Page 11

CHAPTER 11

NATE

I trudge up the path to my front door, my boots leaving deep impressions in the fresh snow. The sun set over an hour ago, and the temperature has dropped enough that my breath creates visible puffs in the air. It’s been a long day of marking trees for the spring harvest, and all I want is to get inside where it’s warm.

That’s when I spot it—a paper bag sitting in the snow by my door. My first instinct is wariness, but when I see the cheerful food doodles decorating the bag, I figure it can only be from one person. Caspian.

Inside the bag, I find a container of what appears to be homemade ice cream, along with a card. The envelope has more of those playful doodles.

Because everyone needs ice cream, even in winter! - Caspian

I shake my head, amused by his logic, and before I can talk myself out of it, I’m walking a few feet to my left and knocking on his door. Quick footsteps approach, and then there he is, wrapped in an oversized sweater that makes him look somehow smaller and more endearing.

“You got my surprise!” His face lights up with that sunshine smile of his.

“Ice cream? In January?” I raise an eyebrow, but the corners of my mouth twitch upward nonetheless.

He steps back, gesturing for me to come in. “Ice cream is a year-round food group. I won’t hear otherwise.”

His apartment is warm and cozy, with the scent of coffee and cinnamon lingering in the air. “You’re ridiculous,” I tell him, but I’m already following him to his kitchen.

“Ridiculously thoughtful,” he corrects, pulling bowls from a cabinet. “How was work?”

“Cold. Productive.” I lean against his counter, watching him scoop generous portions of what appears to be maple walnut ice cream. “How about you?”

“Amazing!” He practically bounces on his toes. “I made a new friend today—Felix. He’s a single dad with two adorable girls, and get this! He designs book covers and writes romance novels!”

His enthusiasm is contagious, and I find myself smiling more freely than I have in weeks. “That’s quite a combination.”

“Right?” Caspian hands me a bowl, our fingers brushing briefly. “He might help me set up the book corner at Special Blend. I told him about my mom’s romance collection, and he got so excited about having a local place to showcase indie authors.”

I take a spoonful of the ice cream, and despite my initial skepticism, the rich maple flavor is perfect. “This is good,” I admit, watching Caspian’s eyes light up with triumph.

“See? I told you ice cream knows no season.” He hops up to sit on the counter, feet dangling as he digs into his own bowl. “Though I have to say, the cold here is something else. How do you stand it?”

“Says the guy who made ice cream.” I move to lean against the counter next to him, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. “You’ll get used to it. Eventually.”

“Eventually,” he echoes, then bumps his shoulder against mine. “At least I have a neighbor who can teach me all about surviving Vermont winters.”

Something in his voice makes me look up, and I find him watching me with those expressive dark eyes. A drop of ice cream clings to his lower lip, and before I can stop myself, I’m reaching up to brush it away with my thumb.

The kitchen suddenly feels too small, too warm. Caspian’s breath catches, and I realize how close we’ve gotten. He leans in slightly, and I can smell the coffee on his breath, see the dark-blue rims around his brown irises. Definitely too close.

It would be so easy to close the distance between us, to taste the maple sweetness on his lips. But this is a dangerous path, so I pull back, clearing my throat.

“I should probably head home,” I say, my voice rougher than intended. “Early start tomorrow.”

“Oh.” The disappointment in his voice is clear, but he forces a smile. “Right, of course. Thanks for trying my winter ice cream experiment.”

As I place my bowl in the sink, our hands brush again, and the spark is impossible to ignore. For a moment, we both freeze, the simple point of contact feeling like a live wire between us.

“Nate,” Caspian says softly, and something in the way he says my name makes my resolve waver.

I step back, putting necessary distance between us. “Thanks for the ice cream. It was…unexpected.” The words come out more formal than I intend, and I see him flinch slightly.

“That’s me. Full of surprises.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time, and guilt twists in my stomach. I’m not ready for this, for him, for the way he makes me feel like I’m standing on the edge of something both terrifying and exhilarating.

“Good night, Caspian,” I manage, already heading for the door.

“Good night,” he calls after me, and I can hear the questions in his voice, the ones I’m not ready to answer.

Outside, the cold air hits me like a slap, and I welcome it. As I make the short walk back to my door I can still taste maple on my tongue, still feel the phantom warmth of his skin against my thumb.

Inside my apartment, I lean against the closed door and let out a long breath.

I should know better by now.

I bolt straight to the bathroom, desperate to wash away the day’s grime and the even dirtier thoughts plaguing my mind.

Stepping under the shower, I let the hot water beat down on my tense muscles, willing the spray to wash away the memory of those deep brown eyes and the way my heart stuttered when he smiled at me.

I lather up with my body soap, trying to focus on anything but the way Caspian’s dark hair falls in his eyes when he laughs. Dammit! That laugh. It’s like bells chiming in my cold, barren chest.

The steam billows around me, a cloud of warmth that should be comforting. Instead, all I can think about is the lingering scent of coffee and cinnamon from Caspian’s apartment, the memory of it as vivid as if I were still standing in his kitchen.

My body thrums with an energy I can barely contain. I want to run, scream, grab Caspian and never let go. The intensity of it all leaves me breathless.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding water. “I do casual hookups once a month to take the edge off. No attachments and no reason to get my heart broken.”

But even as I say the words, I know it’s too late. Caspian has burrowed his way under my skin, into my very core. And I have no idea what to do about it.

My hand drifts lower, almost of its own accord. The hot water cascades over my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat building inside me. I close my eyes, giving in to the vivid images of Caspian.

“Fuck,” I breathe as my fingers wrap around my cock. The sensation is electric, sending shivers through my body despite the steam surrounding me.

I’m taken back to our ice-skating night, the way Caspian clung to me as we glided across the rink. His body pressed against mine, those slender fingers gripping my arms. I can almost feel the warmth of his breath on my neck.

“Cas,” I whisper, my hand moving faster. The connection I felt in that moment crashes over me again, intensifying every touch, every stroke.

My free hand braces against the shower wall as I lose myself in the fantasy—his tan skin glistening with water droplets, those dark eyes looking up at me with desire.

“God, what are you doing to me?” I groan, torn between the pleasure coursing through my body and the conflict raging in my mind.

The image of Caspian’s face when I tried his blueberry muffins flashes through my mind, so vivid I can almost taste the sweetness on my tongue. His eyes had been wide with anticipation, sparkling as he watched me take that first bite. The way his whole face lit up when I finished it. It wasn’t just about the muffins being good. It was about him wanting my approval.

My hand moves faster, almost of its own accord. “Fuck,” I mutter, feeling the tension coiling tighter in my belly. The steam swirls around me, hot and thick, mirroring the heat building inside me.

I close my eyes, lost in the sensory overload. The scent of my shampoo mingles with the phantom aroma of coffee that clings to every thought of Caspian. My skin tingles, hypersensitive to every drop of water, every brush of my fingers.

The desperation grows, a needy ache that consumes me. I bite my lip, trying to stifle the sounds threatening to escape. My hips buck involuntarily, chasing the release that feels tantalizingly close yet impossibly far.

“Caspian,” I groan, his name a prayer and a curse all at once. I can’t help it—my mind drifts into dangerous territory. His lean body pressed against mine under the cascade of hot water. Those expressive dark eyes, usually sparkling with mirth, now heavy-lidded and intense.

“ God, Nate ,” he whispers, his voice husky. “ I’ve wanted this for so long .”

My hand moves faster, more urgently. In my fantasy, I run my fingers through Caspian’s jet-black hair, marveling at its softness. I trace the contours of his face, his skin warm and inviting under my touch.

“Cas,” I groan, lost in the vividness of my imagination. The tiled wall is cool against my back as I brace myself, legs trembling.

My breath comes in ragged gasps. The pressure builds, a white-hot coil of pleasure threatening to snap. I’m teetering on the precipice, caught between fantasy and reality, desperate for release.

“Caspian!” I cry out, my voice echoing off the shower walls as I come undone. The release crashes over me in waves, intense and all-consuming.

As the aftershocks subside, I’m left panting, the hot water still cascading over my trembling body. The catharsis is overwhelming. It’s as if all the confusion, desire, and emotional turmoil I’ve been carrying have momentarily washed away with my release.

I stand there, letting the water run over me, feeling both drained and oddly energized as the evidence of my desire swirls down the drain.

“Well, that happened,” I mutter, running a hand through my wet hair.

I turn off the shower and step out, wrapping a towel around my waist. Wiping the steam from the mirror, I stare at my reflection. “You’re in trouble, buddy,” I tell myself, shaking my head. Thank fuck my bathroom is all the way on the other side of the duplex.

* * *

Morning arrives with the soft glow of winter sunlight filtering through my bedroom window. I’m still groggy, my mind clouded with fragments of dreams I’d rather not analyze too closely. The memory of last night’s shower makes my cheeks warm despite the morning chill.

A mechanical scraping sound from outside draws my attention. I push myself up and peer through the frost-edged window. My heart does that annoying flutter when I spot Caspian in his driveway, wielding a snow shovel that looks too big for him.

He’s drowning in my oversized winter coat. It would be comical if it wasn’t so endearing. He’s clearly struggling, stopping every few shovelfuls to catch his breath, his exhales visible in the crisp morning air.

“Dammit,” I mutter, already reaching for my clothes. Something inside me crumbles as I watch him tackle the heavy snow with determined but inefficient movements. He’s going to hurt himself at this rate.

Five minutes later, I’m outside, my own shovel in hand. “You’re doing it wrong,” I call out, trying to keep my voice neutral despite the warmth spreading through my chest at the way his face lights up when he sees me.

“There’s a wrong way to shovel snow?” He stops, leaning on his shovel with a grin far too bright for this early hour. “Please, oh wise Vermont native, enlighten me.”

I move closer, ignoring the way my heart rate picks up. “You’re going to throw out your back lifting that much at once. Smaller scoops, push more than lift.”

“Like this?” He demonstrates, and I have to bite back a laugh at his exaggerated form.

“Here,” I say, stepping behind him before I can think better of it. “Let me show you.” My hands cover his on the shovel handle, and I guide him through the proper motion. “See? Less strain on your back this way.”

He’s warm against my chest, and I’m suddenly very aware of how close we are.