“They said it wasn’t going to hit until tomorrow,” she says with a shivery shrug.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“If I hadn’t come, you would have been mad that I’d missed your delivery!”
“Not in a fucking blizzard I wouldn’t!”
Her pretty hazel eyes take me in, flitting across my shoulders and then taking in my biceps. Her lips twitch, and for a moment, I wonder — no. She’s not intome.I can’t look like much standing here barefoot in an old khaki t-shirt and my comfiest, well-worn jeans.
“I should get back before it gets worse,” she says, turning on her heel and rushing down the steps.
She’s nearly at her car before I dump the carton on my porch, super-speed after her and grab her by the arm.
She gasps and looks up at me. “What the?—?”
“It’s too dangerous to drive back.”
She looks down at my hand on her arm, and for a second, we just stand like that —my hand on her. It’s the first time I’vetouchedher — it’s the first time I’ve touched a human woman.
And fuck if it doesn’t feelreally nice.
She pulls out of my grasp. “What? You think I’m just going to stay here until the snow is gone? That could be days, weeks! I have to go now, or I’ll get stuck up here!”
A wind whips up, sending a spiral of white thrashing around us.
“You can’t drive in this,” I growl. “You’ll stay here with me until the storm passes. Until they clear the road.”
I can tell from the look on her face that being stuck in my cabin with me is the last thing she wants. It’s the last place she wants to be.
I was an idiot to even think it. She’s not into me. It’s her worst nightmare to be trapped here with me, but her car sliding off the mountain is mine.
“You’re staying,” I tell her. “Until it’s safe.”
I reach out a hand to help her, but she just huffs and stomps through the snow back towards my cabin.
CHAPTER 3
Clara
I’m not sure what I was expecting Knox’s cabin to look like inside, but I definitely didn’t think it would be so cozy and homey. A fluffy shag rug sits in front of a fire, surrounded by two plush, deep green couches which are covered in piles of books. A candle burns on the coffee table, and the scent of garlic and onion coming from the kitchen makes me feel like I’ve stepped not just into his cabin, but into his home.
Knox rushes the groceries into the kitchen, and I follow him. Melting snow falls from my hair, turning my sweater damp, while he examines what I’ve brought him.
“These apples are no good,” he says with a grimace.
Yep, this is what he always does.
I roll my eyes. “What’s wrong with them this time?”
“Old.”
“Well, they’re no longer in season. These are the best we have.”
“They’re bruised.”
“That’s from where you dropped them on the porch.”
He scowls up at me — his eyes are so dark green they’re almost brown. Not hazel like mine, but darker, like a deep river that’s filled with silt and covered with algae. His silty-river eyes flash in that weird glowing way they do when he’s pissed about vegetables.
