Chapter 31

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‎The crisp midnight air hit Kat like a wall of ice as she pushed open the heavy timber doors of the town hall. The Christmas Eve celebration was finally winding down, leaving the snowy parking lot filled with the quiet rustle of wind through the fir trees and the low rumble of truck engines warming up in the sub-zero cold.

‎Beside her, Harlan stumbled slightly on the icy boardwalk, his arm heavy across Kat’s shoulders. His usual neat peacoat was unbuttoned, his cheeks flushed bright red, and his hazel eyes unfocused. The holiday punch and extra glasses of bourbon had clearly caught up with him.

‎"Steady, Harlan," Kat said softly, her voice calm and level as she adjusted her grip on his waist, taking most of his weight to keep him from slipping on the icy steps.

‎"I'm fine, Kat, completely fine," Harlan slurred with an easy, sloppy grin, fumbling blindly in his coat pocket for his car keys. "Just... let me get the heater running in the sedan. I'll get you back up the mountain in no time."

‎Kat stopped him at the bottom of the porch stairs, gently taking the keys from his hand. Her dark eyes were entirely practical, assessing the situation with cool, clear logic. "You're in no condition to drive down the ridge, Harlan. We can leave your car here and call a cab from the diner, or find someone heading toward the clinic."

‎"Nonsense," Harlan laughed weakly, swaying on his feet. "It's just... a little ice..."

‎"He's not driving anywhere tonight, Kat."

‎The deep, rough rasp cut through the quiet parking lot like a saw blade, carrying that familiar, grounded weight that seemed to vibrate straight through the frozen dirt.

‎Kat turned her head smoothly.

‎Azriel was standing six feet away, towering in his heavy dark canvas coat, his cap pulled low over his messy dark hair. His carved, granite features were set in their usual hard, unyielding lines. Beside him stood Abby Smith, wrapped in a bright white wool coat, shivering slightly as she clutched a small gift box.

‎Azriel didn't look at Harlan's flushed, intoxicated state. His icy blue eyes briefly met Kat's, held in that same impenetrable, guarded distance he always kept.

‎"He can sleep it off on the couch in my office at the mill," Azriel said flatly, his tone level, dry, and strictly operational. "I'll take you back to Rosewood Acreage."

‎"Oh, that's a great idea, Azriel!" Abby Smith chimed in cheerfully, her voice high and bright against the quiet night air. She reached out, hooking her arm familiarly around Azriel’s broad elbow. "We can drop Harlan at the mill office first, then Kat up at the farm, and then drop me off at my place on Creek Road! It works out perfectly!"

‎Kat noted the order Abby laid out, but before she could digest it, Azriel spoke up, his rough rasp low and uncompromising.

‎"Kat is last," Azriel said flatly, his dark gaze unmoving as he looked past Abby. "Her road is at the top of the pass."

‎Abby’s smile faltered for a quick second, a subtle pout crossing her lips before she smoothed it over, holding tighter to Azriel's arm.

‎Deep in Kat's chest, an unexpected, sharp spike of annoyance flared up—a bitter, uninvited twist that caught her entirely off guard. She found herself suddenly irritated by the exchange—irritated by Abby's casual assumption that Kat should be dropped off intermediate to her, and strangely rattled that Azriel had so flatly insisted on Kat being the final drop-off at the top of the mountain.

‎What on earth is wrong with me? Kat thought, suppressing the reaction with fierce, aggressive denial as she smoothed her velvet shawl. It was just fatigue and the freezing wind. She had zero interest in reading into Azriel’s driving route or Abby’s possessive gestures.

‎"Harlan needs to get off his feet," Kat said smoothly, making the decision with absolute, pragmatic efficiency, keeping her voice light, polite, and completely unruffled. "Thank you, Azriel. I'll help him into the cab."

‎Azriel didn't offer a polite smile or a courteous nod. He simply walked over, hoisted Harlan’s heavy frame with effortless, terrifying strength, and guided the semi-conscious doctor into the heated cab of his dark flatbed truck.

‎Once Harlan was safely tucked into the small bench seat behind the main cab, Abby immediately stepped up to the front passenger door, sliding in with a cheerful laugh and pulling her skirt inside.

‎Kat didn't make a scene, nor did she hesitate. She opened the rear door, stepping into the back seat of the spacious crew-cab flatbed, pulling her wine-red velvet dress neatly around her knees.

‎Azriel climbed into the driver's seat, closing his heavy door with a solid, echoing thud. The interior of the truck was warm, smelling strongly of aged pine resin, cold iron, and his unmistakable, potent heat.

‎As Azriel shifted the transmission into gear, Abby Smith immediately turned in her seat, leaning her shoulder against the center console, her bright blonde hair practically touching Azriel’s arm as they pulled out onto the icy road.

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‎The drive along the lower valley was quiet save for the steady hum of the heavy snow tires over the packed ice and the low rumble of the truck’s engine.

‎​They dropped Harlan off first at the Vance Mill office, where Eli was working the night shift. Azriel hauled the sleepy doctor inside, ensuring he was safely settled on the leather sofa near the woodstove before returning to the truck without saying a word.

‎​Ten minutes later, the flatbed pulled up to the curb outside a charming, blue-painted cottage on Creek Road.

‎​Abby turned to Azriel, her smile bright and lingering as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "Thank you for driving me home, Azriel. I had a wonderful night." She reached up, giving his shoulder a quick, affectionate squeeze. "Don't work too hard tomorrow, okay?"

‎​Azriel gave a single, rigid tilt of his head, his face completely shadowed in the dark cab. "Goodnight, Abby."

‎​"Goodnight, Kat!" Abby called out cheerfully over her shoulder as she opened her door and stepped out into the snow.

‎​"Goodnight, Abby," Kat replied smoothly from the back, her voice light, polite, and entirely neutral.

‎​Once Abby closed the passenger door and walked up her porch steps, Azriel didn't immediately pull away from the curb. He put the truck in park, the engine idling in a heavy, rhythmic thrum.

‎​He didn't turn around, but his deep, rough voice cut through the quiet interior of the cab.

‎​"Take the front," Azriel said flatly.

‎​Kat paused for a fraction of a second in the dark back seat, her hand resting on her velvet shawl. "The back is fine, Azriel. It's only a five-minute drive up the ridge."

‎​"Move to the front, Kat," Azriel repeated, his tone level, unyielding, and leaving zero room for debate.

‎​Kat let out a quiet, imperceptible breath, refusing to make a production out of something so trivial. She opened her door, stepped out into the crisp midnight air, and opened the front passenger door, sliding into the seat Abby had just vacated.

‎​She pulled the door shut, the latch clicking firmly into place. The seat was still warm, holding the faint scent of floral perfume mixed with the heavy, natural heat radiating directly from the man sitting beside her.

‎​Azriel shifted the flatbed into gear, stepping on the gas. The heavy truck climbed smoothly onto the dark, snow-covered mountain pass leading up to Rosewood Acreage. Tall fir trees lined the road, their heavy boughs bowed under the weight of fresh powder, illuminated only by the bright beam of the headlights.

‎​Silence stretched between them—thick, heavy, and charged with that same quiet tension that always existed whenever they were isolated together.

‎​Kat sat with her hands folded neatly over her locket, her gaze fixed straight ahead on the dark road. She maintained her cool, unbothered composure, strictly burying any lingering trace of her earlier annoyance. She was a woman who had her life completely under control, and she was not going to let a quiet midnight ride shake her composure.

‎​Azriel kept his dark eyes locked on the icy s-bends of the ridge road, his broad hands gripping the steering wheel firmly. His carved jaw flexed into a tight, hard line under his dark stubble.

‎​He took a slow, heavy breath, white mist rising faintly in the warm cab before he spoke, his rough rasp low and guarded.

‎​"Are you and James together?" Azriel asked flatly.

‎​The question was dry, direct, and stripped entirely of emotional inflection—delivered like a simple inquiry about a timber invoice or a farm survey line.

‎​Kat didn't flinch, nor did her heart rate spike. She turned her head slightly to look at his dark, unreadable profile in the soft glow of the dashboard lights.

‎​"Harlan is a good friend," Kat replied, her voice smooth, clear, and completely steady. "He's attentiveness itself, and he treats me well. But no, Azriel. We're not together."

‎​Azriel’s jaw tightened into a rigid, sharp pulse along his cheekbone. He didn't look over at her, nor did his stone exterior crack by a single millimeter. He offered no comment on her answer, made no speech, and gave no hint of what he was thinking behind his icy blue eyes. He kept his posture completely rigid, holding his distance firmly intact as he navigated the final turn onto her farm driveway.

‎​Kat looked back out the windshield, watching the warm, familiar silhouette of her farmhouse come into view against the dark mountain ridge.

‎​Neither of them said another word. The silence between them remained cold, guarded, and absolute—two people holding their walls up with relentless discipline, both fiercely denying the unsaid weight hanging in the quiet space between them.