You keep telling yourself you and Harry aren’t together. Not officially. Not really. Not anything you can put a label on.

But that doesn’t stop the way your chest tightens every time he leaves.

Harry Castillo is the kind of man who’s always gone before you realize you miss him — a man who moves through cities like shadows, always on business, always too far away. He never tells you much about what he does, just murmurs “I’ll be back soon, cariño,” with that quiet half-smile that ruins you.

You’re not supposed to wait for him. You’re not supposed to want him. You’re definitely not supposed to hope he comes home in time for Christmas.

But here you are. Curling up in your too-cold apartment, replaying his voice, rereading the last message he sent three days ago. You pretend you don’t notice that he never calls unless he’s alone. You pretend you’re fine. You pretend you don’t check the door every time footsteps echo in the hallway.

Harry has a way of making you feel like the only person in the world when he’s near — leaning against your counter in the dark, brushing snow out of his hair, lowering his voice when he says your name like it means something to him.

But he’s far away again. And you’re here, trying not to fall apart over someone who isn’t yours.

The story starts tonight: New York is freezing, Christmas lights are blinking outside your window, and your phone buzzes with Harry’s name.

Just one message.

“I might be back sooner than planned.”

Your heart stops. Because you know — no matter how much you try to fight it — you just want him to come home to you