I climb out of the truck, crunch through the powder to the porch. Bear greets me at the door, tail thumping, oblivious to the fact that his human is having some internal meltdown.
Inside, I build up the fire, pour a finger of whiskey I don’t drink, and sit on the couch staring at the flames.
My mind replays the night in slow motion.
Her laugh when I finally cracked a real smile. The way her fingers brushed mine when we both reached for our glasses. The almost-kiss in the snow, her breath warm on my lips, her eyessparkling under the streetlights. The way she looked at me like I was something special.
I rub a hand over my face. I’m in trouble. Deep, beautiful, terrifying trouble.
I pull out my phone again.
Me:Night, Katy. Dream sweet, too.
I add a sun emoji. Then I delete it. It’s too much. Then I add it back. Fuck it. I hit send.
The phone stays silent. She’s probably asleep.
I lean back, close my eyes, and let the fire warm my skin while the memory of her keeps warming everything else.
I’m smiling, actually smiling, and I don’t even try to stop it.
Chapter four
Katy
I wake up smiling before my eyes are even open.
The cabin is still dark, the kind of pre-dawn hush that makes every small sound feel intimate—the soft creak of the logs settling, the faint whistle of wind under the eaves. My phone is face-down on the nightstand, and I reach for it blindly, heart already doing that stupid fluttery thing it’s been doing since last night.
One new message.
Nathan:Night, Katy. Sweet dreams, sunshine.
Sent at 12:47 a.m.
I grin so wide my cheeks hurt.
I type back before I can overthink it.
Me:Good morning, mountain man. Woke up smiling because of last night. Can’t stop thinking about you. ??
I hit send, then flop back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling beams with a giddy laugh bubbling out. This is ridiculous. One non-date, and I’m already floating. But there’s something about him, steady, quiet, and with just enough edge to make my pulse race. I want more. So much more.
I throw on my robe, walk to the kitchen, and start the coffee maker. While it brews, I text Jess.
Me:FaceTime. Now. Emergency level: Nathan texted me.
The call connects in seconds. Jess’s face fills the screen, her hair in a messy bun, still in pajamas, coffee mug in hand.
“Tell me everything,” she demands, no hello needed. “From the second I ditched you like the hero I am. Did he kiss you? Did he growl? Did he take you home and ravish you on the couch? I need details, Katherine.”
I laugh and settle at the small table by the window, snow dusting the pines outside. “No ravishing. Yet. But, oh my God, Jess. It was magic.”
“Magic? Details, woman!”
I pace the kitchen while I talk, coffee forgotten, telling her everything.
“He almost kissed me,” I whisper, like saying it too loud might jinx it. “Right outside my car. In the snow. And then he just stopped. Looked at me like he was trying to memorize my face. And said goodnight like it hurt him to do it.”
