The forestgreen bodysuit clung to my curves, the V-neck plunging low enough that I reflexively tugged it higher every time Teddy’s gaze drifted south of my collarbones.
Which was often.
According to my ex-husband, he’d only had enough time to grab the essentials from the other cabin, wanting to get back before the snow got worse. Turned out, he and I had vastly different views on what constituted “essentials.”
In addition to my medications, toiletries, makeup, glasses, and several pairs of socks, Teddy had inexplicably packed the romance novel I’d been reading, all my lingerie, three low-cut bodysuits, and a single pair of jeans.
Not the oversized sweaters or comfortable leggings.
Just silk, lace, and the bodysuits I’d only packed at Addie and Sky’s urging, intending to layer them beneath something much warmer. At the time, I hadn’t given much thought to their sudden interest in my wardrobe. But it didn’t take a genius to see that this had likely been the outcome they’d been hoping for all along.
“Looks like there’s another storm system developing,” Teddy muttered between bites of casserole, phone glued to his palm.
Great.
“Maybe it’ll hold off until the girls make it here,” I said, more to break up the silence than any sense of misplaced optimism. Teddy had taken the snowmobile to reach the other cabin earlier and said the roads were completely impassable by vehicle. With DIA shut down indefinitely, the odds of our daughters, much less anyone else, making it today were slim to none.
He offered a noncommittal grunt in response.
We’d been playing this game since we sat down. Polite small talk about the weather, the altitude, how the snow seemed to be picking up again, how good the casserole tasted—as though it were a new recipe and not one I’d perfected in the nineties. Measured tones. Careful distance. As if we hadn’t been pressed against each other in the hallway a half-hour ago, my towel on the floor and his hands everywhere.
A flush crept up my throat at the memory, and I turned back to the half-eaten slice of casserole on my plate. The silence felt heavier than the snow piling up outside. Every time I glanced up, his gaze was fixed on me—sometimes on my face, sometimes lower, but always with the intensity of a man trying very hard not to say something. Or do something. Maybe both.
He polished off the rest of the casserole on his plate before taking a drink of coffee, cradling the mug in his hand as his fingers were too large to fit through the handle. I couldn’t stop staring at them, couldn’t stop the heat that coiled in my belly at the memory of those same fingers threading through my wet hair, cupping my jaw, sliding down to my?—
I cleared my throat and pushed my chair back. “There’s more. If you want it.”
Teddy’s head jerked back, his brow furrowed as if I’d suggested something scandalous instead of offering him seconds.
“The casserole,” I clarified when the double meaning became clear, the flush migrating up to my cheeks. “Do you want more?”
“Yeah. I do.”
The way he said it made me think we weren’t talking about breakfast anymore.
I stood, grateful for the excuse to put some distance between us. The kitchen wasn’t far—just a few steps from the dining area in the open-concept space—but it felt like crossing a minefield. I could feel his eyes on me as I moved, tracking every sway of my hips.
“Thanks,” he said as I passed his plate across the table before settling back into my seat.
“Oh my God. Did Theodore Riggs just thank me?” I asked, dramatically peering out the large window behind him. “Didn’t realize Hell had frozen over as well as most of Colorado.”
He took a bite, his eyes closing briefly like he was savoring it. Or maybe he was trapped in the same memory loop I was. The movement of his throat as he swallowed shouldn’t have been sexy, and yet I couldn’t look away. He leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might have been a smile. “Been known to have manners. On occasion.” His gaze dropped to the V of my neckline, lingering long enough to drive home his point before he licked a stray crumb from the corner of his mouth.
My entire body clenched in response.
This was ridiculous. We were grown adults with decades of history between us. We’d slept in the same bed for more than half our lives, raised three children together, seen each other at our absolute worst. And yet here we were, acting like teenagers who’d just discovered what bodies were for.
My phone buzzed on the table beside me, saving me from whatever was happening between us. I snatched it up, unsurprised to see a series of texts from Addie and Sky.
I knew the brief ‘everything is fine’ message I sent before we sat down to eat wouldn’t be enough to satisfy them.
Sky
PROOF OF LIFE REQUIRED IMMEDIATELY
mom if you can read this and aren’t being buried alive in the snow send a sign or an emoji
Addie
