“You were … intense out there. In a good way. I’m glad you’re here, Creed. Your presence will help me make the best decision.”
“Anything for you,” I say, brushing a sweaty strand of hair off her face. I’m only half-listening to the surrounding conversation. It’s impossible for me to concentrate while I’m so close to Lyssa. I haven’t had more than a few minutes with her since I arrived. “Tell me about yesterday.”
She hesitates before meeting my eyes. “Tyler’s sweet. We took a sleigh ride, had a picnic.”
“But … it wasn’t me.” Heat surges as I lean closer to her lips. Marcus coughs again behind us. It’s softer this time, but enough for everyone to turn to him.
He waves it off with a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Still kicking.”
I glance at him, then back to Lyssa, keeping my voice low. “I hope you don’t have your heart set on Marcus. His cold or flu is getting worse.”
She nods with concern in her expression. “Fingers crossed he’ll be okay. Now, where were we?”
I inch closer, find her hand and give it a secret squeeze. “I have no idea what the rules are here. To be honest, I don’t really care. The only thing I know is I’m dying to kiss you.”
She turns, curving her lips in that way that makes my heart slam. “Maybe we’ll have a little private time, mountain man.” I hold her gaze a second longer, letting the promise sink in, before she’s whisked away by the producers.
Later, when I’m in the privacy of my room, I dig out my phone, grateful I was able to smuggle it in, and text my oldest brother Zephyr.
Me:
I know she still loves me, but if I don’t work my way back into her life soon, I’m afraid I’ll lose her.
Zephyr:
Then stop being a chickenshit. This is your shot. Don’t blow it.
I stare at the screen. He’s right. This game just got real.
Chapter five
(Age 22, six months after college graduation)
I’m twenty-two and standing in the gravel driveway outside Creed’s cabin in the kind of cold that burns your lungs. My duffel bag is already in the backseat of my beat-up Jeep, the engine still ticking as it cools. I told myself I wouldn’t cry this time. I lied.
He’s on the steps, arms crossed over that massive chest, flannel sleeves rolled to his elbows even though it’s barely twenty degrees. The porch light catches the silver flecks starting to show in his beard. He’s twenty-seven, already weathered in the way mountain men get early. Those storm-blue eyes are locked on me like he’s memorizing every inch before I disappear again.
“You’re really doing this,” he says. Not a question. Just the fact.
“Denver’s only six hours away, Creed. It’s not Mars.”
He snorts. “Feels like it when you’re gone.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I got the job. Graphic designer at that boutique agency downtown. They want me to start next week. It’s good money, good benefits, real grown-up employment. I can’t keep waitressing at the diner and hoping the tips cover rent forever.”
He steps down one stair. Close enough that I can smell pine and warm, buttery leather mixed with spice, a scent that will always make my knees weak.
“You could stay. Work remote. Or hell, open your own thing in the valley. Passion Pines needs designers. Tourists pay stupid money for logos and wedding invites.” I laugh, but it cracks.
“And live in your cabin? Play house while you’re out climbing poles in blizzards and I’m pretending I’m not terrified every time the scanner crackles with another lineman injury?”
His jaw flexes. “I’m careful.”
“You’re reckless. You always have been.” I step close enough to feel his heat through the cold. “I watched you take hits on that football field. I told everyone I was there for my brother, but I was cheering for you. Every Friday night, I had my heart in my throat, praying you wouldn’t get crushed. You still play the same way up on those poles, as though you’re immune from falling.”
He reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His rough fingers linger on my cheek. “I haven’t dropped yet. Besides, I’ve got my gear tied off, and a rescue pack to catch me if shit hits the fan.”
“But it might. And I’ll be here waiting for the call informing me something terrible happened.” My voice breaks. “I can’t do that again, Creed. Not after last winter when you were gone three days straight, and I didn’t know if you were alive until Slade finally texted me a thumbs-up emoji, as if that was supposed to make it okay.”
