“That sounds nice.” I stand to rinse the dishes, needing some space, but I’m unable to stop asking, “So why haven’t you had your perfect day on the lake?”
He tilts his head, considering. “I’ve gone out on it plenty. My best friend in high school had a lake house, but I guess my ideal day is more low-key. And… I haven’t met someone who’d appreciate it.”
“Ah, yeah, I get it.” I flush and look down at the dishes. “Well, they say opposites attract. Maybe you can take Ivy shopping, then head out on a boat.”
He stares at me for a second too long without saying anything. I feel him debating, lost in his head. What the hell is wrong with me? It’s not like me to blurt out something without overthinking it.
Needing to fill the silence and change the mood, I say, “Sorry for interrupting your reading.”
“I have no regrets. The book was about urban planning. Riveting stuff for midnight.”
“Two kinds of ice cream and zoning ordinances? Wow, you’re living dangerously.”
He laughs—deep and real. And something in my stomach flips.
Settling next to me at the sink, he picks up a towel and begins drying dishes. “What can I say? I contain multitudes, but I draw the line at leaving dishes in the sink. My mother would feel it and call to scold me.”
My arm brushes his, and I stumble back. Too quickly. My foot catches on the hem of my sleep pants. He reaches out to gently steady me.
“Pleasant dreams, Sydney.”
And I definitely don’t go to bed thinking about the way he said my name, slow and deliberate. Savoring each syllable as if he could taste it. Or the feel of his hand, warm and rough with calluses. Or the way his smile curves to tease that one dimple... which definitely doesn’t make warmth spread like spilled honey.
***
“Margaret,thislooksincredible.”I take in the breakfast spread. It looks straight out of a holiday magazine: flaky pastries, quiches, and carved fruit line the table in festive dishes. A poinsettia sits in the middle of it all.
“Thank you, Sydney.” Margaret beams. “Thought we should do something special, since we’re stuck inside. The town canceled the Dickens Festival.”
A proper Vermont blizzard arrived overnight. Thick snow swirls in wild patterns, obscuring everything beyond the first line of trees.
“Snow is supposed to stop soon, and Bruce down the road thinks the plows will be through by noon,” Gary says, pouring coffee. “Should we plan to ski then, take advantage of the fresh powder?”
James shifts uncomfortably at the mention of skiing. Ivy leans in to whisper, gesturing toward me.
“Syd, can James hang with you on the bunny slopes today? He isn’t much of a skier, and I want to get in some runs.”
Ivy and Mason exchange a look, like they’ve solved a minor logistical inconvenience. With us paired off, they don’t have to feel bad about leaving.
“Of course.”
“Sydney, did you make brownies?” Margaret asks, her tone light. “They look divine.”
I force a smile, trying to keep from blushing. “Yeah. I couldn’t sleep and wanted a midnight snack.”
“Careful, Syd, with that fundraiser coming up, I don’t want you feeling self-conscious in your dress.” Mason leans over and kisses my temple. “Not the best time to go up a size.”
The table goes silent.
Jules and Margaret gasp. James stiffens beside Ivy. Gary and Tom stare. Ivy stops chattering. I roll my eyes and keep eating my breakfast.
“Mason, apologize this minute,” Gary admonishes. “I raised you better than that.”
Mason glances around, shifting into his default defense. The smile that once disarmed me, I now recognize as a cover for the control he demands. His blue eyes can’t hide the cold.
“I’m just looking out for you, Syd. You hate pictures when you’re not at your best. You know, I think you’re the most beautiful woman.”
Sorry is not part of his vocabulary.
