Nathan scratches behind the dog’s ears. “He’s been pacing since I told him you were coming.”
I drop to my knees to love on Bear, laughing when he tries to lick my face. “Hi, handsome. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”
Nathan watches us, something soft flickering across his face. “He likes you.”
“I like him too.” I stand, brushing dog hair off my jeans. “Smells amazing in here.”
“Hope it tastes as good.” He leads me to the kitchen. A pot simmers on the stove, a loaf of bread cooling on the counter. Two plates are set at the small table by the window. Candles, actual candles, are lit in the middle of the table.
My heart squeezes. “You made all this?”
“Roast chicken. Potatoes. Green beans. Bread from the bakery in town.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Nothing fancy. Just wanted it to be nice.”
“It’s perfect.” I step closer. “You’re perfect.”
He exhales shakily. “Katy…”
I don’t let him finish.
I rise on my toes, slide my hands up his chest, and kiss him.
It’s soft at first—testing, tentative. Then he makes a low sound in the back of his throat and pulls me closer, one arm banding around my waist, the other cupping the back of my neck. His mouth opens over mine. It’s warm, hungry, and tastes like mint and promise.
Every inch of me melts into him.
His kiss is everything I imagined and more. He kisses like he’s been waiting years to do it, and he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
I press closer, fingers tangling in his hair, moaning softly when his tongue sweeps mine.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
He rests his forehead against mine. “I’ve been thinking about that since last night.”
“Me too.” I kiss the corner of his mouth. “Worth the wait.”
He chuckles—low, rough, real. “Dinner’s gonna burn.”
“Let it.”
He kisses me again, harder this time, backing me against the counter. Hands roam. My sweater rides up. His palms find bare skin. I arch into him, gasping when he lifts me onto the counter, stepping between my thighs.
We’re a mess of heat and want and laughter when the oven timer beeps, shrill and insistent.
He groans against my neck. “Food first.”
I laugh, breathless, happy. “Deal.”
We eat at the small table by the fire. The chicken is tender and flavorful, the potatoes are crispy, and the wine he poured without asking if I wanted any is perfect. Conversation flows easily. I tell him about a client who wants their website to “feel like a hug,” and he shares a story about Bear chasing a squirrel up a tree and getting stuck barking at it for hours. We laugh—me loud and bright, him low and real.
After dinner, we do the dishes together, our shoulders brushing, stolen glances turning into stolen kisses.
When the last plate is put away, he takes my hand. “Walk with me? Outside? Before it gets too dark.”
“Yes.”
We bundle up and step into the crisp air. Snow crunches under our boots as we wander a short trail behind the cabin, stars pricking through the twilight. His hand in mine feels right. Steady.
Under a cluster of pines, he stops, turns me to face him. “I’m glad you came.”
