Page 82 of Curvy Cabin Fever

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.”