“And yet,” he said, grabbing the other end of the tablecloth, “here you are.”
“You’re infuriating.”
He grinned. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m freezing.”
“Sure you are.”
We finished packing up in silence, though the air between us felt anything but quiet. Every time our hands brushed, the same stupid spark flared. The snow kept falling heavier, muting the world around us until it felt like we were the only two people left standing in it.
When we finally hauled the last bin of chili supplies under the awning, I caught myself laughing again…half from exhaustion, half from something else.
He looked over, eyes crinkling at the corners. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Just…you.”
“Flattered.”
“Don’t be,” I said, though my grin gave me away. “You owe me dinner for that squirrel attack.”
He raised a brow. “Dinner?”
“Or hazard pay. Your choice.”
He smiled, slow and lazy. “You drive a hard bargain, Mel.”
“I always do.”
The snow swirled around us, soft and heavy, the world glowing gold from the streetlamps. And even though I pretended not to notice, part of me hoped the storm would last just a little longer.
Because standing there beside him, hands cold, heart warm, I wasn’t sure I wanted the night to end, and I couldn’t believe what I’d just asked him.
Chapter Ten
Drew
The drive back to my cabin was slow going, the tires crunching over a thickening layer of snow that refused to quit. Reckless River was buried under white by now, the lights from town a faint golden glow behind me. The windshield wipers squeaked, the heater rattled, and my brain wouldn’t shut up.
Callum. A dad.
That one still hit weird. My big brother, the guy who once tried to make scrambled eggs in a coffee pot, was about to be someone’s father. I should’ve been giving him grief about it, but the truth was, every time I pictured the look on his face when Lydia laughed or the way he hovered protectively around her today, it hit me in a place I didn’t know was sensitive.
I parked in front of the cabin and sat there for a minute, engine idling, snow piling on the windshield. The quiet wrapped around me in a soft, steady way, but it was too loud inside my head.
An uncle.
That I could wrap my mind around. Uncle Drew. The cool one, obviously. The one who slipped the kid extra marshmallows when Lydia wasn’t looking. But then another thought elbowed its way in—one I didn’t see coming.
What if I wanted more than that someday?
The idea hung there like fog in the cold air. I’d never pictured myself as the dad type. My lifestyle didn’t exactly scream “stable provider.” Between the bar, the odd hours, and the chaos that seemed magnetized to me, I could barely keep a houseplant alive, let alone a kid.
Still, the thought stuck. A dangerous little whisper ofwhat if.
I killed the engine and stepped out into the cold, pulling my jacket tighter as the wind swept through the pines. I walked toward the front porch, where the single string of lights I’d hung last year sagged sadly against the railing. I guess I could plug them in.
“Festive, Benedict,” I muttered, glancing at the cabin. “Really nailed the Christmas spirit this year.”
