They clear a space on the rug in front of the fireplace, setting up the board between them. As the wind howls outside and snow continues to pile against the windows, Jake feels cocooned in this moment—the dancing flames, the warm light, and Natalie’s focused expression as she arranges her tiles.
“Ladies first,” he offers, gesturing to the board.
“Such a gentleman,” she replies with playful sarcasm, but the smile that accompanies it is genuine.
The game progresses, their words crisscrossing the board. Jake finds himself deliberately choosing words that will make her laugh rather than ones that score higher points. Her face lights up when he plays WANTON across a triple word score, which she immediately counters with COJONES for an impressive sixty-four points.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Mitchell,” Jake teases.
“Me? I’m merely playing for the highest points,” she replies primly.
She howls when Jake plays TITILLATE.
Their laughter mingles with the crackling of the fire. Despite the ache in his ribs, Jake can’t remember the last time he has felt this at ease, this content. On the ice, there is always pressure—perform better, skate faster, score more. Here, with Natalie, he feels like himself. Not number thirty-one, Jacob MacDonald, but just Jake.
As the game winds down, Natalie’s yawn breaks the comfortable silence between them.
“Getting tired of winning?” he teases. The final score has her victorious by thirty-seven points.
“In your dreams, MacDonald.” She stifles another yawn. “But maybe we should call it a night. Who knows how early the power company will be able to fix things.”
“We should probably sleep down here,” Jake says, glancing around, not quite meeting her eyes. “The bedrooms will be freezing without heat.”
Natalie hesitates, then nods. “Right. Good thinking.”
Without another word, she disappears down the hall, her footsteps soft against the wood floors. Jake starts clearing space near the hearth, gathering blankets and spare pillows, assuming she’s grabbing more of the same. But then comes the low scrape of something heavy being dragged, followed by the unmistakable thump of effort.
He rounds the corner just in time to see her—a small, stubborn force of nature—flashlight clutched between her teeth, shoving the guest room mattress into the hallway with the determination of someone taking on a wild animal. Her whole body is braced against it, legs planted, shoulders straining, like she’s wrestling a bear. It’s absurd. She’s barely five feet tall, and the mattress looks like it could swallow her whole.
He starts to step in, but she throws him a glare so sharp he freezes mid-stride, hands lifting in surrender as he backs away.
“At least let me hold the flashlight, you absolute menace,” he jokes. She removes it from between her teeth and wipes it on her sweater, handing it to him grudgingly.
“I refuse to let you sleep on the floor,” she huffs, dragging the mattress the rest of the way into the living room and toppling it over near the fire. “You’ll hurt your ribs.”
Together, they build two makeshift beds on top of the mattress, leaving a respectable distance between them. Jake lies back, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about how many times he’s imagined being close to Natalie at night. Just never like this—trapped by a storm, divided by unspoken rules.
He watches the firelight flicker over the only woman he wants but can’t have.
“Your brother would kill me if he knew I was here,” Jake says, attempting levity, but he can hear the strain in his voice.
Natalie rolls her eyes. “Jesse needs to mind his own business. Besides, you’re a friend stranded by a storm. Nothing more.”
Nothing more. The words echo in his chest, a hollow pang following them. Of course, that’s all they were—friends.
Natalie is quiet for a moment.
“What’s the worst thing you’re afraid of?” she asks suddenly, her voice quiet over the popping of the fire.
Jake turns his head toward her. The firelight catches half her face in amber light, leaving the rest in shadow. He could give her the easy answer—heights or career-ending injury. He reminds himself he owes her full-disclosure. And something about the night, the isolation of the storm, pushes the bitter truth to his lips.
“Wanting something I know I shouldn’t have,” he says, the words hanging in the cool air between them.
Natalie turns to face him, her pillow pressing into her cheek and eyes meeting his, holding for a long moment. He could see the question there, the same one that had been building between them for months.
“We should get some sleep,” she says finally, rolling to her side, facing away from him.
“Yeah,” Jake agrees, though sleep feels impossible with his heart drumming against his tender ribs.
