As easily as the snow fell around us last night. Not falling so much as floating, swirling around before settling in like a comfortable blanket over everything. Despite how long I spent drifting, loving him was as inevitable as the January snow.
Standing up, I snag a spare blanket and wrap it around myself for the five paces to the bathroom. On the way back, I wedge a log into the fire, waiting until it ignites before spinning to face the bed. Chase is propped up on his elbow, watching me with a tilted head. Wearing a crooked smile and glazed, sleepy eyes as he pats the bed. I pad across the wooden floor, plunking onto the mattress and falling against his chest with pure contentment.
“This is the warmest and coziest I think I’ve ever been.” I nestle into the crook of his arm, wrapped in warm sheets and topped with the weight of a handmade quilt. “Let’s never leave, deal?”
“So the reason you’re normally pissy in the morning is because you’re cold? You’re somethin’ else.”
“Definitely has nothing to do with the fact that you’re usually waking me up at four in the morning.” I relax further into him, turning to putty as his knuckles stroke my thigh.
“I told you I’d slip out. You even gave me a key to lock the door behind me,” he says. “It was your choice to wake up with me.”
“Cause it feels like a booty call when you’re trying to sneak away before I wake up.”
“I came over, fucked you, and left first thing in the morning. That’s a booty call.” He laughs under his breath. “Thank God you’ve finally figured out what I’ve known all along.”
“Oh, yeah?” I look up at him, and his lips brush against my forehead. “What’s that?”
“You’re mine. From the second you spread those gorgeous legs on the hood of that car, you were mine.”
“Boy, somebody sure is cocky for”—I pick up my phone and squint at the time—“seven o’clock in the morning. You don’t own me. I’m not an object.”
“Still mine.” The muscles in his arms flex around my chest, squeezing until my breathing becomes wheezy and I’m tapping out. My hand smacks against the scarred skin next to his elbow—remnants of a twenty-year-old wound nobody bothered to care for properly. Every time I think about his past, I want to smother him with kisses and find a way to mend his heart. After last night, at least I’m finally able to do the first one. I kiss his cheek, the rough stubble on his jaw, his soft lips, the hard ridge of his nose, his forehead. Neck, chest, shoulder, clavicle, ear. I don’t stop until he’s laughing and repeatedly asking what the hell is wrong with me.
“Bring back grumpy morning Cass. At least I know what to do with her. You’re in too good of a mood this morning.” His moistened lips leave a trail of sleepy kisses down my neck and across my collarbone.
“I just…”love you?
My stomach thunders through the room, cutting me off before I say something big and scary.
“I said I want grumpy Cass, nothangryCass. I need to feed you and Little Spud before you turn feral.” He’s quiet and perfectly still for a moment, his lips hovering above my skin. Either he’s deep in thought or he just malfunctioned. “Um. Problem. Either we go to town, we eat whatever random shit we find in the bunkhouse, or… we go to the big house.” A small ripple of wrinkles forms on the bridge of his nose as he says the last words.
“I’m not responsible for the troll I’ll turn into if I can’t eat anything until we get back to Wells Canyon. What exactly is the ‘big house’ and why did your tone make it sound daunting?”
“It’s Jackson and Kate’s house, technically. But it’s more of a general hang out for everyone. At minimum, Kate, Cecily, and Beryl will be there. Good chance of seeing Austin, too. And God knows who else.”
The wind’s knocked out of me. Seeing everyone makes this real. Makes us real. “Oh.”
“I know you said you were open to dinner here a while back, but making you deal with them first thing in the morning isn’t exactly the same. I think there’s probably some cereal or Pop-Tartsor something at the bunkhouse, and I doubt anybody is there.”
“The big house has real food?”
“Yeah. Maybe not full-on breakfast, but there’s always pastries, bread, fruit…”
“You had me at ‘yeah’.” I sit up and reach for my clothes. As uncomfortable as it may be, I want to show him that the hiding and booty calls are over. I’m choosing him. “Let’s go.”
It was easy to forget how cold it is outside when I was surrounded by the dry wood heat.Holy shit, is it ever cold out. My nostrils stick togetherwith every inhale, but I don’t dare breathe through my mouth because the icy air hurts my lungs. The big house seems so much farther away on foot than it did when I drove by last night, and I clasp Chase’s large hand with both of mine to maintain balance on the icy pathway.
Covered in snow and timeless Christmas decor, the massive, white farmhouse is something plucked from aHome & Gardenmagazine.
“God, this is my dream home,” I say.
“Noted.” Chase squeezes my hand.
We climb the front porch steps, and I can so easily picture summer nights sipping a glass of wine right here. Overlooking barns and fields and…
Never mind. Now I’m envisioning spending winter nights inside. Chase opens the door and we’re greeted by the scent of fresh bread and coffee. The foyer’s warm and, despite never having been here, it feels like home. Inviting and clean and so immaculately decorated with gorgeous antique pieces. Peeking into what appears to be the living room, I see oversized armchairs littered with blankets next to a roaring fireplace. That’s exactly where I would spend every cozy, wintry night.
Following the lilting sound of voices, we traipse down the long hallway with photo gallery walls and step into the expansive kitchen. As someone whose cooking expertise doesn’t extend beyond a grilled cheese sandwich, I can’t say I’ve ever dreamed about a kitchen. But, if I did, this would be it.
