I can’t be cold if I’m submerged to my chin in a piping-hot bath. And since this isn’t the 1800s, I have hot water straight from the tap. No fire required.
The bathroom’s small but, like the rest of the cabin, it’s tastefully renovated. An antique charm still exists in the rich hardwood floors, stunning wood furniture, and muted colours used throughout. It’s something I’m sure I’ve seen on the accounts my friends are constantly reposting on their feeds—the type of influencer who wears linen dresses, collects farm-fresh eggs with a baby on her hip, and bakes sourdough bread.
Thankfully, the tap water turns hot almost instantly, and within minutes, I’m sinking into a bubble bath that thaws my frozen bone marrow.
And that’s where I stay. Drawing on my tablet. Reading a book. Staring into space. Refilling with hot water whenever it cools off too much for my liking. Cursing my best friend.
Until sometime hours later, when my eyelids are heavy and every blink is in slow motion, and I reluctantly drag myself fromthe tub. It’s a fight to pull on my clothes, thanks to violently shivering limbs and damp skin.
My teeth chatter, and I grab every clothing item from my suitcase, debating whether it would be best to cut my losses and head home. Soon I’m looking like the younger brother fromA Christmas Storywhen he’s stuffed into that snowsuit he can barely move in. Multiple pairs of pants, three sweaters, a scarf up to my nose, and a hat pulled as low as I can get it.
And for a few moments, I lie in bed, unable to get comfortable thanks to the four different waistbands creeping up my stomach in a bizarro arms-race.
“Fuck this. I’m waking him up.”
The deal was not to bother Lucas, but looking out the window and seeing a truck parked outside has me slipping into my boots without question. There aren’t any lights on in the house, but this feels like enough of an emergency to warrant waking him up. After all, it wouldn’t be a good look for his new vacation rental to have a girl die on night one—though he’d be able to tap into the ghost hunter and “spooky girl” market, I guess.
Snow swirls around in the wind, and I trudge slowly through dense snow. Absent of a moon, the inky sky provides no light, so I hold my phone out with a shivering grasp to illuminate my path to Lucas’s house. The porch stairs groan under my weight, and the light rap on his front door makes my knuckles sting.
The wind has me pawing at loose strands of hair falling over my face, and I inhale sharply through my teeth before knocking again. Harder this time.
Nothing.
I shuffle sideways to peer in the living room window. No lights. No Christmas decorations. No clutter. Nothing. It’s as if nobody lives here at all.
When the heel of my hand slamming into the wooden door doesn’t garner a response, I groan and turn back toward the cabin.
Then angels sing.
Okay, not quite. But somebodyisstomping their way downstairs. The yellowed porch light flickers on, temporarily blinding me, and the front door swings open with a gruff, “What?”
There he is. Wearing nothing but a pair of charcoal boxer briefs slung low on his hips. Hair disheveled, coarse stubble grown in thick along his jaw, and a snarl on his lip. And as thankful as I am for the opportunity to see him again, this initial reaction to having somebody at his door isexactlywhy I didn’t come over earlier.
“It’s the middle of the night,” he growls, not bothering to look at me as he rubs his eyes. “The hell do you need?”
I tug at the clothes that are suddenly incredibly tight and hot. “Um… The uh… I can’t get a fire lit.”
Taking me in, he clears his throat, brusque demeanour changing in an instant. “Doodlebug?What the—You’restaying here? Why didn’t Holly tell me you’re…Shit,come inside.”
His large palm falls to my arm—not that I can feel it through all the padding—and Lucas tugs me into the warm house. Now we’re standing in the small entryway, neither saying a word. His house smells like wood fire and vanilla. Like him. It’s cozy, and rustic, and clean.
“So…” I smack my lips. “I didn’t mean to bug you. Holly told me to stay out of your hair, but I couldn’t get a fire lit, and I took a bath but eventually started falling asleep, and I didn’t think you’d want a corpse in your new rental cabin. Also, dying in the bathtub? I know that’s how a lot of celebrities go out, but thelastthing I need is somebody finding me dead andnaked—likely in the most unflattering angle, too. So I thought you’d rather bewoken up once tonight than by my ghost every night for the rest of eternity.”
I inhale deeply as my rambling slows.
His eyebrows cinch together. “You’ve been in the cabin all day without heat? Why didn’t you come over here earlier?”
“Holly said you’ve been stressed, and you didn’t want anything to do with your rental guests. So I thought—”
“That doesn’t apply to you, Eira.” He tugs at my silk scarf, unraveling it from my neck. “You should’ve known that.”
“I didn’t want to bother you,” I say as Lucas pulls my toque off and tosses it to the floor. My hands smooth over my hair, which I’m sure looks a mess.
“Your presence would never bother me.” He shakes his head with a tight smile. “Holly made it seem like there was a stranger staying here.”
“She wanted me to act like a regular guest and give her feedback.”
He’s undressing me slowly. Layer by layer. Unzipping sweaters, unbuttoning pants. Tossing each article of clothing into a heap by the front door. And I just let it happen. I don’t even bother askingwhyI’m suddenly in nothing but a pair of leggings and a thin tank. I’m too lost in the rasp of his breathing, my own heavy exhale caught in my throat.
