Page 86 of He Knows When You're Awake

“It’s a compliment! Ice is beautiful. Powerful. And damn hard to break.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Just like you.”

By the time we’ve decorated two dozen cookies and consumed at least that many ounces of coffee, I’ve made my decision. I shower, borrow some of Chloe’s clothes that don’t scream “walk of shame,” and call a rideshare.

“You sure about this?” Chloe asks as she walks me to the door.

“No,” I admit. “But you’re right. I need to finish what I started.”

She pulls me into a hug. “That’s my girl. Call me later?”

“Promise.”

The ride to Cole’s building feels both too long and too short. My stomach knots as the elevator climbs to the penthouse. I still have the key he gave me, but using it feels wrong now. I knock instead.

When he opens the door, he looks as terrible as I feel. Dark circles under his eyes, hair rumpled like he’s been running his hands through it. Something inside me aches at the sight, but I steel myself against it.

“Sloane.” My name on his lips is almost my undoing. “I—”

“I’m here to finish the jewelry line,” I say, cutting him off, my voice as professional as I can make it. “As I promised. Nothing more.”

His jaw tightens, but he steps back to let me in. “Of course.”

I walk past him, not allowing myself to breathe in his scent, not letting myself remember how it felt to be held by him in this veryspot. I head straight for the studio space he set up for me, removing my coat with mechanical precision.

“The deadline’s still the same?” I ask, not looking at him.

“Yes.” His voice is equally cool now, matching my tone. “New Year’s.”

“Fine. I’ll need to work late tonight. And probably tomorrow.”

“Whatever you need.”

I finally turn to face him. He’s watching me with those dark eyes that see too much, but his expression gives nothing away. Two can play at this game.

“What I need,” I say, “is space to work. Alone.”

He nods once, then turns and walks away, leaving me with my designs, my tools, and a heart that refuses to freeze over no matter how much I wish it would.

Chapter Thirty-ThreeCole

Icheck my phone again. No messages from Sloane. I scroll through our text history, stopping at the last exchange before everything fell apart. Her excitement about decorating for Christmas jumps off the screen.

The perfect tree isn’t perfect at all, she’d written.It needs character. A wonky branch or two, maybe even a bald spot. That’s how you know it has a story.

I slip my phone back into my pocket and stare at the rows of Christmas trees in front of me. The lot owner hovers nearby, clearly wondering why this guy in an expensive coat has spent forty-five minutes examining every single tree without buying one.

“Looking for something specific?” he asks.

“Something imperfect,” I say. “Something with character.”

His eyebrows shoot up, but he nods.

I follow him to the back corner of the lot, where several neglected trees lean against the fence. One catches my eye immediately. A six-foot spruce with a dramatic curve in its trunk and a sparse patch on one side that gives it a lopsided appearance. It’s exactly the kind of tree Sloane would love.

“That one,” I point, already pulling out my wallet.

The lot owner looks skeptical. “You sure? Got some much nicer ones up front.”

“This is the one.” I’m certain. “It’s perfect because it’s not.”