“That must have been hard.”
“Oh, no! It was incredible. My childhood was very adventurous, and I feel lucky.”
His eyebrows raise at first, but then he nods in understanding. We’re both on the couch again, the same spots we were the night before. As if he’s still reflecting on my answer, he turns his face fully toward me with a quizzical look. “Wait, your mom flies planes?”
“If you’re playing the questions game again, no follow-ups allowed. Have you never played or what?”
He smiles and rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’ll use up one of my allotted questions for it, then.”
“Yes, she flies planes.”
“I’m taking one of yours away for asking if I’ve played before. But the answer is no. Not without a few drinks anyway.”
“I could use a drink.”
The silence between us is thick as my mouth starts to salivate at the mention of something to sip on. Ledger grunts as he stands from the couch, and his arms reach above his head in a long stretch. I can’t help the widening of my eyes as I watch him. His hands nearly touch the fucking ceiling when he does that. The exposed skin below the hem of his shorts is scattered in ink.
I wish I could stop staring. Ireallydo. But it feels like someone hypnotized me, and it would take a force of nature to look away.
As soon as I stand and follow him into the kitchen, I miss the warmth from the fireplace and my blanket in the living room. It’s like an entirely different climate just twenty feet away. My feet patter lightly across the cold floor, stopping in front of a cabinet with glass doors. There are several bottles inside that sound a whole lot more soothing than the cold water from the fridge that we’ve been drinking.
“Bad idea,” he warns.
“Oh, come on. Don’t be a stick in the mud.”
“I’m not, but if you get drunk and then go home and tell your parents some guy you don’t know anything about brought you to his house and got you hammered, they’re going to hate me.”
I pause my movements with a hand wrapped around a tall glass bottle full of clear liquid. “I know plenty about you. Ledger Cole. Lives on his own, likes old books, filthy boots, nice truck, has a sweet and funny mom. We’re practically friends already.”
He shakes his head with a huff.
“And why would you care what my parents think of you anyway?”
“I don’t,” he mumbles. I drop my chin and narrow my eyes at him. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a heavy breath. “Alright, fine. But this was your idea.”
I set the bottle on the counter and clap a few times. He acts like it annoys him by rolling his eyes as he moves to stand next to me, but I think there’s hidden amusement somewhere in his expression.
“Flavored vodka? No,” he says firmly, picking the bottle up and placing it back in the cabinet while twisting his face in disgust. “I didn’t even know I had that. My sister probably leftit here. She doesn’t keep drinks at the ranch with my niece around.”
“I’m hitting the jackpot, I didn’t even ask the sibling question yet.”
He pauses for a moment, biting down on his molars. His throat bobs as he swallows hard. I don’t push for more information, choosing to remain silent and let him decide for himself what he wants to elaborate on and what he doesn’t.
Maybe I’m misreading it, but based on his slowly relaxing expression, I swear there’s a new understanding between us in that moment.
After a beat, he finally leans forward to reach the top shelf, pulling down a bottle of amber liquid. Its heavy glass bottom taps on the counter. It has a black label with white antlers and Stagg Jr in bold lettering.
Ledger looks behind him toward the windows on either side of the front door. Their corners are smothered with a slow creeping frost, and if you squint and look closely, you can spot the growing snow drifts right outside.
He clears his throat, and I try not to stare at the way his shirt stretches over his broad back while he grabs two short tumblers from the cabinet. With ease, he pulls the top off the bottle.
“It’s more whiskey weather, don’t you think?”
Chapter Nine
Ledger
“I never really drink whiskey,”she admits. “Although, I went to a friend’s bachelorette party in Nashville last year. She was obsessed with pickles.”
