The faint crackle of a fire filled the small living room, mingling with the sound of wind brushing against the windows. Grace nestled deeper into her overstuffed armchair, a plaid blanket draped over her lap. The room smelled of cinnamon and pine, thanks to the candle flickering on the coffee table. A half-empty mug of hot cocoa rested beside it, the marshmallows melted into a sugary swirl. Her dog, Max, a golden retriever mix with more fluff than coordination, lay sprawled at her feet, his tail wagging lazily every few minutes as if to reassure her of his contentment.

This was her sanctuary—a small, cozy home where the world outside could blur into something distant and unimportant. The walls were lined with bookshelves, each one overflowing, the spines a patchwork of colors and titles. A soft glow from the Christmas tree in the corner added warmth to the room, its ornaments a mix of childhood crafts, thrift store finds, and a few delicate glass baubles she'd treated herself to over the years.

Grace set aside the novel she'd been attempting to read. The words hadn't stuck; her thoughts kept wandering back to earlier that day, to the unexpected appearance of Charlotte Blake in her bookstore. She'd always prided herself on keeping a level head, but something about Charlotte had unraveled her composure. Maybe it was the way Charlotte had looked at her—not with pity or awkwardness, but with a spark of genuine interest, as though Grace were someone worth knowing.

"Max, what am I supposed to do with that?" Grace asked, her voice breaking the comfortable silence. Max's ears perked up, and he lifted his head, giving her a look that was both curious and noncommittal. "Yeah, you don't know either," she said with a chuckle, reaching down to scratch behind his ears.

Charlotte's face lingered in her mind—the way her dark curls framed her features, her smile soft and unassuming. Grace had always been cautious when it came to people. Years of feeling like an outsider, of being overlooked or underestimated, had made her wary. But Charlotte's presence had stirred something she hadn't felt in a long time: hope. It was a fragile thing, easily crushed, and Grace wasn't sure if she could trust it.

The clock on the mantel chimed softly, marking the hour. Grace glanced at it, noting how late it had gotten. She had closed the shop early, intending to spend the evening catching up on her reading and indulging in the solitude she usually cherished. But tonight, the quiet felt different. It wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't entirely welcome either.

"What do you think, Max?" she asked again. "Do you think she'll actually come back?"

Max let out a soft huff, his tail wagging once as if to say, Why wouldn't she?

Grace leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the frosted window. Snowflakes clung to the glass, illuminated by the streetlamp outside. She tried to push the thoughts of Charlotte aside, to focus on the comforting predictability of her evening routine. But the spark Charlotte had lit refused to be snuffed out.

It wasn't just that Charlotte was beautiful—though she was, undeniably. It was the way she'd spoken to Grace, the easy flow of their conversation. For a moment, Grace had forgotten to guard herself, had allowed herself to be open in a way that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. She'd been hurt before, by people who couldn't see past her wheelchair or who assumed it defined every aspect of her life. Letting someone in required trust, and trust wasn't something she gave lightly.

The fire popped, drawing her attention back to the room. She reached for her mug, taking a sip of the lukewarm cocoa before setting it back down. Max shifted, rolling onto his back and letting out a dramatic sigh.

"You've got it rough, huh?" Grace said, shaking her head fondly. She slid her foot along the floor to nudge his side gently, and he responded with a lazy wag of his tail.

Her phone buzzed on the side table, breaking the stillness. Grace hesitated before picking it up, half expecting a text from her parents. They meant well, but their check-ins always carried an undercurrent of concern, as if they were waiting for her to admit she needed saving from the life she'd built. Instead, the screen displayed a message from her friend Meg.

How's the hermit life? Still refusing to come to karaoke night?

Grace smiled despite herself. Meg had been her friend since college, one of the few people who never treated her differently because of her disability. She'd been trying to coax Grace out of her shell for weeks now, insisting that she needed more than books and Max for company.

Maybe next week, Grace typed back, knowing full well she'd find an excuse when the time came. Meg's reply was almost instantaneous.

You're impossible. Don't make me drag you out myself.

Grace set the phone down with a soft laugh, but the exchange left her feeling a little lighter. She might not be ready to dive into social outings, but knowing someone cared enough to push her meant something.

The sound of snowplows rumbling down the street pulled her attention back to the window. She watched as they cleared the roads, their orange lights cutting through the darkness. The snow had stopped falling, leaving the world outside blanketed in pristine white. It was beautiful in a way that made her chest ache, a reminder of the simple joys she often overlooked.

Max rolled back onto his stomach, his ears perked as he looked up at her expectantly.

"What? You want a treat?" Grace asked, already knowing the answer. She reached for the jar on the coffee table, pulling out a biscuit and holding it out to him. Max took it gently, his tail thumping against the floor in approval.

As she watched him, a thought crept into her mind, unbidden but persistent: maybe it was time to take a chance. Charlotte's return had stirred something in her, a yearning she'd buried beneath layers of practicality and fear. She didn't know what, if anything, could come of it, but the possibility was enough to make her wonder.

"Guess we'll see what happens," Grace murmured, more to herself than to Max. The dog's eyes met hers, his expression one of unwavering loyalty. If only humans were as simple as dogs, she thought with a wry smile.

The fire crackled again, filling the room with its steady warmth. Grace reached for her book, determined to finish at least one chapter before bed. But as the words blurred together on the page, her mind kept drifting back to Charlotte and the way she'd made the bookstore feel just a little brighter.

Outside, the streetlights cast a golden glow over the snow, and the faint strains of a Christmas song drifted through her memory:

Oh, Christmas lights, keep shining on.