Ripley took a seat at the counter, resting his head on his palm, watching me cook. I shivered, feeling his eyes on me. While I intended on spending the break alone, having him here felt more natural than an empty cabin. He was meant to be here, sharing my space and my food, all along.
Still, I would wait for a sign.
“I have some humans in my family. I’ve never thought about New Year’s that way. Huh. Can I askwhat’s in the oven?”
“Oh,” I laughed, glancing at the oven. The light was on inside. “It’s a couple loaves of sourdough and an almond cake.” I bit down on my bottom lip, wanting to ask him if he liked those things. I hoped he did. I craved his acceptance and approval, and I never cared about that before. Still, this omega had some self-respect.
“It all smells like heaven. I hope you’re not cooking all of this because of me. I’d hate to make you go out of your way.”
I turned to face him after putting the lid on the pot. “Ripley, I am a baker. That’s my job. Baking cookies and sweets is my first passion, and cooking everything else is my second. Even if you weren’t here, this menu would still be on the table. Besides, it’s okay to go out of your way for others.”
He nodded and walked to the window, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “It’s really coming down.”
I agreed with a hum. Speaking of, I had some things to do. Gather more firewood, primarily. “Would you mind keeping an eye on things while I fill up thefirewood stores? I don’t want to go outside for the next few days if I can help it.”
Despite my warmer shifter temperature, I slipped on my jacket and put on a hat and gloves. My wolf helped with the temperature, but even he couldn’t form a complete barrier against my human skin and the bitter cold.
“Can I help you instead?” Ripley touched my biceps, and my body naturally swayed, leaning into the minor touch. Blood flow rushed to my cock, and my limbs broke out in tingles.
“Sure,” I choked out. “The bread was just put in and the stew is on low.” I checked my watch to make note of the time. If we were gone beyond twenty minutes, the cake would overcook. “Thank you.”
Ripley followed me. With him helping, the firewood would be brought in shortly. Usually, when I was by myself, it took a while. I certainly couldn’t have anything in the oven then. He glanced over at his truck when we made our way through the yard. A blanket of thick snow was drapedover it, making it look like one of those little Christmas truck decorations everyone raved about.
“It’s over here. A few loads should be enough. Here.” I laid the firewood sling on the ground and piled logs into it.
“You have this delivered?” he asked, grabbing three at a time.
“The firewood? No. I cut all of this myself. See?” I pointed to the log splitter. “That does most of the work for me.”
The alpha nodded with a grunt. “You’re a hard worker.”
I always had been one. Still, I bloomed under the compliment. “I try my best. My fathers always worked hard. I got it from them, I suppose.”
“My brother was the hardest worker I knew.” Ripley’s brow wrinkled, and his eyes grew dark. He shook his head. Did he not mean to say that?
I wouldn’t push. “I think that’s enough for now. I have a stash on the porch as well. If we run out of this, we can reach for that huge pile. Let’s put it in the back.”
I led him to the back door and into the mudroom with spots for our dirty boots and a place to stash the firewood, out of the way. “How does it smell better now than a few minutes ago?” Ripley chuckled and moved to put the last log in.
His fingers brushed mine.
I sucked in a gasp. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Tremors quaked through my body.
“Jude,” he whispered, and my knees wobbled.
“Ripley.”
Chapter Nine
Ripley
With enough wood stacked up to last for a good while, I followed Jude back into the cabin, once again struck by the Christmas decorations but able to move past it, at least for a little while. The scents of bubbling elk stew, fresh sourdough bread, and almond cake had my stomach rumbling, and the omega’s presence held me grounded as well.
“If you eat like this all the time, how do you not weigh a ton?” I asked, breathing it all in. “Especially with the cookies and cakes.”
“I don’t eat it all.” He stirred the stew. “Or I’d never make a living. Oh, I taste test, but the only time I bake for the purpose of enjoying it myself is now, when I’m on vacation. I figure the baker deserves it.”
“I never thought about it like that. But most of what crosses my path are the boxes of donuts or maybe bagels I buy for the crews on my projects. Usually on Fridays.”
