Page 36

Rosey

Byron’s cabin is an exact replica of mine, but it still feels weird being here. With him. He’s my boss, but it doesn’tfeellike he has all the power. It feels more like we’re at the end of a date—minus the tornado threat. That can’t be a good sign. I need to focus on the impending disaster rather than the guy who came down the mountain just in time to… rescue me?

“Help yourself to whatever you need,” Byron says, as if an incoming tornado is a regular occurrence. “There’s hot chocolate on the counter. Should I make us some?”

“You think we’re going to be safe?” I ask, glancing out the window. The rain sounds less like it’s falling and more like it’s attacking the cabin with pickaxes.

He catches my eye, holds my gaze and says, “You’re safe now. It’s going to be okay.”

My stomach lurches. Does he mean tonight or forever?

But of course, I know the answer.

I break eye contact. “I’ll make the drinks,” I say. The least I can do is make myself useful. “Thank you so much for helping me,” I call out as Byron heads into the bedroom. “And letting me stay here.”

He reappears in dry clothes with a towel in his hand. “It’s not a big deal. This is the pre-storm. It’s going to get worse.” He rubs a towel against his wet hair, leaving him looking adorably mussed.

“Of course it’s a big deal. I’d be completely on my own if you hadn’t shown up.”

“I didn’t expect the rain this early,” he says.

“I didn’t think I’d need to worry about tornadoes in Colorado.” I pour hot milk into mugs and try not to think about Byron’s worn gray joggers, or the way their low-slung position on his hips should carry an R rating.

“Was that part of your criteria when you were deciding where to come to after the wed— You know?”

I smile at him trying to say the right thing, which is impossible when talking about how I ran out of my wedding. My situation is so ridiculous. He’s not the one who should feel awkward.

“Honestly, I just got on the first plane out once I got to the airport. I didn’t care where I was headed. But Colorado… I don’t hate it. Star Falls, I mean. It’s not like I’ve seen anywhere else in the state other than the airport and whatever I caught through the bus window. But it’s beautiful here. It must have been nice growing up with the mountains in the background.”

“I guess,” he says, in a way that makes me think he doesn’t feel lucky about any aspect of his childhood. He scrapes his fingers through his hair, his biceps flexing as he does.

“Whereabouts in Star Falls was home for you?” I ask, glancing back at the milk in the pan so I don’t start drooling.

“The family farm was at the foot of the mountain.”

“Below the Club?” I ask, handing him a mug of hot chocolate. We both take a seat on the couch, the rain echoing determinedly off the roof.

“Yeah,” he says. “The outer perimeter of the Club’s land on the southeastern side was the boundary of the farm.”

My eyes widen and I lean against the counter. “Oh, so the farm doesn’t exist anymore?”

“The apple trees are still there. Mainly. We took the diseased ones out.”

“Oh, Byron, that’s amazing. So the farm’s stayed in the family in its own way.”

“It’sbackin the family,” Byron says. “When my dad died, the farm was taken by his creditors. But I bought it back.” His eyes are hardened, the boyish smile I see from time to time disappears completely. This is businessman Byron—steely and determined.

“I bet you did.”

“No marshmallows?” he asks, in his least artful subject-change yet.

“Apologies, in the rush to escape the potentially collapsing cabin, I forgot to bring them.”

He puts his arm out toward me, and for a moment, I think he’s going to cup my face, lean in and kiss me, but when his gaze flits behind me, I realize he’s reaching for something on the table behind me.

Was I thinking about kissing this man?

My boss?