He hands me the plate, but neither of us makes a move to sit. We eat standing up at the kitchen counter like heathens, staring at each other.
The silence grows, the only sound tree branches scratching at the exterior of the cabin. The sun shines brightly outside. The sky clear of snow and rain.
“Thanks, for, uh, you know.” I swallow, my chest tightening. “Doing the whole handsome cowboy rescue thing and saving me.”
“I was scared.” His voice is strangled, like the words stick in his throat. He tosses another piece of bacon to Zelda, who gleefully snaps it up. “I could have moved a fucking mountain last night,” he grits out. “To get to you.”
Breath hitching, I grip my fork tighter. “I was scared too. I was pretty certain there for a little while that I’d be crushed to death by a Christmas tree.”
“Nah.” He runs a hand through his hair, surveying me, then nods over my shoulder. “You both lived to fight another day.”
I turn, following his gaze. Everything inside me lights up at the sight. I don’t know how I missed it. Propped in the corner ofthe room, screwed into a tree stand, is the fluffy, fat Christmas tree of my dreams.
Delight and joy rush through me. Hand on my heart, I spin back around. “Hank. You got it.”
“For you.” He sets his plate in the sink, then leans back against the counter, considering me. “I acted like an asshole yesterday, Bell. I should have helped you.” The tenderness in his words steals my breath.
I nod, his apology sinking into me like sunlight, and avert my focus to my plate. I scrape the remains of the eggs from one side to the other, looking for a fitting response. Looking for a way out of the old feelings suddenly sparking inside me.
Not old feelings, my brain whispers.Because they were never really gone.
“Blizzard’s over,” Hank rumbles.
I blink back to the present.
“I dug out the truck this morning. I’ll pack up and head back to the ranch after I clean up the kitchen.”
My stomach’s a ball of nerves as he takes my plate, sets it in the sink beside his. He stands next to me, scraping eggs from the pan into the trash. This close, the heat from his body seeps into me. So does his scent. He smells like well-oiled leather and snow-drenched fir trees.
No. No. I don’t want him to go.
My brain scrabbles for a way out of this lunacy. My body, instead, twists into him.
It’s so easy to still think of him as mine.
So easy to wish he was.
“You should stay,” I blurt out.
One dark eyebrow arches.
Heart in my throat, I go on. “It doesn’t feel right to make you spend Christmas by yourself. Not after you expended all your body heat on me.”
His deep chuckle vibrates through me. I shiver.
I shift against the counter, gripping it with sweaty palms. “You’re here already, right? You might as well just spend Christmas at the cabin.”
He doesn’t respond, only searches my face.
“Please, Hank. Don’t make me have a blue Christmas without you.”
The pun doesn’t land.
“Bell.” He shakes his head slightly, his face drawn, agonized.
My hope plummets. It’s what I thought. He doesn’t want to be here. With me.
“You’re right.” I retreat a step, only to have the backs of my knees hit Zelda, who’s hoovering the floor for scraps. “It’s a dumb idea. You don’t want to be here with me. I get it. I’m your ex. Why would you—”
