I step closer, hands on my hips. “Come on, get on.”
His brows shoot up. “What?”
“Get on,” I repeat, turning around and bending a little. “Piggyback. You’ll make it worse if you keep limping.”
He scoffs, but it’s weak. “I can walk?—”
“Not asking,” I interrupt, turning around and crouching down a bit more. “Come on, pretty boy. Before I change my mind and haul you over my shoulder… like an actual caveman.”
He groans dramatically but finally loops his arms around my neck. The second his chest presses to my back, I hook my hands under his thighs and lift. He’s lighter than I expect, all warmth and laughter against my ear.
“Damn, you really are strong,” he mutters.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I say, starting forward again. “You think all the heavy lifting I do is just for show?”
“Mm, no, I think you just like showing off. ”
I huff a laugh, tightening my hold on his legs. “You complaining?”
“Nope. Not even a little.” He rests his chin on my shoulder, voice dropping low. “You smell good.”
“If you’re into that sweat and smoke scent. Sure.” I chuckle.
“More like citrus and smoke,” he whispers. “It’s perfect.”
We fall quiet again, and for a few minutes, the only sound is the steady crunch of snow beneath us and his warm breath on my neck. Every now and then, he presses a lazy fabric-covered kiss to my jaw or cheek, and it makes my insides flutter.
Butterflies, really?
Man, I’ve got it bad.
When the cabin finally comes into view, lights still twinkling in the window from the tree decorations, he squeezes me tighter.
“You can put me down now,” he murmurs. “I can walk the rest of the way.”
“Not a chance, baby.”
He laughs into my ear. “Incorrigible. ”
By the time we reach the porch, I set him down gently, keeping a steadying hand at his waist. He’s flushed and breathless but smiling wide.
“See?” I say, nudging the door open. “I got you home safe and sound.”
He limps inside, muttering, “Home, huh?” under his breath like he’s testing how the word feels.
And damn, it hits something deep in me.
Home is wherever Caleb is. It could be this little cabin in the woods, or my condo in Santa Cruz, or the home where we grew up.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Home.”
He’s still catching his breath when I hand him a glass of water and hit the bathroom.
“Don’t move too much,” I call over my shoulder as I disappear down the hall.
“Yeah, sure thing, Caveman,” he teases faintly.
I grin to myself as I duck into the bathroom, stripping down fast and rummaging through the linen closet for the little surprise I stashed.
