“Numbers and letters jump around on me. Always have. But that's not acceptable for a Northwood heir.” His jaw tightens. “My younger brother runs it all now.”
“So you came up here?”
He meets my eyes, and the intensity makes my breath catch. “The mountain doesn't care if I read slow or mix up numbers.”
“Your family's wrong,” I say fiercely, surprising myself. “You saved my life yesterday. You can read weather patterns and navigate in a blizzard and make perfect eggs and—” I stop, my cheeks hot.
That almost-smile appears. “Perfect…eggs? I’ll add that one to my resumé.”
“Shut up.” But I'm smiling too. Our knees are still touching under the table.
The power flickers, then dies, and the cabin plunges into gray storm-light. Comet raises his head and woofs.
Beau stands. “Power’s down. I need to get the generator going.”
“I'll help.”
“You will not.” He grabs his coat and heads outside before I can protest.
Beau comes back in after fifteen minutes, shedding layers. He surprises me by sitting next to me instead of the chair. Our thighs press together through the layers, the heat radiating from his body.
“Beau?”
“Mm?” He's staring at the fire, seemingly unaware that I'm fighting the urge to climb into his lap.
“Thank you. For sharing your space and looking after me.”
He turns to look at me, and we're so close the gold flecks in his dark eyes glint in the firelight. “Clara…”
Comet chooses that moment to jump on us both, soaking wet and freezing, shaking snow everywhere.
“Comet!” Beau groans, but he's laughing, and it transforms his face.
I'm laughing too, even as I'm pelted with freezing dog water. “Where did he even go?”
“Dog door, out the back. He likes to play in the snow.” Beau grabs a towel, trying to dry the wiggling Lab. “Hold him still?”
I wrap my arms around Comet while Beau towels him off, and our hands keep touching, sending sparks through me each time. When the dog is finally dry and settled by the fire, Beau doesn't move back to his side of the couch.
“Are you cold?”
“I'm okay.”
But he pulls the quilt around both of us. We're wrapped together, his arm along the back of the couch, my side pressed against his. I should move away. Instead, I let myself lean into him, just a little.
“Tell me about what you do. Did you always want to be a photographer?”
I tell him about the camera I got for Christmas as a kid and how excited I was. Then about how I made money to get through college taking wedding photos and working my way up the corporate ladder. How I’d always wanted to go freelance, but stayed when the company started talking about the Creative Director position. Beau listens without judgment, occasionally asking questions. His thumb starts tracing small circles on my shoulder through the quilt, probably unconsciously, but it's driving me to distraction.
“Do you miss your family?” he asks.
“Every day. They want me to settle down. So it's easier to miss them than to disappoint them by showing up still single.”
“You're not disappointing anyone, Clara.”
The way he says my name, low and certain, makes heat pool in my stomach. I turn to look at him and find his face inches from mine. His eyes drop to my lips, and I stop breathing.
The fire pops loudly, breaking the moment. He clears his throat, stands abruptly. “I need to check the generator again before we go to bed.”
