We lie there for another moment, the silence between us easy. Outside, the snow’s stopped. Sunlight filters weakly through the frosted windows, and despite last night’s storm, for once, the world doesn’t feel quite so cold.
Eventually, Nathan pushes up from our makeshift bed and pulls on the sweatpants he’d tossed aside last night. He moves around the cabin, bare-chested, a man of quiet efficiency. He stokes the fire again, sets the kettle on, and finally checks his phone. Out of habit, I wonder, or needing the distraction? I watch him from beneath the blanket, heart tugging at the quiet efficiency of his movements—the way he seems half on duty even when he isn’t.
“You don’t know how to relax, do you?” I tease lightly, pulling the blanket tighter around me.
He glances back at me, eyes dark and amused. “Relaxing when you’re around? Not an option. Relaxing got me stuck cleaning up after stolen goats, sparkler explosions, and runaway parade floats. Some habits die hard.”
I bite my lip, smirking despite the heat crawling up my cheeks. “Some things never change, huh?”
“Nope,” he growls, low and teasing. “Some things, somepeople—,” he points at me, “are chaos incarnate. And somethings, I wouldn’t trade for the world. But if you tellanyoneI said that, I will deny it.”
I stand, wrapping his blanket around my shoulders like a robe and padding barefoot across the floor. “Coffee ready yet?”
“Yeah.” He pours two mugs full and hands one to me, fingers brushing against mine. “You take sugar?”
I raise a brow. “Do I look like a sugar person?”
“Yes,” he says, eyes flicking over me slowly, the word somehow heavier than it should be. “Lots and lots of sugar. Probably sweet cream, too,” he smirks.
“Okay. You’re right. Two sugars and extra cream,” I sigh and ignore his dirty innuendo before I end up spread out on the countertop or kneeling at his feet.
Nathan laughs and hands me a sugar shaker, then reaches into the fridge for creamer. “Lucky for you, the power wasn’t out long enough for this to spoil.” He pours some in my cup, then in his.
“Is it weird that I imagined you drinking your coffee bold and black. Like your soul.” I bite my lip and try not to laugh.
He stares at me, mouth agape, until I burst into giggles like a school girl. Why on earth doesthisman have this kind of effect on me?
“You really can’t give a man a single moment of peace, can you?” He smirks back at me.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
He shakes his head and polishes off his coffee before pulling out a cast-iron skillet. “How about I make us some bacon and eggs?”
I tug the blanket tighter around me. “You cook?”
“Managed not to burn the pizza last night, didn’t I?”
A few minutes later, the sound of bacon sizzling fills the quiet, and I lean against the counter, watching the flex of his back and the easy confidence in how he moves. Everything abouthim is quiet strength and control, and I can’t decide if it calms me or drives me crazy.
He glances back, catches me watching him, and shakes his head. “You’re staring, Pope.”
“Maybe I just can’t believe I’m here right now,” I say softly.
That earns me a low, warm sound—half laugh, half groan. “Trust me. You’re here.” He sets down the spatula and steps away from the stove long enough to place a kiss on my lips before returning to flip the bacon.
I take a sip of coffee. “You really weren’t expecting to find me in a snowbank last night, were you?”
“Not exactly on my checklist,” he admits. “You scared the hell out of me, Tessa.”
Something in the way he says my name—low, careful—makes my chest tighten. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know,” he says quietly. Then his eyes lift to mine. “But every time I think I’ve got you figured out, you remind me that you don’t do what you’re supposed to.”
I smile into my cup. “Would you like me better if I did?”
His gaze lingers on my mouth before he looks away. “I think that’s the problem. I already like you too much.”
That hits harder than I expect. “You’re not supposed to say things like that.”
