Almost.
But the snow is deep. Way deeper than when I arrived yesterday. I can tell by the buildup on the window’s ledge. We’re not going anywhere. And no one’s coming.
We’ll be alone, again, and with the way my body reacted this morning, that’s a time bomb waiting to detonate.
Footsteps thump behind me. I turn as Scott stumbles into the kitchen, shirtless, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded with sleep.
He looks edible.
He scrubs a hand over his bearded jaw. “Damn. Something smells good.”
I smile at his carefree candor. “You mean besides me?” I tease playfully.
The tension between us has shifted since last night. Maybe it’s the new day with the winter sun beating through the windows, or that we both got some much-needed sleep.
His eyes flick to mine, then down my body in a way that’s not subtle. “Well, I was gonna wait until after breakfast to tell you.”
Heat blooms low in my belly, explosive and undeniable.
Is he flirting, too?
I turn back to the stove before my face betrays too much and call over my shoulder, “You sleep okay?” in hopes of changing the subject.
He doesn’t answer right away. “Yeah. I think so. You?”
I pause before flipping a pancake. “Better than I thought I would.” I lie.
He sinks against the counter beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body again. Just a few inches, a tilt of his head, and his mouth could be on mine. The thought sends a flicker of want straight through me. It’s reckless and wildly inappropriate to have those thoughts about this man.
Which is exactly why I turn back to the stove before thepancakes scorch. “Thanks for staying last night,” I say, letting out a shaky little laugh. “Thought I was past needing emotional backup when things go bump in the night.”
He leans in and bumps his shoulder into mine gently, erasing the small distance I managed to reclaim. “Don’t worry about it.”
The tension crackles between us. It buzzes under my skin like a live wire, dangerous to the touch. A feeling that could either snap... or catch fire.
The smell of burnt batter curls up my nose, pulling me back to the moment. I flip the pancake with more force than necessary and use the excuse to step away from his gaze, which feels like it’s burning right through my sweatshirt.
“Looks like the snow finally stopped,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen window.
I’ve still got it propped open to air out the bacon smoke, though now the chill leaking in is a pleasant relief to my scorching skin.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “But not before it buried us in another foot or two of it. There’s no way we’re getting out today.”
“And no chance of anyone getting up here, either,” he adds, voice low and rough like he’s trying to hide his thoughts on the matter and failing.
My stomach does a slow somersault. The implication drapes over us, thick and inescapable, muffling the space like the snow piled up outside.
The fire in the corner crackles softly, its warmth radiating into the kitchen. The mingling scents of coffee, woodsmoke, and cinnamon syrup make the space feel like a dream. A dangerous dream I might just want to sink further into and let the delusions run free.
He doesn’t talk much in the morning, just picks at the foodwhile downing enough coffee to bring color back into his face. I watch him come to life sip by sip. The sleepy edge in his eyes fades, his mouth quirking into a familiar half-smile as the caffeine kicks in.
I get it. I’m the same way. He just happened to catch me after my two cups.
“I’ll take a shower, then head out to get more wood,” he says eventually, stretching his arms above his head. His muscles ripple through the tension, and I look away too slowly. “If we’re stuck for a few more days, we might as well be warm.”
“I just hope we don’t run out of food before the snow melts.”
He glances at me with a lazy grin. “I’ve got my shotgun with me out in the Jeep. If things get that dire, I’m sure I can hunt down something for us to eat.”
