Chapter One

Remi POV

The Blizzard Invitation

The airport is absolute mayhem dressed up in Christmas lights.

It’s not even Thanksgiving yet and people are already losing their minds. The departures board is a wall of red. CANCELLED. DELAYED. CANCELLED. My flight is right there in the middle like a personal middle finger.

I stare at it for a full ten seconds like maybe if I glare hard enough, it’ll change. 

It doesn’t. 

My phone buzzes in my palm. Duke, because of course it is. I don’t even get a hello. 

“Tell me you’re not still sitting on that sad plastic chair.” 

“I’m still sitting on that sad plastic chair.” I sass back.

He exhales like he’s personally offended by the weather. “Remi. Babycakes. No. Absolutely not. You are not spending Thanksgiving in an airport.”

 “Duke, it’s fine. I’ll find a hotel. I have points. I can eat a turkey sandwich in bed and pretend it’s festive.”

“You are not eating a turkey sandwich alone in a hotel like some tragic indie movie character. Come here.”

“Here where?” 

“Our place. Rachel’s already got three pies going. I’m doing the turkey. There will be wine. There will be carbs. There will be heat.” 

I blink. “Duke, I don’t want to intrude on your first married Thanksgiving.” 

“You’re not intruding. You’re family. Which means I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.” I hear him shuffle, like he’s already moving around the kitchen. “And before you get cute and say no, I’ll remind you I once drove two hours to pick you up from that plant store because your car died and you ‘didn’t want to bother anyone.’”

“That was different.” 

“It was not different. Remi, I swear to God, if I have to come to that airport and physically kidnap you, I will.” 

A laugh slips out before I can stop it. I cover my mouth like that’s going to hide it from the rest of the terminal. “You’re insane.”

“Correct. Now get your bag and go to the pick up area. I’m ten minutes out. I’ll be in the stupid Subaru because the truck is in the shop.” 

“You’re already on the way?” 

“Obviously.” I can see him roll his eyes as if he were standing in front of me. 

I shake my head, warmth crawling into my chest in spite of myself. “Okay. Fine. I’m coming.” 

“That’s what I like to hear. Happy pre-Thanksgiving, babe. Love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

The call ends and I just… stand there for a second. I shouldn’t be surprised. Duke has never been subtle about loving his people. He collects humans like he collects dumb coffee mugs. You’re his and that’s that. 

Still, I wasn’t planning on this. 

I was planning on a quick flight, a quick hug with my aunt, and a quick escape when the inevitable ‘so are you dating anyone?’ conversation started. I was planning on keeping the holiday low-stakes. Safe.

Now I’m being rerouted into a whole different kind of danger.

Because Duke Langley is not just my best friend. 

He’s also Sebastian Langley’s little brother. 

And I have not seen Bash in almost a year, which is a long time considering I spent most of my twenties bumping into him everywhere. Sundays at their place. Random bar nights. Duke’s birthday cookouts. That one New Year’s where Bash kissed my cheek at midnight and my brain straight up blue-screened. 

Bash has always been… there. Like a shadow that knows exactly how to make you aware of it. 

Older brother. Ex-military. Tall in that effortless way men are tall when they don’t need to prove anything. Quiet until he’s not. The kind of guy who looks at you like he’s measuring distance and impact. 

The kind of guy you don’t want to get stuck in a house with during a storm, because you’d do something stupid and you’d prefer to keep your dignity intact.

I tell myself I’m being dramatic. Duke didn’t say Bash would be there. 

Which means he probably isn’t. 

Which means I’m fine.

I drag my suitcase through baggage claim, out into the freezing night air, and spot Duke’s Subaru before he even pulls into the pickup lane. Bright headlights. A familiar ridiculous bumper sticker. Duke’s grinning face leaning toward the passenger window like he’s about to announce he’s won something. 

“Remi!” he yells, like we’re not five feet apart. 

“Duke!” I yell back, because I’m apparently just as dumb. 

He hops out and wraps me up before I can protest, lifting me clean off my feet. He smells like cold air and the cinnamon candle he always burns in his car, like some kind of human holiday commercial. 

“You’re freezing,” he says into my hair. 

“Because you kidnapped me in a snowstorm.” 

“Worth it.” He drops me, takes my suitcase, and shoves it into the trunk. “Come on. Rachel is already calling this a rescue mission.” 

The drive to their house is slow, the roads are slick, snow falling in thick lazy sheets. The world looks softer under it, quieter. Like everything is on mute. 

We talk about nothing and everything. The airport mess. Duke’s turkey strategy. Rachel’s new obsession with homemade rolls. My attempt at dating this year that lasted two and a half weeks and ended with me blocking a guy who thought ‘good morning, beautiful’ counted as a personality.

By the time we pull into their driveway, my shoulders feel less tight. I don’t even realize how badly I needed safe people until I’m with them again. 

Their house is a small two-story rental near the lake, with a string of lights around the porch that Duke absolutely did not put up straight. Snow clings to the railing. A wreath hangs a little crooked on the door. 

Rachel swings it open before we’re even up the steps. 

“Remi!” she squeals, and I’m swallowed into her hug immediately.

 Rachel Langley is comfort in human form. She’s the kind of woman who makes you feel like you’ve known her forever even if you haven’t. I met her three years ago and instantly understood why Duke fell. 

She pulls back, hands on my cheeks. “Are you okay? I was watching the weather and losing my mind.” 

“I’m fine,” I say. “Mostly just annoyed.” 

“There’s wine,” she says seriously, like it’s medical care. “And your favorite charcuterie stuff because Duke is the world’s most extra roommate.” 

She pauses, then laughs at herself. “Husband. I mean husband. I keep forgetting I upgraded.”

“Same thing.”  They both laugh. 

I step inside and the house smells like butter and garlic and something sweet I can’t place yet. The heat hits my face. My fingers start thawing.

 Rachel takes my coat. Duke steals my boots and shouts, “Food first, questions later!” even though he has never once waited on questions in his life. 

I follow them into the kitchen, already relaxing. Already letting my guard start to fall. 

And then the front door opens again.

The door didn’t open gently. The wind shouldering its way in like it belongs here. 

A boot thuds. Then another. Heavy. Certain.  

My body reacts before my brain catches up.  My spine goes straight and my stomach flips like I’ve missed a step.

I turn and there he is, in the doorway shaking snow off his coat. Dark hair damp from the storm, jaw dusted with cold. There’s a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and a quiet exhaustion on his face that somehow makes him look even better, which is deeply unfair to my nervous system. 

Sebastian Langley. 

Bash. 

He lifts his head, and his eyes hit mine. And for a second, nothing happens. No sound. No movement. Just that look. 

Like he wasn’t expecting me either.  Then his mouth twitches at the corner, not a smile, not quite, but close enough to make heat crawl up my throat. 

“Well,” he says, voice rough from cold and travel. “Look who we have here.” 

Duke claps his hands like a cartoon villain. “Surprise!” 

I shoot him a look that could melt the siding. “You didn’t tell me he was coming.” 

“You didn’t ask,” he sings. 

Rachel swats him with a dish towel. “He just got here. His car slid on the 95. He’s fine, but he called us from a rest stop and Duke made him come home.” 

Bash drops the duffel by the stairs and walks in like he owns the place. He’s taller than I remember. Broader too, like the year apart put a little more steel in his shoulders. 

Or maybe I’m just noticing harder because I’m trapped in a house with him while the weather tries to shut the world down.

He steps closer, unzipping his coat. 

“Hey, Remi,” he says, like my name is something he knows by touch. 

“Hey,” I manage to get out without choking on the word. 

He looks me over in that slow careful way of his, like he’s checking for frostbite or something. Almost like he’s taking inventory without meaning to. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“I’m fine. Just… stranded.” 

“Yeah.” A beat. His eyes flick to my mouth and back up. “Guess we both are.” 

Duke barrels through the moment with a grin. “Okay! Thanksgiving emergency squad is assembled. “Okay, sleeping assignments!” Duke says, too loudly. “Remi, guest room. Bash, couch. I’m in charge, so nobody argue.”

Rachel smacks his arm. “You’re not in charge.”

He points at her triumphantly. “Which is why holidays require structure.”

Bash’s mouth twitches again. He looks past Duke to me, like he wants to say something else. Like he has ten things sitting on his tongue.

But he doesn’t.

 Instead he nods once. “I’m gonna grab a shower.” 

Rachel points up the stairs. “Second door on the right. Towels are already in there.” 

He disappears upstairs, taking the cold with him, and I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until he’s gone. Duke is watching me. The little shit. 

“What?” I say.

 “Nothing,” he says too fast. “I’m just happy you’re here.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

Rachel bumps my shoulder gently. “Come sit. You look like you’ve been running on fumes.” 

She’s not wrong. I slide onto a kitchen stool, letting the warmth sink in. Duke pours me wine like it’s his love language. 

I take a sip, trying to settle my heartbeat. It works for about thirty seconds. Then I hear the shower turn on upstairs and my brain goes stupid in a way I do not appreciate.

I’m not supposed to be thinking about Bash in a towel. I’m not supposed to be replaying the last time I saw him. His hand on my lower back when he guided me through a crowded bar. The low laugh when I teased him about his ‘dad music.’ The way he looked like he wanted to say something and then chose not to. 

He always chooses not to. 

I tell myself this is fine. It’s just four adults stuck in a house during a storm. Duke and Rachel are married. Bash and I are just… here. Separate. Safe.

Nothing is going to happen.

There is literally a storm outside. Except I already know how Bash looks at me. And I already know how I feel when he does. 

By the time he comes downstairs, hair still damp, gray t-shirt clinging to his chest like it was designed to embarrass me personally, I’m on my second glass of wine and pretending my pulse isn’t doing gymnastics. 

He pauses in the kitchen doorway, eyes going soft when he sees the setup. Duke is already eating cheese. Rachel is laughing, and I’m trying to disappear into my sweater.

Something shifts in his face, small and not quite noticeable. Unless you are a psycho who has analyzed his face more times than acceptable over the years… like I have.

Then he walks over and takes a beer from the fridge like this is exactly where he belongs, and slides into the seat across from me. 

“So,” he says, eyes steady on mine. “You really weren’t gonna tell anyone your flight got canceled?” 

I blink. “How did you know?” 

“Duke called me on the way to get you,” he says. “He told me you were stranded and refusing to ask for help, which sounds exactly like you. Apparently you tried to handle the whole thing alone until he bullied you into letting him come get you.”

Rachel points a knife at me. “Don’t deny it. 

I lift my hands. “Okay, okay. I just… didn’t want to make it a thing.” 

Bash watches me for a second longer than necessary. “You don’t have to do everything alone, Remi.” 

The way he says it, low and certain, lands somewhere under my ribs.  I look away first. 

“Alright, message received,” I say. “Next time I’ll actually tell someone when I need help before everything goes sideways.”

Duke grins. “That’s the spirit.” 

Bash’s stare lingers on me like he doesn’t buy it. Like he sees past it. 

And God help me, I feel seen. 

Outside, the wind rattles the windows. The lights flicker once, then steady. 

Inside, the air feels too warm all of a sudden. 

I take another sip of wine, trying to play normal. 

Bash leans back in his chair, stretching his arms like he’s settling in for the long haul, and the hem of his shirt lifts just enough to show a slice of tan skin. 

My brain fully short-circuits. 

I stand up too fast. “I’m gonna go unpack.” 

Rachel nods. “Guest room’s ready. Second door on the left.” 

“Thanks,” I say. 

I can feel Bash’s eyes on my back as I walk out of the kitchen. I don’t look at him. I don’t trust what my face would do if I did. 

I drag my suitcase down the hall and into the guest room, shutting the door behind me a little harder than necessary. 

The room is small and cozy, with a quilt folded at the end of the bed and a little lamp on the dresser. The window looks out onto the backyard where snow is already covering the patio furniture. 

I set my bag down, press my hands to my cheeks. 

Okay. 

Breathe. 

This is Duke and Rachel’s house. Bash is his brother. Off-limits. You’re here for Thanksgiving, not to spiral over a man who’s been living in the ‘almost’ category of your life forever. 

I unzip my suitcase, start pulling out clothes, trying to focus on anything else. 

A soft knock hits the door. 

“Remi?” Bash’s voice, muffled through the wood. 

My heart does a stupid leap. “Yeah?” 

“Duke put me on the couch,” Bash says. “But that thing’s too small for me to sleep on without breaking it.”

He pauses, eyes steady on mine. “Would you mind if I crashed on the floor in here instead? I know sharing space stresses you out, so if that makes it worse, just say no.”

I freeze. 

The fact that he knows that, that he remembers that, hits me harder than it should. 

“I’m fine,” I say. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch.” 

“I’m not asking your permission because I have to,” he says quietly. “I’m asking because I want you comfortable.” 

My throat goes tight and I open the door a crack. He’s standing there in the hallway, hands in his pockets, still damp-haired, looking like a storm in human form and somehow also like the calm after it. 

His eyes drop to mine. “Rem.” 

He hasn’t called me that in years.

I swallow. “Really, I’m fine. If that’s easier for you, then… yeah. I can deal with that.”

His gaze skims my face, slowly. Like he’s checking whether I mean it or not. 

Then he nods. “Okay.” 

Neither of us moves for a second. 

The air between us feels thick, charged in a way that has nothing to do with winter. 

“Okay,” I say quietly. “I’m going to get ready for bed then.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “I’ll grab some blankets and… set up.” 

He steps back and I shut the door, leaning against it like my legs forgot their job. 

Okay. Great. Fantastic. This is already going so normal. And it’s only Chapter One.

 Bash

 Didn’t Plan on This

I stand outside Remi’s door for a second after she shuts it, listening to the quiet on the other side like it’s a new language I’m supposed to understand.

The hallway smells like pie spices and clean laundry. The house is warm in that too-warm holiday way, where the heat is working overtime because Duke can’t handle anyone being cold for more than thirty seconds.

I should go back downstairs. Grab a blanket. Find a way to make the couch work. Suffer through it like an adult.

But I already know I won’t sleep out there.

That couch is small. I’m not. It’s not complicated. Duke wanted to play hero for half a second and now we’re here. I’m sure he knew what he was doing. The couch setup was never going to happen.

I know I shouldn’t even be thinking about staying in here. She hates sharing space when she’s overwhelmed, always has. But the idea of leaving her in this room alone sits wrong in my chest, and something in me pulls toward her anyway.

I also asked for the floor because it lets me keep control of where I am, what I’m doing, and how close I get to her.

That part is selfish.

I head down the stairs quietly, the wood creaking under my socked feet. The kitchen lights are dim now. Duke and Rachel are at the table in that loose, sleepy after-dinner haze, both holding mugs like they’re anchored by them.

Duke grins when he sees me. “There he is. Couch king.”

“Yeah,” I say. “About that. You got any extra blankets?”

Rachel nods immediately and stands, already moving toward the linen closet. “I’ve got you.”

Duke leans back in his chair, studying me with that annoying little brother look that sees too much. “You sure you’re good on the couch? I mean, you’re built like a refrigerator.”

“Thanks.”

“That’s not an insult. It’s a fact.” He tips his mug toward me. “Just don’t break my furniture.”

“I won’t.”

Rachel comes back with a stack of blankets and a pillow. She sets them on the counter like she’s handing me a care package.

“Remi settled in okay?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I hesitate. “She’s tired.”

Rachel gives a small nod, like she understands the rest of what I don’t say. She always has. “Good. I’m sure she will sleep well.”

“I’m sure she will.”

Duke yawns big and dramatic. “Alright. We’re tapping out. I’m going to dream about turkey and victory.”

“Victory?” I repeat.

He points at the pies cooling on the counter. “I survived my first married Thanksgiving with no injuries or fires. That’s a victory.”

Rachel laughs, kisses his cheek, and hooks her arm through his. “Come on, holiday hero.”

They start toward the stairs, Rachel pausing to squeeze my shoulder as she passes. “Night, Bash.”

“Night Rach.”

Duke stops at the first step and turns back. “Try not to be grumpy in the morning. Remi’s already stressed. Don’t make her feel like she’s in the way.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

He squints at me like he’s deciding if he believes that. Then he nods, satisfied enough, and disappears upstairs with his wife.

The house goes quiet in a way most places don’t. It’s not empty quiet. It’s just… soft. Safe. Like the storm outside is doing all the shouting so the rest of the world gets to breathe.

I gather the blankets and pillow and head back down the hall. Remi’s door is still shut. Light glows faintly under the crack.

I knock once, soft.

“Remi?”

“Yeah,” she answers immediately, like she’s been listening for me.

“I grabbed blankets.” I keep my voice low. “I’m coming in to set up.”

A beat.

“Okay.”

I turn the knob and open the door slowly, giving her space to be wherever she wants to be.

She’s sitting on the bed with her suitcase open beside her, hair loose, in an oversized sleep shirt that hits mid-thigh, the kind that shouldn’t be sexy but absolutely is on her. Her eyes slide to me, then away fast. Like she’s trying too hard not to look.

She’s not great at pretending.

The air in the room is warm but still feels cooler than the rest of the house. Maybe because we’re in here together.

I step inside and close the door behind me. Not all the way. Just enough to keep the hallway light from spilling in.

“Thanks,” she says, voice soft.

“Yeah.”

I crouch by the wall opposite the bed, laying out the blankets in a neat line so I’m not taking up space in the center. Something about it feels familiar. Like camping or deployment. Like any other night I’ve tried to sleep with my guard half up.

Except none of those nights had Remi ten feet away in just a t-shirt, watching me out of the corner of her eye.

I unroll the first blanket on the floor, then another on top, making a cushion thick enough to actually matter. The pillow goes at the top.

Remi shifts behind me. I don’t look back, mostly because I’m trying to keep my head in a place that isn’t dangerous.

“You know you don’t have to sleep on the hard floor, right?” she says.

“I know,” I answer, but I don’t move. She’s sitting cross-legged, elbows on her knees. There’s a faint crease between her brows like she’s still trying to carry the whole world by herself. “It’s fine. I’ve slept on worse.”

She makes a face. “That doesn’t mean you should.”

A laugh almost leaves me. I swallow it back. “You worried about me, Hollis?”

Her cheeks pink up. “I’m just saying I don’t want you miserable because of me.”

My chest tightens at that. Because that’s Remi to the core. She’ll accept help, but only if she’s convinced it doesn’t cost anyone else something.

“You’re not the reason,” I say. “The couch is the reason.”

“Still.”

I sit back on my heels, the blankets between us feeling like a thin line of safety. “You’re not in the way, Remi.”

She goes still.

I shouldn’t have said it that directly. But it’s true, and pretending it isn’t doesn’t help either of us.

Her gaze lifts to mine for a second. There’s something in it that looks like old exhaustion. Old pride. Old hurt that made her decide she’d rather rely on herself than risk being a burden.

I know that look.

Because it’s the same look she had on her face the day she helped Duke move into his first apartment and then tried to leave before we could feed her.

The same look she had that night in the grocery store parking lot, standing beside her locked car with her keys inside, pretending it wasn’t a big deal until I showed up and she finally exhaled.

The same look she has right now.

She clears her throat like she’s trying to wipe the moment away. “Okay. I’m gonna… try to sleep.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll keep my back turned. I’m not here to make you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not.” She says it too fast.

I nod, turning back to the blanket stack while she moves around behind me. I hear the rustle of fabric, the soft slide of a drawer. The bathroom door opens and closes again. The sink runs for a second.

I focus hard on anything that isn’t her. The wall. The baseboard. The stupid little lamp on the dresser. The snow ticking against the window.

But I can’t not hear her.

Every sound is a reminder she’s here. Close. Real.

‘You are thirty years old. You can handle sleeping on a floor without losing your mind.’

I’ve slept through gunfire and freezing rain and the kind of silence that feels like an animal waiting to bite. But this is different. This is a quiet that makes you hyper-aware of everything you’re pretending not to want.

I hear her climb into bed, the mattress dipping. The blanket slides across the sheets.

Then nothing. A long beat passes.

“You good?” she asks softly into the dark.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

I glance up at the ceiling. “Yeah, Remi.”

She goes quiet again.

The kind of quiet that isn’t empty. It’s loaded.

I shift onto my side, facing the wall like I promised. The floor is firm under me, but the blankets help. The pillow smells like laundry detergent and maybe Rachel’s vanilla candle. It’s not uncomfortable.

What’s uncomfortable is the way my body still feels like it’s on alert for her. The way I’m aware of her breathing over there. Slow. Controlled. Like she’s pretending she fell asleep instantly.

She doesn’t.

Neither do I.

Minutes pass. Maybe more. I don’t check my phone because I don’t want to light up the room.

The wind rattles the window. Somewhere in the house, a pipe ticks. The storm outside keeps dumping snow like it’s trying to bury the world in one night.

Remi shifts in bed and I feel it like a live wire.

Finally, she speaks again, voice barely there. “Thanks for… being normal about all this.”

I stare at the wall, my throat tight. “What does that mean?”

“It means you didn’t make it weird.” She pauses. “You could’ve.”

“So could you.”

She huffs a quiet laugh. “Fair.”

Silence stretches again.

Then, softer, she says, “I’m glad you’re here.”

My chest goes still for a second, like it doesn’t know what to do with that.

I don’t think she realizes what she said. Or maybe she does and that’s why her voice shook.

Either way, I don’t let it sit unanswered.

“Me too,” I say.

It’s simple. True. And way more dangerous than either of us wants to admit right now.

I hear her breathe in, then out, slow and careful.

After that, she quiets for real. Her breathing changes, deepening. Her body relaxes in the bed.

I stay awake a little longer, staring at the wall like it will give me answers.

This was not part of the plan.

I didn’t plan to be here. I didn’t plan to see her. I didn’t plan to end up on the floor of a room she’s sleeping in, trying to pretend I’m not still off-balance by the sound of her voice when she’s tired.

‘Didn’t plan on this’ doesn’t even cover it.

Outside, the storm keeps coming down hard. There’s no leaving tomorrow if it doesn’t let up.

Which means I’m stuck here, in this house, with her.

And I’m not sure if that’s the worst thing that could happen to me.

Or the best.

Come back tomorrow for chapter two

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: November 2025

Cover Design by LS Phoenix