Page 31 of Curvy Cabin Fever

ARIA

I t’s almost five days later before we can go to town, and Damien insists on a date.

Who knew he was so romantic?

The town looks different after the storm.

Like someone smoothed everything over with snow. The buildings are still old and worn, with faded paint and chipped signs, but under the winter light, it all feels...prettier.

I step out of Damien’s truck and pull my coat tighter around me, boots crunching over packed snow. He circles around to the passenger side and adjusts my scarf without asking, his big hands careful but firm.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice low.

I nod, my heart doing that stupid thing it always does when he’s close—like it’s trying to climb out of my chest and into his hands. “I’m good.”

He eyes me for another second, then nods and tilts his head toward the general store. “Come on. Let’s get what we need.”

Inside, the warmth hits immediately—old heaters blasting, the scent of wood smoke and coffee lingering in the air. The shop’s small and cluttered, with narrow aisles and creaky floorboards. Damien moves like he belongs here. He nods at the woman behind the counter and steers me toward the back.

I trail behind him, watching how people look at him. Not with fear—with respect.

A few men nod. One claps him on the shoulder.

The man beside me in the cabin—the one who split wood with his bare hands and kissed me like it cost him something—is something of a legend here. And I’m with him.

He picks up canned goods and tools, muttering under his breath as he scans the shelves. I add band-aids and chocolate and a small bottle of lavender oil. He doesn’t comment, just tosses them into the basket with a quiet grunt.

“Thanks for not judging my survival essentials,” I remark.

“I’m not stupid. I know what keeps morale up.” He gestures to the chocolate. “That, and Morgan’s pancakes.”

I laugh, and something in his shoulders softens.

We check out with no drama. The clerk—an older woman with silver hair and a permanent frown—raises an eyebrow at me when Damien sets a protective hand on my lower back as we leave.

She says nothing.

But I see it, and so does he.

“She doesn’t like me?” I murmur when the bell over the door jingles behind us.

“She doesn’t like anyone under fifty who wears mascara,” Damien replies. “You’re good.”

I nudge him with my elbow. “You’re sweet when you try to be.”

He narrows his eyes. “Take that back.”

“Nope. I stand by it. Sweet.”

He growls softly and opens the truck door for me. I smirk as I climb in.

Instead of heading back to the cabin, he takes a detour—pulling up in front of the small café tucked between the post office and the hardware store.

I blink. “Are we...getting coffee?”

“I figured we could sit awhile.”

“You did ask me on a date.”

“I asked you if you wanted coffee.”

“That’s a date, Damien.”

He doesn’t argue. Just gets out and opens my door like a goddamn gentleman, scowling at the light snow starting to fall again.

Inside, the café is warm and smells like cinnamon and roasted beans. Everything is mismatched—furniture, mugs, the plates hanging on the wall—but it’s charming in a way that feels alive.

I recognize Trish behind the counter, her blonde curls tied up in a scarf, eyes lighting up the moment she spots Damien. “Well, look what the storm dragged back in,” she says, grinning. “I figured you were still up at Ridgehaven, snowed in with your...crew.”

Her gaze shifts to me, curious and bright, taking me in with the practiced ease of someone who knows everyone in town—and exactly who doesn’t belong.

I offer a polite smile, but my stomach flips.

“Two black coffees and a muffin,” Damien requests, cutting in smoothly. “Her pick.”

Trish raises a brow but doesn’t comment. “Muffins are fresh. Apricot croissants just came in this morning—my cousin sent over a batch.”

“Oh,” I say, relaxing a little. “Those were sold out last time.”

She tilts her head, studying me. “They were! How are you finding it in the cabin?”

I still, my cheeks flushing instantly.

Damien glances at me and places a twenty on the counter. “No questions today, Trish.”

Her smile doesn’t fade, but something sharp flickers behind it. “Of course. Hope you’re all staying warm up there.”

I shoot a look at Damien as he leads me to a booth near the window, but I’m grateful I didn’t have to answer. What would I say?

‘Oh, hey, Trish, I’m fucking all three gods up there.’

We sit in silence for a while. Just sipping coffee and watching the town outside—the occasional car passing, people walking with bags of salt or kids bundled in coats that look like sleeping bags.

He watches everything. It’s subtle, but I see it. The way his eyes sweep the room, the way he angles his body so he can see both the door and the windows. The way he tenses when a man walks too close to our booth.

“You’re very... alert,” I say, nudging his foot under the table.

“Habit.”

“From what?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “Let’s just say I’ve been in situations where not being alert got people hurt.”

My throat tightens. “You don’t have to protect me here.”

He lifts his eyes to mine. “I don't have to—I want to.”

I sip my coffee to hide the way my heart stutters.

There’s something about Damien when he’s out of the cabin—something even more magnetic.

The quiet command. The way everyone moves around him shows he’s more than just a part of this town; he’s woven into its fabric.

And the way he still makes me feel like I’m the only thing he sees… it’s getting to me.

“Have you ever brought anyone else here?” I ask.

His brow furrows. “To this café?”

“On a date.”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Never?”

“No.”

I grin, something warm and greedy spreading through my chest. “So I’m the first.”

“You’re the only,” he says.

And just like that, I forget how to breathe.

We finish our coffee slowly, neither of us eager to get back on the road. Outside, the snow is getting heavier, blanketing the sidewalk in a clean sheet of white. Damien brushes the flakes from my coat before helping me into the truck again.

Damien keeps his hand on my leg the entire drive home, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles over the inside of my thigh. He doesn’t say anything, but the air in the truck is thicker now. Hotter.

Like we both know what’s coming.

But we’re letting it simmer just a little longer.

By the time we pull into the long, snowy drive that leads to the cabin, the sky is a burnt orange and hazy gray; the sun beginning its slow descent behind the trees. The truck crunches over hardened snow, tires hissing softly until we roll to a stop.

He kills the engine and turns to me.

I don’t say anything.

Neither does he—but the look in his eyes says everything.

Want. Possession. Patience on the fucking edge.

I open the door before I forget how to move, letting the cold slap my cheeks and shake something loose from under my skin. Damien rounds the truck, grabs the bags from the back, and we walk together in silence, boots thudding across the packed snow.

I reach for the handle.

But Damien stops me with a hand on my wrist.

“Aria.”

His voice is low and gravelly.

I look up. He’s staring at me like he’s trying to memorize my face, burn it into something permanent. Like this moment—this exact version of me, of us—matters more than anything else.

Then he simply states, “You’re mine.”

The words shouldn’t make me feel so steady. So warm.

But they do.

I nod. “Yours.”

And then I open the door.

We step into the cabin together.

Warmth hits me first, then wood smoke. The faint scent of spices, like someone tried to cook. The fire’s burning low in the hearth, casting flickering gold across the walls.

What we don’t expect is the sound.

A soft moan that’s barely audible.

Damien’s body goes still beside me.

My breath catches.

We move quietly into the main room, not meaning to sneak—but unwilling to interrupt.

What we see makes me stop in my tracks.

Rhett and Morgan.

Together .

Morgan’s hands are in Rhett’s hair, pulling him closer. Rhett’s thighs are spread, his body arching forward, one hand gripping the back of Morgan’s neck like he’s drowning in the kiss. Their mouths are open, tongues moving slow and deep.

It’s real.

And it’s so fucking hot I nearly forget how to breathe.

Damien doesn’t move.

I glance up at him, expecting shock—or maybe tension—but what I see instead is hunger. That same edge that’s been simmering since the café.

He leans down, lips brushing my ear. “Get upstairs. Now.”

I blink. “Damien?—”

“Upstairs,” he growls, voice thick and dark. “Now, Aria. Before I fuck you right here in front of them.”

I swear I almost melt right through the floor.