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“Coffee will be ready in about five minutes,” she said in an over-bright voice.
He grunted and strode to the bathroom.
Brooke busied herself making eggs and unwrapping a package of blueberry muffins. Only when Sam came out and walked to the window did she realize something had shifted outside, like the air itself had grown quiet.
“Did it stop snowing?” She put down the muffins and hurried to his side. “Is the storm over?”
“Looks like it.” He rubbed away a patch of condensation on the glass and peered outside. “It’s still snowing, but the sun is starting to break through.”
Sure enough, the world was covered in a thick, pristine coating of snow. The tall pines looked as if they’d been frosted, and faint sunlight glittered on the treetops.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
Sam moved away from the window. “I’ll call the ranger station.”
As he twisted the dials and spoke through the crackly static, Brooke returned to the kitchen to finish making breakfast. She overheard the ranger telling Sam they were dealing with power outages and fallen tree branches and to expect the road to be cleared tomorrow morning or early afternoon.
“It’s New Year’s Eve.” She set the muffins and coffee on the table. She’d thought she might feel a little sad that she wasn’t spending this year celebrating with her friends and family, but that had been when she’d expected she would be alone. Instead, she was trapped in a cabin with a man who was making her increasinglyzingyboth inside and out.
“What do you usually do for New Year’s Eve?” She sat down and pushed the muffins toward him.
“Nothing.” He pulled out a chair and sat opposite her.
“Nothing?” She blinked. “No parties or traditions or anything?”
He reached for his coffee and shook his head. “I don’t celebrate holidays.”
“You don’t celebrate holidays?”
“I don’t like holidays.”
“You don’tlikeholidays?”
He shot her a mild frown. “Never heard anyone turn so many statements into questions.”
“I’m turning statements into questions?”
He laughed, and the deep, rumbling sound spread a pleasant warmth through her belly.
“Really, what’s with the dislike of holidays?” she asked. “Were you traumatized by Santa or the Easter Bunny when you were a kid?”
He bit into a muffin. “Just never celebrated them much.”
She recalled his confession that he’d been alone a lot when he was younger. Sorrow collected in her chest. The bits and pieces of himself he’d given her over the past day and a half were like tempting little water droplets falling into a bucket. She was increasingly thirsty for more.
She passed him the eggs. “Well, given that Bliss Cove celebrates everything from artichokes to Valentine’s Day, moving there must have been a shock to your system.”
“Not so much.” He shook his head. “I like all the festivals. Good food.”
“I noticed you like food.” She mashed her eggs with her fork, wishing she could think of a way to ask him more about himself without being afraid he would shut down. “Hey, let’s go outside later. I brought my camera, and I’d love to take some pictures.”
He slanted his gaze to his computer. “You go ahead. I need to work.”
“I’m sure payroll can wait, considering you have one employee.” She finished off her eggs. “What else do you need to do?”
“Other stuff.”
“Whatstuff?”
