He looks up, and there it is. That slight widening of his eyes, the quick once over that he thinks I don't notice. "You're up early."
"The smell of coffee is my siren call." I pour myself a mug, doctor it with sugar and cream. "Have you been up for hours doing manly mountain things?"
The corner of his mouth twitches. "Just a short run. Four miles."
"Four miles is short? In this snow?" I gesture to the windows where at least six inches of fresh powder blankets everything.
"It's a good way to start the day."
"So is sleeping until ten, but to each their own." I take a sip of coffee, closing my eyes in appreciation. "This is good. Like, really good."
"Italian roast. I get it shipped from a small producer outside Florence."
"Of course you do." I hop onto a bar stool, studying him over the rim of my mug. "So what's on the agenda today, husband?"
He seems more composed this morning, less affected by my presence. It's slightly disappointing.
"I need to go into town. Check on the store, pick up some supplies. You're welcome to join me."
"Is that your way of showing me off to the locals? Start establishing our cover story?"
"People will talk regardless. Might as well give them something accurate to talk about."
"So strategic." I drain half my coffee. "I'll come. I need to scope out the coffee shops for potential work spaces. As much as I love your cabin, I'll go stir crazy if I don't get out occasionally."
He nods. "We leave in thirty minutes."
"So bossy." But I'm already heading back upstairs to finish getting ready.
When we step outside, I'm struck again by the beauty of Jared's property. Fresh snow covers everything, pristine and glittering in the morning sunlight. Pine trees laden with white stretch in all directions. The mountains rise majestically in the distance.
"It's like a Christmas card," I breathe, taking it all in.
"It's just snow," Jared says, but there's fondness in his voice as he surveys his land.
"Not just snow. It's perfect. Untouched." I bend down and scoop up a handful. "Well, almost untouched."
Before he can react, I toss the snowball at him. It hits his chest and explodes in a puff of white.
He stares at me in disbelief. "Did you just throw a snowball at me?"
"Scientific experiment. Testing your reflexes." I back up slowly as he narrows his eyes. "For the record, they need work."
In one fluid motion, he scoops up snow and forms a perfect projectile. I shriek and duck, but it still grazes my shoulder.
"Rude!" I gather more snow, packing it quickly. "This means war, Mountain Man!"
What follows is the most intense snowball fight of my life. Jared moves with surprising speed and agility for such a large man. His aim is terrifyingly accurate. But I'm scrappy and unpredictable, dodging and weaving between trees.
When I dive behind his truck for cover, I don't immediately realize he's disappeared. The attack comes from above a small snow ledge behind me. He drops down almost soundlessly, a snowball in each hand.
"Surrender," he says, voice low and dangerous in a way that sends pleasant shivers down my spine.
"Never." I clutch my own snowball, knowing I'm cornered.
We face off, both breathing hard, cheeks flushed from cold and exertion. His blue eyes are bright with something I've never seen in them before. Playfulness. Maybe even joy.
"Your move, Walsh," he growls.
