“I owe him honesty,” I said. “I owe you more.”
She searched my face and must have found the truth she needed. Then she let out a long breath and curled back into me, tucking herself under my arm like she fit there because she did.
I kissed her again, longer and softer than I ever had before, and pulled the duvet up to her chin. Her breathing slowed. As she slid toward sleep, she said my name, and damn if I didn’t love the way it sounded on her lips. I lay awake longer, listening to the generator’s distant hum and the wind beating at the panes. Between her breath and the glow of the embers, a decision grounded itself in my chest. I could still go to Alaska. I could still keep my word. And I could plan for what came after.
CHAPTER 10
SIDNEY
I woketo the quiet that only comes after a blizzard. Everything outside was muffled by a thick blanket of snow. Heat prickled along my spine. Hayes’s arm looped around my waist, heavy and sure. For a few heartbeats, I didn’t move.
Last night came back in flashes: the lobby emptied of music, the wind clawing the glass, the door closing behind us, his mouth, my hands, the way the world narrowed to a circle of firelight and breath and yes. My cheeks heated. Then the reality of what we’d done crashed in: the unspoken rule, the brother who’d kill me for breaking it, the fact that Hayes had a life waiting for him that didn’t include me.
I slipped out from under his arm and tucked the covers back over his shoulder. He made a quiet sound, found my pillow, and went still again. It was barely after seven, and it was Christmas. I pulled on leggings and his flannel, rolled the sleeves, and padded to the window. Ice feathered across the glass. A plow had carved a narrow path toward the lodge, two walls of snow shouldering up on either side like guards.
“Don’t run,” he said, voice rough with sleep.
I looked back. His hair was wrecked, his eyes still heavy, and a sheet slanted across his hipbones. I tried to keep my voicelight. “I have a lobby full of sugar-cookie maniacs who need carols and cocoa. Running implies speed.”
He smiled. “Then don’t disappear on me.”
There were a hundred smart-ass ways I could have responded if I wanted to keep things light and play off last night as a one-night stand. Instead, I moved to the tiny kitchenette and fiddled with the coffeemaker because it felt easier to face boiling water than the truth in his eyes. When he came up behind me, he didn’t crowd. He just bumped a shoulder gently into mine and slipped a stolen hot cocoa packet into my hand like he was passing off a secret.
“Two parts coffee, one part cocoa,” he said. “You can thank me later.”
The first sip loosened the knot in my chest a little. We drank at the window while the mugs warmed our hands, watching morning settle over the buried pines.
“Tell me what needs to be done this morning,” he said after a minute. “Your list.”
“Extend checkouts, coordinate meals with Banquets, convince the quartet they’d rather play by the fireplace than hate their lives at the airport, send engineering cocoa and hero medals for the generator, write thank-you notes for the crew, push our photos before the influencer sets the narrative, and…” I exhaled. “Brace for fallout.”
“From?”
I just looked at him.
“Stetson,” he said, and nodded once. “I’ll tell him.”
“He’s going to take a swing.”
“Then he’ll take a swing.”
“It’s not just between you and him,” I said. “This will affect everything… my family… Iron Spur.”
He stared into his mug for a long beat. “I know.”
I wanted to ask him if he’d stay anyway, if Alaska was just a job or a plan, if last night was a detour or a destination, but the questions jammed somewhere behind my ribs. So, I set my mug down and reached for my boots. “We should go.”
The lodge had already remade itself into Christmas. The tree glittered, a fort of presents for decoration only piled underneath. Someone had set up a cookie table with bowls of red-and-green sprinkles and enough frosting to put a yeti into a sugar coma. The quartet tuned their instruments by the hearth. The second I stepped into the lobby, three different staffers beelined toward me with questions. I started answering on instinct, the work sliding over my skin like familiar armor.
“Ms. Kincaid?” The front desk manager waved me over with a look in his eyes that said he was relieved to see me standing. “We’ve extended checkouts and added complimentary brunch until two. Engineering says the east wing power is stable again. The county plows are hitting the main roads in town, and we should see a second pass before noon.” He dropped his voice. “The influencer’s already posted candlelight aisle shots. She tagged Bluebird.”
“Good,” I said. “We’ll post our own in five.” I lifted my chin toward the quartet. “Can I steal two stools from the lounge and a high-top to use as a music stand?”
“You can have my desk if you want it,” she said, already motioning a bellman.
We pushed the morning into shape: carols, cocoa, extra blankets draped over the arms of couches, thank-you cookies smuggled to engineering, a plate delivered to Harper and Rand with a note that told them to sleep in. Hayes moved through it all, hauling wood, carrying trays, lifting a little girl to put a paper snowflake on a too-high branch. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t have to. I could feel him, steady as a heartbeat, at the edge of everything.
Around nine-thirty, the plow rumbled by again. People drifted to the windows to watch, cups steaming in their hands, voices dropping. The road beyond the gate was still buried, but the drive itself was clear, two tracks of wet black cutting through white.
