Frost And Shadows

Winter break hit like a pause button on the world, but it didn’t feel like freedom. December 14th, my second day at the Forresters’, and the silence of no school was louder than I expected. No bells, no lockers slamming—just the weight of my parents’ absence sitting on my chest. I woke up late, the guest room still feeling like someone else’s life, and dragged myself downstairs. Belle was already in the kitchen, humming some pop song, stirring a bowl of cookie dough. Her hair was tied back, a streak of flour on her cheek, and she looked so damn normal it almost hurt.

“Yo, you’re baking now?” I said, leaning against the counter, trying to sound lighter than I felt.

She grinned, wiping her cheek and smearing the flour worse. “Mom’s orders. Holiday cookies for the town market tonight. You’re helping, by the way.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Me? I burn water.”

She laughed, bright and real, and tossed me an apron. “You’ll survive. C’mon, Wise, live a little.”

Her laugh was like a lifeline, pulling me out of the fog. I tied on the apron, feeling like an idiot, and stood next to her. Our elbows brushed as she showed me how to roll the dough, her hands guiding mine, steady and warm. For a second, it was just us, the smell of sugar and vanilla, her fingers lingering on mine longer than they needed to. My heart did a dumb flip, and I caught her smiling, her eyes soft in a way that made the room feel smaller.

“Stop staring, loser,” she teased, nudging me. “You’re gonna ruin the cookies.”

“Whatever,” I muttered, my face hot. I focused on the dough, but her closeness was distracting, like a warmth I didn’t deserve but couldn’t push away.

Bella walked in, her phone predictably in hand, but she paused, eyeing us. “Wow, domestic much?” she said, her tone sharp but not as biting as usual. “Didn’t know you were into baking, Harrington.”

I shrugged, expecting her to follow it with a jab, but she just grabbed a cookie cutter and joined us. No smirk, no flirting—just Bella, cutting out snowflake shapes like it was normal. It wasn’t. Last night’s dish-drying moment, her cryptic talk about loss, still hung in my head. She was different, like she was trying to be part of this, whatever this was.

“You’re not gonna eat all these before we get to the market, right?” I said, testing the waters.

She snorted, a half-smile breaking through. “Please, I have standards. These are, like, 80% sugar. My figure’s too good for that.”

Belle rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too. “Play nice, Bella. Wise is our guest.”

“Guest,” Bella echoed, her voice softer, almost thoughtful. She glanced at me, and for a second, I saw that same sadness from the assembly, like she was carrying a secret she couldn’t shake.

We finished the cookies, the kitchen a mess of flour and laughter, and for a moment, I forgot the world outside. Belle’s mom popped in, praising our “artistic genius” even though half the cookies looked like lumpy snowmen. She insisted we take them to the town’s holiday market that night, some annual thing with lights, stalls, and kids skating on a rink. Belle was all in, and Bella, surprisingly, didn’t argue. I texted Luca, and he was down, promising to bring his “legendary hot chocolate skills.”

The market was in the town square, strung up with fairy lights and packed with people bundled in scarves. Stalls sold everything from ornaments to hot cider, and the air smelled like pine and roasted chestnuts. Luca showed up, his beanie crooked, carrying a thermos like it was a trophy. He poured a cup and handed it to Bella first, his grin wider than usual. “Ladies first, right? Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

Bella raised an eyebrow, taking the cup, her fingers brushing his. “Careful, Morales. I might start thinking you’re sweet.”

Luca laughed, a little too loud, his cheeks red—not just from the cold. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” he said, but he didn’t move away, standing closer to her than he needed to.

Belle looped her arm through mine as we wandered toward the skating rink, her warmth keeping me grounded. The ice was crowded with kids wobbling and couples showing off. Belle’s cheeks were pink from the cold, her eyes bright under the lights, and I couldn’t stop looking at her. She caught me, smirking. “What’s with the face, Wise?”

“Nothing,” I said, my voice rough. “Just… you look happy. It’s nice.”

Her smile softened, and she squeezed my arm. “You deserve some happy too, you know.”

I glanced at Luca and Bella, who were now by the rink, him trying to teach her how to skate. She wobbled, grabbing his jacket, and he steadied her, his hands lingering on her waist. “Don’t let me fall, Morales,” she said, her voice teasing but her eyes soft, locked on his.

“Never,” Luca said, his usual goofiness gone, replaced by something serious. They laughed, their heads close, and I saw it—the spark. Not just friends messing around, but something more, something new.

Belle nudged me, whispering, “Okay, when did that happen?”

I snorted. “No clue. But Luca’s got it bad.”

We leaned against the rink’s railing, sipping Luca’s hot chocolate, watching Bella and Luca skate—or try to. She kept slipping, and he kept catching her, their laughter mixing with the crowd’s. Bella wasn’t her usual sharp self; she was lighter, almost shy, letting Luca pull her along. It was weird, seeing her like this, but it fit. Like she’d found a place with us, with him.

Then I felt it—eyes on me, sharp and heavy. I turned, and there was Dez, standing by a stall selling wreaths, his jacket unzipped despite the cold. He wasn’t with his crew, just alone, staring. His face was hard, his jaw tight, and when he saw me with Belle’s arm in mine, her head close to my shoulder, his eyes narrowed. Then they flicked to Bella and Luca, her hand still in his as they skated, and his fists clenched, knuckles white. Jealousy rolled off him like heat, his gaze burning through the crowd—not just at me, but at all of us, like we’d stolen something he wanted. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched, his silence louder than any taunt.

Belle noticed, her grip tightening. “Dez again,” she muttered. “He’s obsessed.”

“Jealous,” I said, my stomach twisting. “And I don’t like what he’s thinking.”

“Let him stew,” she said, but her voice was uneasy. “He’s not worth our night.”

The market was still buzzing, so we wandered to a stall where a girl from our science class, Mia, was selling handmade ornaments. She was quiet, with round glasses and a nervous smile, but her stall was packed with glittery stars and tiny wooden reindeer. “Hey, Wise,” she said, spotting me. “Didn’t expect to see you here. You guys want an ornament? They’re, uh, for charity.”

Belle grinned, picking up a star. “These are awesome, Mia. You made all these?”

Mia blushed, pushing her glasses up. “Yeah, took forever. But it’s for the animal shelter, so… worth it.”

Luca leaned over, inspecting a reindeer, his arm brushing Bella’s. “Damn, Mia, you’re out here saving puppies and shit. Respect.” He flashed her a grin, and Bella nudged him, her smile playful.

“Trying to impress me with your big heart, Morales?” Bella teased, but her tone was warm, her shoulder leaning into his.

“Maybe,” Luca said, winking. “Is it working?”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were pink, and she didn’t pull away. I caught Mia watching them, a small smile on her face, like she was rooting for whatever was sparking there.

We bought a couple of ornaments, and Belle insisted on hanging one on the market’s community Christmas tree, a big pine in the square’s center. She dragged me over, her hand in mine, and we tied the star to a branch together. Her fingers lingered, her eyes meeting mine, and for a moment, the crowd faded. “This is for you, you know,” she said softly. “Something to hold onto.”

My throat tightened, and I squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Belle. For… everything.”

She smiled, leaning her head against my shoulder, and I felt like I could breathe again, even if just for a second.

The market started winding down, lights flickering off, stalls packing up. Bella and Luca rejoined us, their faces flushed from skating, their banter easy but charged. “You owe me a rematch, Morales,” Bella said, poking his chest. “I’m not falling next time.”

“Keep dreaming,” Luca shot back, but he was smiling too hard to sell it.

We wandered to a quieter part of the market, near a bonfire where kids were roasting marshmallows. Bella hung back with me as Belle and Luca argued over who could make the perfect s’more. Her usual confidence was gone, replaced by something raw. “Hey, Wise,” she said, her voice low, barely audible over the fire’s crackle. “I need to say something.”

I turned, surprised. “Yeah?”

She took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the snow. “I’m sorry. For all the shit I’ve pulled. The flirting, the games, trying to mess with you and Belle. It was… stupid. I was jealous, okay? Of how close you two are, how you’ve got this… thing. I wanted to feel like I mattered, and I was a bitch about it.”

I stared, caught off guard. Bella, apologizing? Her voice was shaky, her hands stuffed in her pockets like she was bracing for a hit. “I saw you that night, in the kitchen,” she went on. “Falling apart. And it hit me—you’re not just some guy I can screw with. You’re dealing with real shit, and I made it worse. I’m sorry, Wise. I wanna be better.”

Her words cracked something in me, raw and unexpected. I thought of her arms around me that night, holding me with Belle, no agenda. “You don’t have to be sorry,” I said, my voice rough. “I get it. And… you’re not that person, Bella. Not deep down. I see it.”

She blinked, her eyes glistening, and gave a small, shaky smile. “Don’t get sappy on me, Harrington. I’m trying to be serious.”

I snorted, the tension breaking. “Fine, but don’t expect me to cry over you.”

She laughed, real and light, and it felt like a wall came down. She wasn’t just Belle’s sister anymore—she was one of us.

As we headed back toward the stalls, I caught sight of Dez again, lingering near a hot cider stand, his eyes locked on us. On Belle, her hand still in mine. On Bella, laughing with Luca, her arm looped through his as he whispered something that made her giggle. Dez’s face was a mask of rage, his jaw clenched so tight I thought it might crack. His gaze darted between us all, like he was measuring every smile, every touch, and hating us for it. He didn’t move, didn’t call out, but his hands were balled into fists, his knuckles pale against the dark of his jacket. That jealousy wasn’t just about me anymore—it was about all of us, like we’d taken something he thought was his.

Belle noticed, her fingers tightening around mine. “He’s still watching,” she whispered, her voice tight. “What’s his deal?”

“Jealous,” I muttered, my stomach twisting. “And it’s getting worse.”

“Let him glare,” Luca said, overhearing, his arm still around Bella. “Dude’s just mad he’s not in on this.”

Bella smirked, leaning into Luca. “His loss,” she said, her voice light but her eyes flicking to Dez, like she knew exactly how much her closeness to Luca was pissing him off.

Back at the Forresters’, we piled into the living room, sprawled on couches with leftover cookies and Luca’s thermos. Belle curled up next to me, her head on my shoulder, her warmth grounding me. Luca and Bella sat close on the other couch, their knees touching, his arm slung casually behind her. He was telling some dumb story about a prank he pulled last Christmas, and Bella chimed in, her sarcasm sharp but playful, their eyes catching every few seconds like they couldn’t help it. It was new, this thing between them, but it worked.

After a while, Belle yawned, stretching. “I’m beat. You guys staying up?”

“Nah, I’m good,” I said, but I didn’t move, her weight against me too comforting to lose.

Luca grinned, nudging Bella. “What about you, princess? You gonna crash or keep roasting my stories?”

Bella smirked, but her voice was soft. “Maybe I’ll stick around a bit. Your stories are terrible, but… you’re not.” She looked at him, her usual edge gone, and Luca’s grin faltered, his eyes warm in a way I’d never seen.

Belle caught my eye, raising an eyebrow like, See that? I nodded, smirking. Yeah, I saw it.

We ended up dragging blankets to the backyard, where the Forresters had a fire pit. The snow was falling heavier now, blanketing the ground, and we sat around the flames, wrapped up and passing around the last of the hot chocolate. Belle leaned against me, her hand finding mine under the blanket, her fingers tracing slow patterns on my palm. It was quiet, intimate, and for once, I didn’t feel like I was drowning.

Luca and Bella were across from us, sharing a blanket, their shoulders pressed together. He was showing her something on his phone—a dumb meme, probably—and she laughed, her head tilting against his. “You’re such a dork,” she said, but her voice was all warmth, no bite.

“Better than being boring,” Luca shot back, but he was smiling too, his hand brushing hers under the blanket.

I glanced at Bella, remembering her apology by the bonfire. “You’re really sticking with us, huh?” I said, keeping it light.

She looked at me, her smile small but real. “Yeah, well, you’re not the worst company, Harrington. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Belle laughed, squeezing my hand. “Told you she’s not all bad.”

“High praise,” I said, smirking, but I meant it. Bella was different now, part of this messed-up family we’d become.

As the fire died down, I felt that prickle again, like someone was watching. I scanned the yard, the snow-covered trees, and there he was—Dez, standing at the edge of the property, half-hidden by a pine. His eyes glinted in the dark, fixed on us: Belle’s head on my shoulder, Luca and Bella tangled under their blanket. His face was pure venom, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, like he was fighting the urge to do something. He didn’t move, just stared, his jealousy a living thing, coiling tighter with every second. Then he was gone, melting into the shadows, leaving only the crunch of snow.

No one else saw him. I didn’t say anything, didn’t want to break this fragile peace. But as we headed inside, the fire out and the cold creeping in, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched—not just by Dez, but by something else. A flicker of red caught my eye in the guest room window as I climbed into bed, gone when I blinked. Holiday lights, I told myself. But the knot in my gut said otherwise. This calm wasn’t real. It was a countdown, and we were running out of time.