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CHAPTER TWELVE

paige

If there is one thing about me, it’s that I’m going to overthink a situation until I’ve exhausted myself. And then I’m going to think about it some more. But as I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, phone propped under my chin after just getting off a call with my brother, updating him on the weather situation, I wait for the panic to set in.

I wait and I wait and I wait, but it never comes.

Which, obviously, can only mean one thing.

I’ve come down with cabin fever.

Yes. I watch my reflection nod along in the mirror. That’s the only explanation.

Someone call a doctor, I need them to prescribe me a cure for Nathan Ford’s mouth. And his tongue. And his expertly skilled use of them both when bringing me to orgasm. And if we could put a rush on that, I’d really appreciate it.

We’re a little time sensitive here.

Otherwise, when I leave this bathroom, I’m afraid of what I’ll do. Like jump his bones or attack his mouth again.

Both of which will only further confuse me about why I’m not actually confused.

Kissing Nathan Ford has to be the most absurd thing I’ve ever done. Letting him eat me out, giving me my first non-self-induced orgasm in I don’t even know how long, is definitely the most unhinged.

I should be freaking out. I should be packing my measly belongings and getting the hell out of this cabin, hazardous conditions be damned. I should be thinking of name changes and what colors I can actually stand to dye my virgin hair in an attempt to start fresh with a persona that doesn’t know who Nathan Ford is. Let alone what sounds he can wring out of me at an awfully early hour in the morning.

And yet, I stand in the bathroom, not plotting my escape or brainstorming names. Instead, I search for a lick of regret. A twinge of audacity.

Something, anything other than this rooted contentedness that’s settled so deep inside me, it feels like a long-lost breath at last finding its way home.

Like I’m finally remembering what it’s like to breathe without a pinch in my chest, without having nausea wreck my stomach.

For once in my life, I’m not thinking about skating or my problems, or anything that drove me to this place to begin with. I’m not thinking about our past or the resentment I’ve hung on to for so long.

It’s like everything that has been plaguing me got put on pause, leaving me with a peace I’ve never met before.

I feel good. Better than good, actually. For the first time ever, I’d probably even say I feel amazing. Not even that deep tissue massage at the resort’s spa the other day could make me feel like I do now. So languid and satiated.

My racing brain has seemed to finally grasp the concept of a vacation. My worrying thoughts are nowhere near me—away on an overdue hiatus.

Wow. So this is what it feels like to not drown in anxiety.

It’s revolutionary.

As I continue to stare at my reflection in the mirror, at the flush on my cheeks and the wide, blown-out pupils in my eyes, I can’t help but sink into this weightless feeling.

All because of one infuriating, full of himself, cursed with the hottest genes man.

A man who is somewhere in this cabin, waiting for me.

And for the first time in two years, I’m not looking for ways to avoid him.

I need that cure stat, doctor!

With a final look in the mirror, I draw in a cool, sharp breath, and shuffle out of the bathroom and into the empty bedroom.

Staring at the now stripped bed, the ruined sheets no doubt in the wash, I can’t help but wonder what it’s going to be like to sleep there tonight.

The sleep barrier, while a valiant attempt, was no match for suppressed matters of the heart…and libido.

My body tingles at the possibilities.

Doctor!

Commotion on the other side of the wall pulls me away from the bed. Nate’s rich voice is muffled, and I can’t help but picture him talking to Snowball.

Oh my god, Snowball. My eyes bug out in alarm, completely forgetting that my poor innocent creature was in the room with us when Nate went down on me…

I look from the bed to where his little makeshift pen is, and the vantage point is so poor, thanks to the height of the boxes, he couldn’t possibly have seen anything. And he’s technically an old man in hedgehog years, so the chances of him being more deaf than not are pretty high… I’m just going to pretend he had no idea what happened and that I didn’t scar him.

Please no one report me to animal protective services. I am a good pet mom, I swear.

As I walk out of the room, I find Nate with his back turned to me as he stands at the stove with a metal spatula in hand. Something delicious permeates the air, but I don’t pay attention to it.

Not when Nate’s wearing only a backwards hat that covers his sex-tousled dark hair and a new pair of sweats that sit criminally low on his hips. I stare at them, arrested by the sight, feeling a rush of pleasure knowing I made him so turned on he came in his pants, before drawing my gaze up to his bare back on display. Watching as his muscles flex with every movement as he tends to whatever he’s cooking in that frying pan.

I wait for my self-preservation to kick in and reprimand me like it usually does when I let my gaze linger on Nate for a little too long, as my gaze swoops down to ogle his rounded ass, but nothing comes. Nothing but a healthy dose of appreciation for the male form.

Ugh. I tear my gaze away to see the fireplace roaring.

Guarded by a metal screen that keeps Snowball from getting too close to the flames as he scuttles around the floor, chasing one of the paper balls Nate made for him. A hardboiled egg and cut up banana sit on a small plate near him, his little teeth marks marring both.

“I looked up what to feed a hedgehog if you ran out of food.” Nate’s voice steals my attention. “Figured the little guy would be starving. Gave him water, too, but he spilt the bowl everywhere, so I have to refill it. I also have some chicken and things that we can give him later.”

“Thank you,” I tell him softly. Something warms in my chest at the thought of Nate taking the time to care for my pet. It’s such a sweet, simple gesture that says so much. Just like letting me watch all five Twilight movies without complaint—lots of commentary but no complaints.

It reminds me of things I’ve forced myself to forget about him.

Like despite how he looks like a big, bad man with his array of tattoos, pierced ears, and now the beard, Nate is actually a really sweet and thoughtful guy.

Damn it. It’s like that orgasm knocked all my defenses right out of my head.

Nate shrugs like it’s no big deal.

And maybe for most people, it isn’t, but I’ve felt so alone for so long, not letting myself rely on others. I mean, I don’t even call my super to fix things in my apartment unless I have to. I’m incapable of letting people get close enough to help, to let them shoulder even a hint of my burdens, because I know it’s only going to lead to me being let down.

But this? This feels so nice.

Do not cry, I order myself sternly. Needing a distraction, I ask Nate, “Did you get ahold of your dad?”

He’s supposed to be getting into town today.

Nate nods, “Yeah, but he’s still, like, eight hours away. When he heard the snow was bad up here, he didn’t want to chance getting stuck on the road, so he pulled off into the closest town. I told him not to even bother leaving until he knows it’s good to drive up to the cabin.”

“He doesn’t want you to be alone for Christmas.”

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and from the snow-covered ground outside the large window in the living room, it looks like Nate and Mr. Ford won’t be together for the holiday for the first time in probably Nate’s whole life.

“Ah, but I’m not alone. I have you.” Nate gives me a grin, but it’s a little different from all his others. More reserved, as if he’s not quite sure where we stand or how we’re supposed to act.

Now a sting pierces my chest—over Nate possibly regretting what we did.

I’ve been so focused on myself, I’ve barely even thought about how it affected him. As a guy, I just assumed he would enjoy the early morning extracurriculars, but what if he’s now having doubts?

Oh. And that makes my stomach roll, spiking my pulse.

I’m so glad my anxiety has moved on from caring about me to caring about Nate. That’s so generous of it… not.

“Lucky you,” I try to keep my tone light. “Instead of spending it with a loved one, you now get your very own scrooge. We require three meals a day and a complete lack of acknowledgement of the holiday.”

“I got you covered on the meals.” A look crosses Nate’s face, but before I can decipher what it is, he turns around to check on whatever he’s cooking on the stove. Giving it a quick stir with the spatula. “But I’m afraid you might have to suffer through me singing a plethora of Christmas carols tomorrow, in between us watching National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. I have traditions to uphold.”

“I think I’m actually going to be sick tomorrow, so if we can reschedule that for next to never.”

I wait for his turn in our little game, but instead he stares at me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to work out.

My shoulders pull back slightly as I force myself to move in the direction of the kitchen, to the small counter that separates the space from the living room and settle into one of the two stools underneath.

Nate slides a cup of hot chocolate loaded up with the correct amount of marshmallows—enough to cover the entire circumference of the top, no liquid in sight—across the counter to me, then asking, “What about you? How did the call with your brother go?”

Like his smile, his question is cautious. Like he’s still testing the waters of where we stand. But Nate does give me an appreciative look, seeing that I’ve thrown on his Sugar Peak Resort hoodie over my leggings from yesterday. The thing swallows me even more than the clothes I slept in, but it’s much warmer than the shirt I came here in. And it smells like him.

Part of me wants to go over and kiss him, to ease his apparent worries.

But I don’t.

If only so I can feel a little more stable on this new ground we’re treading first.

“Oh, you know, Austin’s just being Austin,” I say, ignoring the subtle pinch in my chest, trying to forget my brother’s face as I updated him on the most recent weather report. “He sends his worst wishes to you, by the way.”

Austin hates Nate like any older brother would hate a boy that made his little sister cry—with a loathing that can rival a thousand burning suns. On our call, he kept talking about how I should stab Nate with an ice pick. So, it’s not the most ideal situation for my brother to find me in.

Not to mention, I just know he knew my untamed hair wasn’t only from sleeping. It’s probably why he was extra surly on the call.

“Funny, because my dad sends his best to you.” Nate laughs, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. He’s probably the only person not ranked very high on my brother’s favorites list who is not put off by Austin’s aggressive nature.

Again, I would like to reiterate, Nate lacks self-preservation skills.

“So, Austin’s handling you being suck here with me as well as expected, then.” Half turned to me now, Nate gives the pan a little shake.

“Well, enough that he talked about hiring a helicopter to come rescue me,” I confirm, stretching up in my seat to see what he’s cooking. But his large body blocks my view.

“Oh. So he’s only at DEFCON Three.” Nate inspects the food, before nodding his head at it. Must be to his liking. “What about Kylie? Did you get in touch with her?”

I nod, watching as he grabs two plates from the cabinet. “Yeah, finally.”

Whether from the remote location or the weather, I wasn’t sure if the texts I sent Austin and Kylie went through yesterday, but almost right after Nate’s phone started going off with alerts, my phone started vibrating with dozens of messages. All from Austin and Kylie. “She feels so bad she’s leaving this afternoon, but I told her there’s no point in missing her flight when she’s fine to leave. Especially when her family goes all out for Christmas.”

Apparently, it’s only those of us further up the mountain that are being told to stay where we are because of how much ice is covering the roads here. The actual town of Sugar Peak and the resort are more or less fine.

“I just told her to leave my luggage at the concierge to pick up when it’s finally safe for us to leave.” I fold one leg into the chair, then the other so I’m sitting crisscrossed.

“I’m sorry.” Putting the plates on the counter, Nate rubs the back of his neck. “About bringing you up here. If I knew we’d be trapped here past last night, I wouldn’t have even suggested it. ”

Yesterday’s Paige would be furious to be trapped here with Nate, would’ve relished in his apology, might’ve even rubbed it in about how he doesn’t think about the consequences of his actions.

This new and improved, cabin fever-inflicted Paige, however? She’s not ready to return to reality just yet. Not ready for all the problems she came here to get away from to catch back up to her.

But I still think of my brother and niece, and the traditions we’ve built around her that I’ll be missing. And it does make me sad to know that I won’t get to see Clover’s face when she sees what Santa got off her list—spoiler, my brother got everything she wrote down on her two full pages. Front and back.

But hopefully we can leave in time for me to make it to Austin’s game before I have to go home. It’s my favorite part of the holiday week, anyway.

…I really am kind of a scrooge, aren’t I?

To me, a holiday is just another calendar day. What makes any day special is the people you surround yourself with. So as long as I get to see my family at some point during this break, I’ll be happy.

“I guess you’ll just have to work on not annoying me for however long we’re up here. Austin went into great detail about how to use an ice pick as a weapon. I feel like I have so much knowledge I could test out.”

“I guess we now know who the real murderer in the house is.” Nate starts to shovel some of the food from the skillet onto a plate, and my stomach quietly gargles at the sight. Shredded hash browns—my favorite. Then he puts pancakes he stashed in the microwave and bacon he’s kept warm in the oven onto the plate as well.

I practically salivate watching him. “No one will ever believe I’m capable of such a heinous crime. I’m too cute.”

Again, I expect Nate to say something flirty back. To play his role in this game we have long since established the rules to, but he says nothing as he places the plate in front of me. Followed by the syrup, a fork and ketchup.

All without a word. That pensive look still clear on his face.

“That’s it.” I slap my palms down on the counter hard enough to sting. “What’s going on with you? You’re acting so weird right now.”

“I’m acting weird?” His dark brows shoot up, almost touching the edge of his hat. “You’re the one that’s acting all different.”

“No, I’m not. You’re over here being all quiet and standoffish. It’s weird.” I wave my fork at him. “Flirt with me, damn it.”

Nate looks taken aback. Giving me a measured look as he does, his voice devoid of any feelings as he asks, “So, you don’t regret what happened earlier?”

Oh.

He looks so earnest, so worried, it pierces a place in my chest that’s always been reserved for him.

Setting my fork down, I untangle myself from the chair and walk over to his side of the counter. He watches me with a guarded expression, until I step into his personal space and grab the sides of his face.

Nate’s hands go to my waist, holding me tight. Holding me close. His face a mask, waiting to see what I’m going to do next.

There’s still so much that sits between us, so much we have to discuss, but for today I want to keep living in the moment.

“I don’t know,” I whisper against his lips, my voice soft. “Let’s see if I regret this.”

This time when I kiss him, it’s hard and demanding and full of emotions I can’t fully say.

We kiss until neither of us can remember what his question was to begin with.

But my answer still lingers long after we pull apart.

No, I don’t regret this. And that kind of terrifies me.