“Oh, I hate to be an inconvenience—”
“Nonsense. Besides, I won’t even be there tonight. I’m on the clock until after breakfast. Possibly all day depending on how long it is before the roads are cleared.”
Aimee does her signature cheek chew. But this is her only option.
“If you don’t think it’s too much trouble.”
“Not at all. Come on. I’ll walk you,” I say, pulling her to her feet and grabbing her bags on our way out.
* * *
Aimee
My heart almost exploded when Killian wrapped his arms around me. I loved how he held me like no time had passed. It would be more believable if he were still the spindly-armed kid he was when I left but he is most definitely not. Somewhere along the way, Killian Tucker embraced the mountain and became the burly, bearded man of every woman’s dreams. But especially mine. It’s a good thing I’ll have his cottage to myself because I plan on imagining those seam-popping arms around me again and those thick fingers of his doing the work my hand will be doing later tonight.
“Make yourself at home,” Killian says as we shake off the snow and cold just inside the door of his cottage. “The fridge is fully stocked. I think I might even have some of those sweet pickles you love so much.” After helping me out of my coat, he walks over to the fridge.
“Bread and butter?” I ask.
He nods opening the refrigerator and pulling out the jar nearly full of sliced pickles and the little mustard seeds floating near the bottom.
“But you hate them,” I say, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Not anymore.”
“Who are you and what have you done with the real Killian?” I ask lifting his arms and looking all around him.
He just chuckles at me. “What can I say? A lot of things have changed in the last ten years.” When he puts the jar back in the fridge, his chest meets mine. Even through his heavy parka, he’s firm.
I should probably back up, but I don’t. I lift my chin to look him in his stormy eyes and ask, “A lot of things but not everything, right?”
He cranes down getting close enough our hot breath mingles. My chest shudders struggling to find my next breath.
“Some things will never change,” he whispers.
There’s a moment, a long breathless moment when I think he might make a move. Our eyes are locked, his tongue darts out to wet his lips and I can’t help doing the same.
I wasn’t sure I wanted him to kiss me until he steps away from me and says, “I should be getting back.”
That’s when I know I want nothing more than for Killian Tucker to kiss me.
“Yeah, of course. I’m all set. Go,” I say but selfishly, I don’t mean it. I’d rather he stay.
His hand is on the doorknob when he turns back. “I’m sorry for the circumstances but I’m really glad you’re here.”
“So am I.”
Cold air wafts through the warm cottage when he opens the door to trudge through the snow back to the lodge. Without him here to distract me—wow, is he a good distraction—I finally take an honest look around his place.
I always knew Killian had good taste but this place is impeccably designed. It’s consistently rustic, down to every last detail. Even the dish towels have a rustic charm with intentionally frayed edges. Everything is a deep forest green and mahogany. Completely masculine but so comforting and cozy. Most of all, clean.
As soon as I finish my surface-level tour of the little one-bedroom cottage, I admit, I’m tempted to start digging. It’s been ten years. Is it really so bad to want to find something that can tell me a little about what he’s been up to all that time?
After a few minutes standing by his desk, tucked in the corner of the living room, fighting with myself about opening that first drawer, I overcome temptation and go back to the living room, plunk myself down on the couch and take out my phone.
There’s a message from my mom.
Mom: Did you get someplace to stay before the snow got too bad? Please reply. No matter how late. Just want to know you’re safe.
