“Yeah,” I sighed. “You’re in trouble, Benedict.”
My stomach twisted to remind me that I was walking right back into something I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.
But promises were easy to make when she wasn’t standing in front of me.
And right now, she was probably pacing in the apartment above the bar, muttering about how late I was, pretending she wasn’t excited to see me.
The thought made me grin.
“Dinner,” I told myself again, grabbing my keys. “You’re just going to dinner. She’s going to insult your outfit, roll her eyes at your jokes, and you’re not going to care because you’re a grown man with self-control.”
I paused, hand on the door handle.
“Yeah,” I said with a laugh. “That’s a lie.”
The wind howled outside, rattling the eaves, but the cabin felt warm for once. Alive, almost.
I turned off the lights, locked up, and stepped back into the storm.
Somewhere between the falling snow and the sound of the river, I realized I wasn’t nervous about seeing her…I was excited.
And that scared me more than anything else, but I wasn’t going to jump to any conclusions.
It was merely dinner.
By the time I made it back into town, Reckless River was half buried in snow. The streetlights glowed amber through the falling flakes, the world muffled and soft. I slowed as I turned down Main, tires moving over packed ice, and there it was.
The Rusty Stag stood on the corner, its windows fogged and warm, twinkle lights glowing faintly through the haze.
Familiar. Steady. Mine.
But tonight, it wasn’t the bar I was focused on. It was the apartment above the building.
That apartment used to be Lydia’s back before Callum finally stopped being a stubborn idiot and she stopped pretending she wasn’t in love with him. Once they’d moved into the house near the river, she started renting the space to tourists and friends passing through.
And this week, that friend was Melanie.
My pulse kicked up a notch as I turned down the street and parked behind the building. The staircase leading to the apartment was half-covered in snow, the old wood creaking under my boots as I climbed. The cold bit through my jacket, the wind cutting sharp and clean, but it was a small price to pay for the anticipation burning in my chest.
I paused at the top landing, brushed the snow from my shoulders, and knocked.
No answer.
I frowned and knocked again, a little louder. The only sound was the wind.
For a split second, I wondered if she’d stood me up. It wouldn’t have been the first time she bailed when things started feeling too real. My hand hovered over the doorknob, half-tempted to try it, when I finally heard movement inside, followed by a string of swearing that would’ve made a sailor proud.
I grinned. “There she is.”
A few seconds later, the lock turned and the door cracked open.
And then she was there.
Every smart, logical thought I’d had on the drive over evaporated on the spot.
She was barefoot, hair tousled from sleep, eyes still heavy-lidded and warm. The lamplight behind her caught on the curve of her cheek and the shine of her lip gloss, and my brain just… stopped.
“Hey,” she said, blinking like she was still catching up. “ I…oh my word, what time is it?”
