Chapter 5: Alice Benette
1341 Words
I wake up to the soft morning light slipping through the pale curtains, a warm golden glow spreading across the wooden ceiling. For a moment, I forget where I am. It's only when I shift on the mattress—far softer than anything I ever slept on in my old apartment—that it comes back to me: farm hotel. Countryside. Christmas. A new life.
And a grumpy cowboy who looks like he was carved by some inspired craftsman and who definitely didn’t smile even once at me yesterday.
I stretch lazily, feeling that gentle weight in my belly—the one weight I’ve learned to love. My hand moves over the small curve and I sigh.
“Good morning, baby,” I murmur.
I get up, head to the bathroom, and let the hot shower melt away the leftover tension. The air outside is cold, but the cabin is so cozy I don’t even think before slipping into a cream sweater, comfortable jeans, and low boots. No heels today. Just remembering Marco’s sarcastic comment almost makes my eye twitch.
When I step out of the cabin, I inhale deeply.
The air smells like damp earth, pine trees, and something sweet—maybe the flowers that line the paths. The sun barely filters through the branches, but it’s enough to make everything sparkle. I feel peace. Something I haven’t felt in a long time.
I walk slowly along the stone path leading to the main barn. The cabins stretch on both sides, all cute and decorated with wreaths, golden ribbons, and handmade wooden ornaments. Straight out of a Christmas movie—the kind I used to binge while eating too many cookies.
The barn finally comes into view, and my heart warms. It's huge, with rustic wooden windows, open doors, and the delicious smell of fresh coffee and baked bread drifting out. The hum of chatter, laughter, and clinking cutlery fills the air, welcoming.
I step inside.
Warmth from the fireplace wraps around me. Long wooden tables fill the room, each decorated with simple arrangements—green branches, candles, and red bows. Some families chat cheerfully; others take pictures near the decorated tree.
And it’s impossible not to notice him.
Marco is there, leaning against the back of one of the sofas near the fireplace, talking to a group of guests. Jeans, boots, a dark blue shirt with rolled-up sleeves. His hat rests beside him on the arm of the sofa. He looks… too comfortable. Too natural. As if he were part of the building itself.
Then his eyes lift—and find mine.
Only for half a second.
But I feel it.
Feel like I’ve been caught doing something forbidden—like admiring the owner of the hotel who helped me yesterday but who probably thinks I’m annoying and too fancy for country life.
He looks away immediately and continues talking as if nothing happened.
Perfect. Better this way.
“Ah, sweetheart, good morning!” Rosa appears among the tables, smiling like she’s been waiting for me.
When she smiles, it feels like all the Christmas decorations suddenly have purpose. Rosa is warm, kind, and has the energy of an aunt who hugs you tightly and feeds you as if it were her sacred duty.
“Did you sleep well?” she asks, placing a gentle hand on my arm.
“I slept wonderfully,” I say honestly. “I don’t think I’ve ever slept somewhere so peaceful.”
“I can imagine,” she laughs. “Silence here is almost sacred. Come, sit with me. Let’s have breakfast together.”
We head to an empty table by the window, and I’m instantly charmed by the view of the lake and the frost-covered pines.
Before sitting, I go to the buffet and grab a bit of everything: homemade bread, berries, scrambled eggs, corn cake. Rosa takes only a coffee—because she “already ate earlier”—but I don’t believe her for a second. She looks like the type to drink five coffees before noon.
When we finally sit, I barely take a bite before someone speaks.
“Oh, who’s this darling?” asks a short elderly woman with perfectly white hair at the next table. She beams at me with contagious enthusiasm. “You’re new here!”
“Very new,” replies her friend, a tall lady in a dramatic red coat and golden-framed glasses. “I would’ve remembered this pretty face.”
Rosa chuckles and touches my shoulder.
“Ladies, this is Alice. She arrived yesterday. She’s staying here alone because…”
She looks at me, asking silently if she can continue.
I nod.
“…because she’s pregnant and decided to spend Christmas here,” Rosa finishes sweetly.
“Pregnant?” both women exclaim at the same time, as if it were the best news of the century.
“Yes,” I say, smiling shyly. “Still in the first trimester.”
The short lady claps her hands.
“Oh, sweetheart, congratulations! You’re going to be a wonderful mother, I’m sure of it!”
The other nods dramatically.
“And how brave, traveling alone like this! But you did the right thing. Nothing like fresh air and silence for the baby to grow strong.”
Rosa beams, proud, as if I were her cherished niece.
“Alice is rebuilding her life,” she says warmly. “A strong woman.”
I swallow a bite of cake, my chest tightening a little.
The ladies begin rambling about motherhood, baby names, swollen ankles, and even give me tips for leg cramps. I’m trying to keep up when heavy footsteps stop near the table.
Then he appears.
Marco.
“Are you three doing alright here?” he asks the ladies, offering a half-smile that makes him even more handsomely unbearable.
Maria—the short lady—smacks his shoulder. His shoulder! As if he were her nephew.
“We’re perfect, my son. As always,” she says proudly.
The other lady leans forward and points straight at him.
“But you should take the chance to find yourself a good woman like this one,” she declares, pointing at me. “You’re getting old.”
I nearly choke on my coffee.
Marco’s face shifts between shock and… embarrassment?
I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing.
He glares—not at the ladies, but directly at me.
“Something funny, Alice?”
The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine.
I lift my chin, trying to look confident.
“Nothing at all. I just find it interesting that a pregnant woman like me is still younger than you. Must be hard to keep up with all this… vitality.”
Marco blinks, incredulous. The ladies hold their breath.
“Vitality?” he repeats.
“Mhm.” I smile innocently. “But don’t worry. Age doesn’t define you. I’m sure you still have plenty of… stamina.”
The ladies burst into laughter.
Marco looks like he’s debating whether to laugh or walk away.
“You really like provoking, don’t you?” he murmurs low enough for only me to hear.
“I only return what I’m given,” I shrug.
He rolls his eyes, exasperated.
“Enjoy your breakfast,” he says to the ladies only. “I’ll check on the kitchen.”
He walks away with firm steps, broad shoulders tense.
The ladies sigh like they’ve just watched a soap opera scene unfold.
Rosa leans toward me, smiling knowingly.
“Don’t mind him,” she says gently. “Marco has a good heart. Life just got a bit heavy for him… but he’s better than he looks.”
I look toward the direction he left.
“I don’t mind,” I say, stirring my coffee. “He’s not my type anyway.”
But my cheeks burn.
Because deep down —no matter how much I deny it— I know exactly how attractive Marco is.
And how big of a problem that might become.
- Writer
