I must look like a real asshole right now with this stupid dress and the jacket and the snow.
“Kara.” His voice is a grind of gravel and thunder. “You picked a hell of a night.” He gestures to the white out behind me.
“Hi.” I let out an awkward chuckle. Adrenaline brought me this far, but I don’t exactly have a script to follow here. “Long time. Weird day.” I lift the tattered skirt of my wedding dress. “So, what are you up to?” I bite the inside of my cheek.
One dark brow lifts. “Kara, I swear, only you would show up like this in a damn blizzard. Where did you come from?”
“I only meant to outrun a string quartet. But then, well, I…” I try for a laugh and get a choked little sound instead. “Can I—” I point vaguely at the warm room behind him. “Can I maybenotfreeze to death in your doorway?”
He shakes his head. Then steps back without a word and gestures for me to come in. It’s not exactly the open arms I hoped for, but I take it.
Inside, pine and woodsmoke wrap around me. The cabin looks exactly like a memory I’ve been trying not to touch. But being back here hits me like a brick. The massive oak beams, the stone fireplace, and the wooden hooks by the door take me back in time. The battered iron skillet on the stove looks like it hasn’t moved in three years.
There’s a strand of warm white lights on the mantel and a lopsided wreath that looks the opposite ofPinterest-perfect. I’d call it more,aggressively homemade. I can imagine Rustin pulling it together on December first made from the branches of one of his fallen trees.
Or maybe there’s a chance someone made it for him. My throat tightens, not that it has any right to… It’s been threeyears. There is, of course, a chance someone else lives here. Any woman would be lucky to have him. Selfishly, I hate the thought.
There isn’t very much symmetry to this thing. No bow or ornaments either. No woman would make a wreath with no bow. It has to be his doing.
Rustin kicks the door closed behind me. The wind howls and claws, but the latch holds.
He doesn’t ask why I’m in a wedding dress. Instead he rakes a hand through his hair. “Boots.” He nods at my feet.
“Not wearing any.” I sit on the bench beside the door and lift my hem. My fancy satin shoes were almost abandoned somewhere near a snowbank and a curse word. But what’s left of them dangle from my frosted feet. “It turns out bridal shoes are more decorative than anything else.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard they aren’t known for their tactile agility.” His jaw works as he crouches beside me.
“I couldn’t feel them walking up here, but now they’re tingling and achy.”
His huge and gentle hands wrap around my calves to brush clinging snow away. Heat slams through me so hard I sway. He looks up at me from beneath his lashes and heat pools in his eyes. For a second neither of us moves.
Then without warning he stands. Rustin yanks a thick wool blanket off the back of the couch, and wraps it around my shoulders like he’s furious with the cold on my behalf. His hands linger on my shoulders for just a second. His thumbs brush where the blanket doesn't quite cover. A droplet of melted snow trails down my neck, and his eyes follow it, darkening to that shade I remember too well.
"Rustin," I whisper.
His fingers tighten for just a second, and I feel the tremor run through him. Three years, and my body still remembers exactly how his hands feel.
"Dammit Kara." His voice is gravel and heat. "You can't—" He steps back abruptly, his hands falling away, leaving cold spots where his warmth had been. "You can't look at me like that. Not when you're wearing white for another man. Sit on the couch.” He nods at the hearth. “I’ll get the fire up.”
“Just so you know, I appreciate it,” I blurt, because the silence is too loud. “I ran without thinking and now I have nowhere else to go.”
His mouth tips, but it isn’t a smile. “That makes two of us.” He crouches and stacks kindling with ruthless efficiency. “Storm’s supposed to turn nasty after midnight. The roads are already going.”
“Yeah, I left Wilder’s truck in a snowbank at the bottom of your driveway.” I shiver despite the blanket. “Don’t worry, I’ll get out of your way before morning when it clears.”
A muscle jumps in his throat. “You won't be going anywhere tonight. This storm's supposed to blow through by morning, but the plows won't get up here until afternoon at the earliest. County's already issued warnings for overnight travel.”
“Oh, right.” My eyes land on the wreath. “Hopefully I’m not interrupting you and, well, anyone in your life.”
My phone buzzes insistently and it pulls his attention. Rustin makes his way to the snow soaked jacket slung onto the wooden hook. I’ve been ignoring the sound. But the echo of it vibrating against the wall makes it sound more frantic by the second.
Rustin tosses the phone to me. “You should probably answer that.” He doesn’t look at me. “Before they send search and rescue.”
I pull out the phone with numb fingers. There are an impressive forty-three missed calls and over a hundred texts. The most recent is from my mother.
Mom: If you don’t respond in ten minutes, I’m calling the state police.
“Shit.” I stand too fast, the blanket sliding off. “You weren’t too far off. I need to?—”
