Page 90
The sun was actually out that morning — a rare, brilliant gift that turned the snowy landscape into something almost blindingly beautiful. Birdsong drifted through the cracked window along with the sharp scent of pine and woodsmoke, and Sage found herself smiling around a mouthful of pancake before she could stop it.
She kicked her legs lightly against the rung of the stool, watching Cal across the kitchen island.
“So be honest,” she said, blue eyes sparkling. “Are you a vampire?”
Cal slowly lowered his mug of hot chocolate, one thick eyebrow lifting. “Umm… what?”
Sage grinned wider. “You’re always up when I’m up. Like, I even woke up at six — six, Cal — and you were already in here cooking. When do you wake up?”
He just looked at her for a beat, completely deadpan. “Early.”
Sage stared back, waiting. When he didn’t elaborate, she leaned forward on her elbows. “Early like… before sunrise?”
Cal nodded and took a slow sip, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly.
“That’s crazy. The birds are still asleep, Cal. Birds!”
“Yup,” he said, voice low and calm. “It’s quiet.” His eyes flicked to her with the tiniest hint of amusement. “Kinda nice.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. He was definitely putting extra weight on that “quiet.”
Cal looked back at her with pure innocence.
“Okay, fine. Don’t tell me.” She speared another piece of pancake, savoring the warm, fluffy sweetness. “But if you’re a vampire, just know I’d like to be one too, so…” She tilted her head dramatically, brushing her lavender-streaked hair aside and offering the pale line of her neck with a theatrical flourish.
Cal huffed — that low, rumbling sound she was quickly learning meant laughter — and a faint flush crept up the back of his neck. Score. He stood up a little too quickly and started gathering the breakfast dishes. The meal this morning had been perfect, as usual; fresh homemade pancakes, eggs cooked exactly how she liked them, and sweet melon that apparently got flown in from somewhere warmer.
Sage watched him move around the kitchen, that familiar heat settling in her chest again. She was getting dangerously used to this. To the way he always made time for her, no matter what he was doing. Whether he was reading in the great room, listening to the birds from the porch, or working out by the barn with Brutus snoring at his feet — he’d always make room. Patient. Steady. Like her presence was never an interruption.
She thought about the loose step by the barn he’d fixed last week. The way he’d measured everything twice, cut the new plank, sanded it smooth, stained it, waited for it to dry just right, then set it perfectly. Thorough in everything he did. It made something deep in her chest ache in the best and scariest way.
And the way he got quiet every sunset when the sky put on a show… God. She’d caught herself staring at him more than once, watching the golden light catch in the silver threads of his hair and the lines of his scarred face, feeling that pull she kept trying to ignore.
She definitely wasn’t taking extra time every morning to pick out her clothes just in case he noticed. She wasn’t adding a little more makeup. And she absolutely wasn’t swaying her hips a little more when she walked past him, hoping he’d look the way he had that day at the diner.
But she remembered the time he’d asked her if she knew any country songs on the guitar. The horrified look she’d given him had earned her a full, deep laugh — the real kind that lit up his whole face. She’d been riding that high for days.
Sage smiled to herself as she slid off the stool and wandered toward the door, humming softly under her breath.
Tomorrow she was definitely waking up even earlier.
“Sage,” she muttered under her breath as she crept along the snowy stone path toward the barn, “this is by far the dumbest thing you’ve done in a long while.”
It was still stupidly early. The sky was just beginning to fade from black into that soft, bruised pre-dawn blue, pockets of stars still clinging stubbornly overhead. Her breath puffed out in thick white clouds, and the cold bit at every inch of exposed skin.
She’d set her alarm for four.
When it went off, she’d stared at the glowing screen like it had personally betrayed her, then rolled over and burrowed deeper into the lush, heavy comforter. For a minute she’d almost won that battle. Then she heard him — the faint creak of his bedroom door, the quiet tread of his boots down the hallway. Even for a man his size, Cal moved like he didn’t want to disturb the world.
The low glow of the dying fireplace had painted the walls in warm amber as she lay there listening, imagining him heading downstairs. That was all it took. She was out of bed like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Ow—motherfucker!” Her toe slammed into the dresser and throbbed viciously. She hissed through her teeth but didn’t stop. No time to change. If she waited, he’d disappear into whatever mysterious early-morning ritual he did, and she’d lose her chance.
She limped downstairs, snatching his long sheepskin-lined trench coat from the hook by the mudroom door without a second thought. The one she’d been quietly stealing for a week. It swallowed her whole — hem dragging on the floor, shoulders drooping halfway down her arms. She rolled the sleeves three times just to free her hands and glanced down at herself: tiny white tank top, black sleep shorts that barely qualified as clothing, unlaced boots, and Cal’s enormous coat.
She shook her head. “Well… I look like an idiot. I am an idiot.”
Her hand hovered on the front door handle.
