“I was kind of hoping you’d say your name was Splinter,” she says with a hint of mirth in her voice. She’s teasing me.
I chuckle. “And what’s yours?”
“Holly Jo–Johnson,” she quickly corrects herself.
It’s not lost on me that she just lied about her last name. I think about that for a second, then quickly decide it doesn’t matter because I’m going to change her last name anyway.
“Well, Holly,” I say, liking the way her name tastes on my lips. “I have plenty of ingredients for pizza at my cabin.”
She smiles at me, and it’s the first genuine smile she’s given me since we met. It feels like a huge victory. “I’d like some pizza.”
We drive the rest of the way to my cabin in silence. As I pull into the snow-covered driveway, I can’t help the way my stomach churns. I’ve never cared what someone thought of my cabin, but I want Holly to like it.
Though I suppose if she doesn’t, it’s not that big of a deal. I’ll just tear it down and build a new one. I’ll keep building cabins until I make one that she loves and wants to call home with me.
She gasps when she sees the cabin. “Your place is beautiful.”
My heart fills with pride at her words. “Wait until you see the inside.”
I leave the warmth of the truck and hurry around to her side. She struggled with the running board earlier, and I don’t want her to slip in her wet shoes.
She’s already scrambling out of the truck though and in her haste, her balance is off. She slips, her feet sliding in those shoes just like I’d feared.
I react instinctively, my hands going around her hips to steady her. Our faces are so close that our breaths mingle, a single puff of air in the middle of the snowstorm.
My blood is electric in my veins, and a feeling of contentment washes over me now that I’m touching her. I feel like this is what I’m meant to be doing with my life, holding this beautiful curvy elf. The happiness that spreads through me is better than Christmas morning.
Her gaze goes to my lips, and my heart skips a beat. I want to close the distance between us. I need to know what her lips taste like beneath mine.
But then Killer yips, and the moment is lost. Should have named him cockblocker instead.
I set her down, reluctantly releasing my hold on her hips. She murmurs her thanks, her face down. She’s obviously feeling this attraction between us, but she’s not ready to acknowledge it yet. That’s okay. Before this snowstorm ends, I’m going to win her heart.
I reach for Killer and pass him to her, careful to keep from touching her. If I do, I might just go up in flames.
“Come on. I’ll show you around,” I tell her.
I open the front door, then step back, gesturing for her to go in front of me. It’s not that I’m a gentleman. It’s just that I love the way her dress flips up in the back, framing her perfect ass.
“Oh, it’s so warm and cheerful,” she says as she steps in.
I try to imagine my living room through her eyes. The first sight to greet her is the massive wall of bookshelves where I keep thousands of books.
I’m not just a writer. I’m obsessed with reading too. Growing up, books were my escape from darkness and pain. Now they’re my escape from the loneliness that’s clawed at me for the past few years.
My laptop and a blanket are thrown casually on the couch because I added some notes to my manuscript before I went to see Emma May. The coffee table is covered in sticky notes and doodles that I make when I can’t think of the next word or sentence that I want to type.
But my favorite feature of the living room is the wall of windows that overlooks the mountains of Courage County. It’s a peaceful view that never fails to fill me with calm and soothe me when the cabin seems too big for just one person.
Holly moves to the windows, watching the snow flurries for a few long moments. She shivers. “I’m so glad to be inside.”
I don’t say anything. I let her look over my living room, exploring everything with her gaze. I spend most of my time here, but I don’t tell her that. It’s pretty obvious. She goes to my bookshelves, runs her fingertips along the spines of my books.
She doesn’t know my pen name. But I nearly sigh when she runs her fingertips along the spine of my favorite series. I’m thinking about what it would feel like to have her fingers tracing my body the same way.
Finally, she pauses and pulls a non-fiction research book from the stack. It’s about small weaponry and simple methods of torture. Not exactly first date material. She looks at me with one eyebrow raised and says, “What is it you do again?”
Chapter 4
