finished my shower and dressed in simple clothes: jeans, a plain shirt, and a worn jacket. The familiar weight of my dog tags settled against my chest as I made my way downstairs.

The smell of coffee grew stronger with each step. Downstairs, the inn's kitchen was alive with activity. Claire's voice floated through the air, mingling with the clatter of dishes and the murmur of other guests.

There was a sense of anticipation that hung in the air like static before a storm. It prickled at me, making me aware of how much I'd started to expect—no, want—to see her every day. But that was dangerous territory. Attachment meant vulnerability, and I'd had enough of that in my life.

As I entered the kitchen, I spotted her by the coffeepot. She looked up as I approached; her smile brightening her face.

"Morning," she greeted me with that same disarming warmth. There was powder on her nose and on her clothes. I wondered what she was making in that kitchen.

I nodded in return, keeping my expression neutral despite the flutter in my chest.

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