Page 56 of Snowbound

He says Santa’s coming, andof course,I don’t have anything for him. I’m not much of a gift-giver. It always felt overwhelming trying to figure out the perfect gift.

But I’m snowed in and need to give himsomething.Not flashy. Couldn’t do store-bought, even if I wanted to, but I really want to give him something that’s…us.

I rifle through the cabinets and find he really did stock up well on food with an eye toward Christmas. That time when my mom and stepfather left us for the weekend and Owen grounded my ass, I kept myself busy making cookies.

Six years ago…

The morningafter he grounded me, the kitchen smelled like cinnamon and burnt sugar. I had to occupy myself somehow.

I stood barefoot on the cold tile, sleeves shoved to my elbows, my apron dusted in flour. I needed to do something, anything, to scrub away last night. The bumper. His voice. That low, lethal tone that still echoed in my head. And worse, the worst ofall,the way my body had liked it. That heat that crawled over me.

Now I’m focused on the dough. Clack of the whisk. Crack of an egg. I measured like I could fix it.

I was on the second tray of Christmas cookies, lopsided stars and trees that leaned a bit too far, when I heard it. The groan of the floorboards behind me.

I didn’t have to turn.

Owen.

He filled the doorway with his broad shoulders and large frame. His hoodie pushed to his forearms, sweats riding low, and his jaw shadowed in stubble. He didn’t speak. He just stood and stared at me with those green eyes.

At me.

At the apron.

At the mess I’d made of myself.

Heat flushed my cheeks before he even opened his mouth.

"I thought I told you to rest," he said, his voice low, still stern. The familiar heat instantly flared.

"Couldn’t sleep." I kept my eyes on the tray. “Wanted to be useful."

He moved in, slow and measured. "Baking at seven a.m."

Damn, was I in trouble again?

"Better than lying in bed thinking about how stupid I was."

My throat tightened. Why was I so weirdly emotional all of a sudden?

He stepped closer. The air changed.

“You’renotstupid.”

I looked up. He didn’t blink.

“You did a stupidthing. That’s not the same.”

Still felt the same.

“I just—” My voice cracked. I looked down at the cookies. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I don’t like it when you’re mad at me.”

His breath caught. Barely. But I heard it.

“You scared the hell out of me, Em.”

I looked up again, and then I saw it.