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Anna shivers in my hold, though not enough to strike another blow of fear inside of me. It’s cold out, but we’re notteetering on the edge of hypothermia with the amount of time she was outside. If I hadn’t come when I did and she continued to sit in a daze for minutes longer, things might have been different. For now, she just needs to warm up and sort her mind.
I unlock her door and hold it open as we step inside. The air is warm, the telltale drone of her furnace pumping through the small house. A sweep of my eyes through the open floor plan exposes some more of her personality.
While the place is small, the way it was furnished makes it appear bigger. If I had to guess, I’d say it was rented out that way, but the small touches tossed around have to be courtesy of Anna.
From the soft, muted green pillowcases on the couch, the teal coffee machine on the kitchen counter, and the picture frames scattered on the built-in bookshelves along the living room wall, I learn more about her.
I wonder if she brought a lot with her when she moved here, and if she did, why there aren’t more of her things visible in the space. Why exactlydidshe move here? She said she wanted a fresh start, but I want to know what made her old life so bad that she felt like she needed to move here to start over. Cherry Peak is a long way from Vancouver.
“I’m sorry for the mess,” she breathes, teeth still chattering slightly.
When she goes to pull out of my grasp, I stiffen my arm around her, as if my body is against the possibility of letting her go.She needs heat, I tell myself. That’s why I want her close.
Reluctantly, I release her and curl my fingers to keep from reaching out again. “I’ve never minded a bit of mess.”
“The only company I’ve had since I’ve moved in has been Poppy and Bryce, and they’re even messier than I am.”
I follow her further into the house, past the stacked pizza boxes on the kitchen table and the unfolded clothes in thelaundry bin beside them. Honestly, her house is hardly messy at all.
She’ll be in for a big surprise the first time she comes to the ranch house. After a busy week, it looks less like a house and more like a dumping ground for every ranch hand we employ.
Not like she’ll be at the ranch house anytime soon. Or ever.
“You picked a good couple of friends to make. Those two have always been solid in the community.”
“Poppy mentioned that she knew you prior to when we met. Actually, she told me you were a nice guy, and then you were the absolute opposite of nice.” Her voice is teasing, but the truth beneath it still grates against the lingering guilt.
“I was an asshole that night,” I admit. Anna moves toward the electric kettle on the counter, but I gently brush her aside and snag it from her extended hand. “Do you want some tea?”
She quirks a brow, tipping her head back to meet my eyes. “You know how to use a kettle?”
“First of all, that’s insultin’. Who doesn’t know how to use a kettle?” I snap open the lid and turn on the tap to fill it up. “And second, please go put on some warm clothes. I like that you’re wearin’ the jacket, but it’s not enough. A hoodie and some thick pants will do.”
Once the kettle is full, I turn off the tap and plug it in, waiting for the light to turn red before facing Anna. She’s got her hands on her hips in a sassy stance, and I bite back my laugh at the effort to intimidate me.
Not quite there yet, sweetheart.
“I’ll take your orders this one time, but don’t get used to it. The tea bags are in the farthest cabinet with the coffee pods. Peppermint is my favourite,” she says, and then she’s walking out of the kitchen before I have a chance to reply.
It’s an effort to tear my eyes from her as she moves. The tight black athletic pants make her ass look criminal, and the baggyshirt does little to hide her upper half. A searing burst of want shackles me before I can wish it away.
She’s disappeared into what I assume is her bedroom before I regain focus on my task and adjust my dick in my jeans. I find the tea bags easily and then snoop through the remaining cabinets until I find the coffee mugs. There’s a lot of them. It seems Anna has a bit of a tendency to collect the damn things. I count at last fifteen in the cabinet alone, and I’d bet there are more in another.
Once the tea bag is in the hot water, I set the mug I chose down on the table and pull a chair out for her before sitting in the opposite one to wait.
My phone begins to buzz in my pocket, and I already know who’s calling before I’ve grabbed it and spied the name lighting the screen. I decline the call.
“Not one for phone calls?” Anna asks. My heart skips at the bite of suspicion that lingers in her tone. She can’t know, right?
Anna walks toward the table with a familiar confidence. Her long brown hair now shines in a braid hanging over a hoodie-clad shoulder. The bulky material draping over her torso is black and red with a beavertail in the centre. My brows jump.
“You’re a hockey fan?”
She ducks her head to look at her chest. “I kind of have to be.”
“Nobodyhasto be an Ottawa fan.” My nose scrunches.
“Let me guess, you’re a Nashville fan?”
