“Thanks,” he says, “but I’m just gonna thaw my pipes.”
Yep. Makes sense. Sounds like a more normal solution than me delightedly asking a stranger to come over for showers.
“Well, sorry again for everything,” I tell him. “I’ll make sure to read the email properly next time I book an Airbnb.”
Ivan makes a noise in his throat, already heading for the door. “I better get going.”
“Bye…sorry again!”
He’s already out the door. I hear his heavy footsteps descending the stairs outside, and I can’t resist heading to the window to watch him go. My gaze lingers on his broad back, his insanely wide shoulders as he walks into the snowy trees. He moves a little stiffly, limping slightly. I didn’t notice it when he was up here with me, but he seems to avoid putting too much weight on his left leg.
As I’m musing over this, Ivan suddenly stops walking and looks back over his shoulder. Straight up at the cabin. His eyes seem to pierce the window, rooting me to the spot.
Can he see me from here?
Before I can duck down and hide, he’s already turned around. A moment later, the trees swallow him up. I stare at the place where he vanished for a beat too long before I finally pull myself together and move away from the window.
Focus, Ruby.
Time to unpack.
It doesn’t take long to empty my suitcase and put away the groceries I bought. Then I get a fire going. Ivan has left plenty of firewood, along with a box of matches and some kindling. A blaze is roaring in no time, and I curl up on the couch with one of the books Sophia lent me. But even faerie smut can’t stop me thinking about Ivan.
“His huge cock plunged into her, hitting that delicious spot again and again. The sounds that ripped from Lyrielle’s throat weren’t Fae or human. They were something deeper, more primal…”
Definitely not helping. I close the book, my thighs clenching together. I planned to spend my time in the cabin reading, relaxing, maybe reconnecting with nature. But I can’t relax. My mind is racing and I don’t know why. It’s like something about Ivan got under my skin and made a home there. Now I can’t think of anything else.
I get off the couch with a sigh and head into the kitchen. The box of cookie mix I bought earlier sits on the counter, and an idea hits me as I look at it. They were meant to be for Christmas…but maybe I could bake them now and give them to Ivan. An apology for what happened earlier.
And an excuse to see him again…
Not that he needs to know that.
I turn on the oven, then pour the mix into a bowl and add eggs and softened butter until it makes a dough. Then, grabbing a knife from the drawer, I carefully cut the dough into Christmas tree shapes. Ivan doesn’t seem like the festive type, but at least it shows I put a little effort in. I didn’t trust myself to bake cookies from scratch—kitchens turn into disaster zones with me around.
The pack says to bake for fifteen minutes, so I push the tray into the oven and head back to the couch, delving into the faerie smut once more. I wasn’t expecting to get so invested in Lyrielle and Thalior, but their story is actually pretty hot.
Ivan would look hot with wings…
Ugh, stop it, Ruby!
I keep reading, absorbed in another sex scene. I don’t realize anything is wrong until I smell burning. The sad, acrid smell of burned cookies.
“Shoot!”
I toss the book aside and hurry to the kitchen, pulling the cookies out of the oven. They’re black as coal, turning the air smoky and bitter. I set the baking sheet on the counter and reach for the window. It’s stuck, frozen solid against the frame.
Crap.
The smell is choking me in this stuffy little kitchen, and I keep pushing until finally the window shifts a little in its frame. I grab the latch, and with one last push, the window flies open…and the latch comes off in my hand.
“Oh, come on!”
The window swings wildly in the wind, icy air billowing into the kitchen. I try to pull it shut, but without the latch, it hangs open. The smell might be dissipating a little, but the temperature is dropping fast. I’m already shivering.
With a groan of resignation, I leave the kitchen and close the door. But the cold is already seeping through the doorframe and into the living room. I huddle by the fire, grimacing as realization settles over me. I’m going to have to find Ivan and ask him to fix my window.
And all I can offer him is a sheet of blackened Christmas trees.
