“You don’t have to convince me,” she says softly. “I already want to try.”
“Even though it’s scary?” I ask.
“Especially because it’s scary. Because if I’m not scared, it means I’m not risking anything. And you’re worth the risk.”
I kiss her, right there in the snow, pouring everything I feel into it. When we pull apart, we’re both smiling.
“Come on,” I say, taking her hand. “Let me show you the rest of the property.”
I lead her along a path I clear through the snow, pointing out landmarks. The small shed where they store extra firewood. The covered area where summer guests can sit and enjoy the view. The fire pit that’s completely buried under snow.
“In the summer, this place must be amazing,” she says.
“It is. Completely different vibe. All green and alive. The creek down there …” I point toward a line of trees, “… you can hear it running all the time. It’s peaceful.”
“Do you come up here often? For work, I mean?”
“A few times a year. Check on the remote cabins, make sure everything’s in order. Sometimes we do training exercises in the winter.” I squeeze her hand. “Never expected to find someone like you, though.”
“Someone stranded and pathetic?” she jokes.
“Someone beautiful and brave who makes me want to be better.”
She stops walking and turns to face me. “You make me want to be better, too. Before I lost myself.”
“You’re already that person, Sloane. You just forgot for a while. But she’s still there.” I touch her chest, right over her heart. “Right here.”
Tears well up in her eyes, but she’s smiling. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”
“I don’t. I’m just saying what’s true.”
We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other, and I feel something shift between us. Deepen. This isn’t just about attraction, chemistry, or convenience. This is something real. Something that could last. If we let it.
“We should head back,” I say reluctantly. “Before we actually do freeze out here.”
“Okay. But, Jax?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For this. For showing me around. For making me feel like I belong here with you.”
“You do belong,” I tell her firmly. “Here, at the farm, anywhere I am. You belong with me.”
Her breath catches, and then she kisses me again, urgent and needy despite the cold. When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathless.
“Inside,” she says. “Now. I need you.”
“Again?” I ask, not that I’m complaining.
“Again.”
I don’t need to be told twice. We practically run back to the cabin, shedding layers as soon as we’re through the door. But by the time we reach the bedroom, the urgency has shifted into something softer. Sweeter.
We make love slowly, taking our time, and it feels different than before. More certain. Like we’re not just enjoying each other anymore. Like we’re building something that will last beyond this cabin, beyond this storm.
Later, much later, we’re back on the couch, warm and sated, playing another round of Monopoly. She’s beating me this time, which I’m pretending to be upset about but secretly love.
“You’re a Monopoly shark,” I accuse when she buys Mayfair.
